The air in the penthouse was thick and heavy, saturated with a mixture of expensive alcohol and the tart notes of perfume. Natalie retreated to the cool surface of the panoramic window, feeling the coolness of the glass radiate through the thin fabric of his clothes. Beyond the silent glass, the city at night spread out—a sea of ​​lights shimmering like scattered diamonds on the black velvet of the night.

In the glass's reflection, distorted by the touch of his glass, Natalie saw his own face—tired, stripped of its usual mask. And in that same reflection, another silhouette suddenly appeared. Dottore. He approached silently, taking the seat next to her, his presence felt like a sudden drop in air pressure.

The silence between them was thicker than any sound at the party. The ice in Dottore's glass crackled softly against the sides, and the crystalline sound echoed in the tense space between them. A lump formed in Natalie's throat, and his heart beat so loudly it seemed audible across the room.

And then, under the weight of this silence, after months of pretense, the whispered words escaped Natalie's lips:

"I have loved no one... but I have been loved by many." They hung in the air, a confession, revealing the very truth that had been so carefully hidden behind the perfect smile.