The car ride home from the picnic was silent, the air thick with unspoken emotions, a palpable tension that hung heavy between us.

I kept my eyes fixed on the window, watching the gray London streets blur past, the city lights a hazy glow in the distance. Mateo's hand never left my thigh, his touch warm and steady, a silent reassurance of his presence, but I couldn't feel it. Not really. Everything felt muffled, distant, as if I were underwater, the sounds of the city muted, the colors dulled.

When we got back to the house, the grand mansion feeling more like a gilded cage than a home, I told...