Chapter 282 26

Chapter 282 26
Reyna POV

I don't talk to Luca for two days, not because I don't want to, but because I know if I let him close again I'll forgive him too quickly and that scares me more than his lies.

So I bury myself in work, staying in the Vegas Greyson mansion, staring at codes until my eyes blur. Ana doesn't let me get away with it for long. She comes into my room one afternoon holding one of my short black dresses, shaking her head.

"You can't keep sulking forever," she says, tossing it onto the bed. "I already called Hannah and Bianca, they're flying into Vegas tonight, we're going out tomorrow and you're coming."

I look up from my laptop, frowning. "You invited them here?"

She shrugs, smiling. "You've been miserable since... everything. You need friends, you need air, and I'm not letting you rot in this room."

"I don't need air," I mutter, but she pushes my laptop shut and raises a brow.

"You're coming," she says simply.

And that's how I end up at a rooftop café the next morning with Ana, Hannah, and Bianca. The place looks like something off Instagram with flowers everywhere and waiters that smile too much, the sun is hot and my dress feels shorter by the second, and I already regret letting Ana win.

Hannah leans across the table, grinning. "Well, well, Reyna actually dressed like she wants to be seen, this is new."

Bianca laughs, stirring her drink. "It's Luca, isn't it? Tell me it's Luca."

I almost choke on my mimosa and Ana smirks into her glass without saying a word.

Hannah tilts her head, mischief in her eyes. "Wait, this is funny... Bianca's man is named Luca, and now yours is too? What are the chances?"

"God, no," I blurt, heat rushing to my face. "He's not my man."

Bianca laughs louder. "Sure he isn't, that blush says otherwise."

"I'm not blushing," I snap, grabbing a piece of fruit just to have something to do with my hands.

Ana just grins and says, "She's blushing."

The three of them laugh while I sink lower into my chair, shaking my head.

By the time we head back to the mansion later, I'm almost relaxed. It feels normal for once, laughing with them, pretending none of the other stuff exists, pretending Luca doesn't exist. But the second we step inside, reality hits.

He's there, waiting in the foyer, leaning against the doorframe like he owns the place, dark eyes fixed on me the moment I walk in.

Ana takes one look, mutters, "Good luck," and disappears upstairs with Hannah and Bianca, leaving me stuck in the silence that follows.

"Reyna," Luca says, his voice low, careful.

I move past him toward the stairs. "I'm busy."

He steps in front of me, close but not touching, his eyes never leaving mine. "Don't do this, don't shut me out."

"You should have thought of that before you lied," I shoot back, sharper than I mean but I don't care, "I don't owe you anything, Luca."

His jaw clenches, his hand flexes at his side like he's holding himself back. For a second, I think he's going to argue, maybe even beg, but then he steps aside slowly, letting me pass, his eyes following me up the stairs.

"Reyna," he says again, softer this time, almost like a plea.

But I keep walking.

I lock myself in the guest room that night, the one Ana gave me to use as my own. My laptop sits on the desk, screen glowing in the dark, lines of code running until they blur in front of me. I tell myself I'm working, that I'm focused, but the truth is I'm avoiding him.

Every time I close my eyes, I see Luca in the foyer, his voice low, his eyes on me like he was trying to reach me without words. And every time, I push the thought away, reminding myself of what he did, helping Francesca and hiding it, of his lies when I asked what he was hiding.

I type harder, faster, chasing the rhythm until the screen glitches. At first, I think it's nothing, just the Wi-Fi, but then a line of text flashes across my laptop, quick and sharp.

ACCESS GRANTED.

I freeze. My hands hover above the keys.

Another line follows.

NICE PHOTOS, REYNA.

My stomach drops.

I click open my folders, heart racing, and there it is my personal files. My pictures, my data, everything I've stored away. They're gone, copied and already stolen. 

The cursor moves on its own, opening image after image. One of me and Ana at brunch. One of me at my parents' house last Christmas. One of me asleep in my own bed, taken on my phone.

I slam the laptop shut, my chest heaving.

For a second, the room is dead quiet. Then my phone buzzes on the nightstand. I grab it, my hands shaking, and the message lights up the screen.

WE OWN YOU NOW.

The phone slips out of my grip and clatters against the floor.