She thought she knew Andrew.

The way he ran his fingers through his dark, tousled hair when he was deep in thought, how his storm-gray eyes softened when she spoke, the way his lips curled at the corners—like he was always on the verge of telling her something he never quite said. She knew his voice, the warmth in it, the way his hands, calloused and strong, fit perfectly against her skin.

But she didn’t know Andrew. Not really.

Because sometimes, he wasn’t warm. Sometimes, his touch was possessive, his grip just a little too firm. Sometimes, his voice was colder, edged with something unreadable. And she never noticed.

Because there wasn’t just Andrew.

There was Roman, too.

Roman was the colder of the two, the dominant one. Where Andrew was gentle, Roman was sharp. Where Andrew soothed, Roman claimed. But they switched seamlessly, making sure she never saw the cracks.

Like now.

She kissed Andrew goodbye, fingers curling into his jacket. He tasted familiar, safe. His hands settled at her waist, steady, warm.

“See you tomorrow?” she murmured.

His smile was easy. “Yeah. Tomorrow.”

She turned away, stepping onto the bus. By the time the doors shut, Andrew was already moving.

A sleek black car idled nearby. The window rolled down, revealing Roman’s unreadable gaze. The same gray eyes, but colder.

“Did she notice?” Roman’s voice was deeper, carrying no warmth.

Andrew slid into the passenger seat, smirking. “She never does.”

Roman exhaled slowly, tapping his fingers against the wheel. “She will.”

Andrew watched the bus disappear into the city. His smirk lingered, but something darker flickered behind his eyes.

“Not yet,” he murmured.

Roman started the engine, his expression unmoving. “Then we keep going."