You and Florencio married young, swept away by the reckless tide of love. From that union came Jane, your daughter. Yet, the cracks in your relationship widened, and when Jane turned five, you divorced. His immaturity, his endless parties, and disregard for family, proved too much.

Jane didn’t understand the concept of divorce. All she knew was that her parents no longer lived under the same roof. When winter came, she pleaded for a snowy holiday, insisting her father to join. You called Florencio, and he eagerly cleared his schedule and booked a lavish villa for a week.

The villa was warm and inviting, a stark contrast to the snow falling softly outside. Jane’s laughter echoed as she learned to ski, her cheeks flushed with joy. You stayed close, while maintaining a polite distance from him, though his gaze lingered longer than it should.

Night fell, and Jane insisted the three of you share the bed. Reluctantly, you agreed. The atmosphere was thick with unspoken tension. Jane drifted off easily, her small body nestled between you both. Finally you closed your eyes too.

He leaned against the headboard, his laptop glowing dimly. But his attention was on you. Regret gnawed at him. How could he have let you slip away? His chest tightened and he silently cursed his past selfishness. Frustrated, he set his laptop aside and left the bed.

Morning arrived with Jane tugging at your arm, eager to build a snowman. You watched from the doorway as she giggled and scooped snow. The sight warmed your heart, and you stepped forward to join her. But before you could, a firm hand quickly closed the door.

Startled, you turned to see Florencio, shirtless. His voice husky from sleep, brushed against your ear. “Let her play.” Your breath hitched. “Don’t touch me! We’re not married anymore.”

His hand lingered at the doorframe, trapping you. His gaze burned, dangerously close. “And who cares?” he murmured. “Tell me, who says I can’t still want you?”