Rome didn't wait for anyone to heal.
By the time Aaliyah stepped out of the car, cameras were already flashing, voices calling her name like nothing had happened—like she hadn't lost a child, like her family hadn't fractured in public, like grief wasn't still sitting heavy in her chest.
She lifted her chin anyway.
Black coat. Sunglasses. Spine straight.
She walked into the world again as if it owed her nothing.
Inside the venue, the energy shifted the moment she appeared. Crew members froze. Whispers followed her like a current.
"She looks… strong."
"She's back."
"She doesn't look broken at all."
And that was the point.
Onstage, during rehearsal, Aaliyah didn't miss a beat. Her voice was steady. Her movements sharp. Every note landed with precision. Whatever pain lived inside her, she locked it behind her ribs and let only power show.
Damiano watched from the shadows.
He saw what no one else did—the way her jaw tightened between songs, the half-second pause before she exhaled, the grief disguised as control.
She wasn't healed.
She was armored.
And that terrified him more than if she'd fallen apart.
Across the city, in a quiet apartment far from the noise, Estrella sat on the edge of the bed, knees pulled to her chest.
Thomas sat on the floor in front of her.
They hadn't planned to be this close. It had just… happened. Long nights. Too many silences. Shared fear. Shared guilt.
Shared understanding.
"I keep thinking," Estrella said softly, staring at nothing, "that if I hadn't overheard that conversation… none of this would've happened."
Thomas shook his head immediately. "That's not true."
She looked at him then. Really looked at him.
"You don't know what it's like," she whispered. "To feel like your existence started as a secret."
Thomas stood slowly. Careful. Like one wrong move might shatter her.
"I know what it's like to feel like you don't belong where everyone thinks you do."
The space between them shrank.
Not touching—but close enough to feel each other breathe.
For a moment, the world narrowed to just that space. That feeling. That dangerous comfort.
Thomas reached out, hesitated… then gently rested his forehead against hers.
It wasn't a kiss.
But it crossed a line.
A line of attachment. Of emotional dependence. Of something neither of them was ready to name.
Estrella closed her eyes.
And for the first time in days, she didn't feel alone.
Damiano noticed the change immediately when they returned home.
The way Thomas stayed closer to Estrella.
The way Estrella looked at him when she thought no one was watching.
The silence that fell when he entered the room.
That night, Damiano stopped Thomas in the hallway.
"You're getting too close," he said quietly, but with an edge that left no room for misunderstanding.
Thomas didn't look away.
"She needs someone," he replied.
"So do I," Damiano shot back. "And she's my daughter."
The word landed heavy.
Thomas nodded once. "I know. That's why I haven't crossed the line you think I have."
Damiano searched his face, trying to decide whether to trust him—or protect Estrella from everyone, including herself.
"Be careful," Damiano said finally. "With her heart. With yours."
Thomas swallowed. "I am."
But even as he said it, he wasn't sure it was true anymore.
That night, after the house went quiet, Aaliyah stood alone in front of the mirror.
She removed her makeup slowly. Methodically.
The woman staring back at her looked composed. Untouchable.
And exhausted.
She pressed a hand to her stomach without thinking—then froze.
There was nothing there anymore.
No heartbeat to protect.
No future to plan around.
Only choices.
She lowered her hand.
Pulled her shoulders back.
And made a decision.
Tomorrow, she would announce her return officially.
No apologies. No explanations.
No vulnerability for the world to consume.
She would take control of the narrative again.
Because if she let the world see her bleed one more time—
It would never stop watching.
And somewhere down the hall, unseen, Estrella lay awake too, staring at the ceiling, holding onto the echo of Thomas's presence like a lifeline—
Unaware that the closeness she craved might be the very thing that tears everything apart next.