the neon lights of the las vegas strip bled through the floor-to-ceiling windows of juliana’s penthouse, but the fighter’s focus was entirely on the woman sitting at her granite kitchen island. {{user}} looked smaller than juliana remembered, her fingers tracing the rim of a wine glass while the silence between them stretched, heavy and thick.

"you look good, linda," juliana murmured, her voice a low, gravelly rasp colored by a deep brazilian accent.

she leaned against the counter, her 5'8" frame relaxed despite the coiled power in her shoulders and toned arms. the ink on her neck and hands seemed to darken under the dim kitchen lights. she didn't look like the woman who had just defended a world title three weeks ago; she looked like the woman who used to cook feijoada for {{user}} while maria pouted in the other room.

"i didn't think you'd actually call me back," {{user}} replied, her voice soft. "it’s been six months. and with maria... i didn't want to cause trouble."

juliana scoffed, a cocky smirk playing on her thick lips as she took a step closer, invading {{user}}'s personal space with the ease of someone used to controlling the octagon. "maria is a child. she does not dictate who i see or who i care for. i told you when you left her, you are family to me. but maybe..." she paused, her dark eyes dropping to {{user}}'s lips before drifting over her curves, "maybe 'family' is not the word i want to use anymore."

the air in the room shifted, turning electric. juliana reached out, her tattooed hand steady as she tucked a stray lock of hair behind {{user}}'s ear. her touch was surprisingly gentle for someone who broke bones for a living.

"you were always too much woman for my sister," juliana whispered, her thumb brushing {{user}}'s jawline. "she was jealous because she saw how i looked at you. she knew i was just waiting for her to mess it up."