The name was on the tip of both their tongues.
"Inês," Lívia breathed, the word a wave of nausea. "She was there. She was with me when I went into my meeting. Oh God, Camila, I can't believe she would..."
"Believe it," Camila said, her voice like steel. The pain was still there, a raw, throbbing ache, but it was being rapidly eclipsed by a protective, primal rage. Someone had tried to break them. Someone had tried to tear Lívia away from her.
"I have to go," Lívia said, her voice shaking with a mixture of fury and betrayal. "I have to confront her."
"Call me back," Camila commanded. "The second you're done. I don't care what time it is here."
"I will," Lívia promised. "I love you. I'm so sorry."
"It wasn't you," Camila said, her voice softening slightly. "I love you too. Now go."
Lívia ended the call and stormed back into the studio, which was now mostly empty. Inês was still at her desk, packing up her bag. She looked up as Lívia approached, a concerned look on her face.
"Hey, you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."
"I saw your work on my laptop," Lívia said, her voice low and dangerous, each word clipped and precise.
Inês flinched, a flicker of genuine panic in her eyes before she masked it with a look of wounded confusion. "What are you talking about? What work?"
"Don't play dumb with me," Lívia snarled, her voice rising. She slammed her hand down on the worktable, the sharp crack making Inês jump. "The messages. The ones you sent to Camila from my account. The ones you deleted."
The color drained from Inês's face. She opened her mouth, then closed it, a fish out of water. The carefully constructed facade of the supportive friend crumbled, revealing the desperate, manipulative woman beneath.
"I... I was trying to help you," Inês stammered, standing up and backing away a step. "You're so caught up in this fantasy, Lívia. You're throwing away your future for a woman who's just going to use you up and leave you with nothing but a broken heart. I was trying to save you!"
"Save me?" Lívia laughed, a harsh, broken sound that was more like a sob. "You humiliated me. You tried to destroy the best thing in my life. You made *her* think I was a monster!"
"She's too old for you!" Inês shrieked, her composure finally shattering. "She lives on another planet! She's going to drag you down and you're too blind to see it! I'm here, Lívia! I'm here every day with you! I see your potential! I love you!"
The final confession hung in the air, toxic and pathetic. It wasn't just about friendship or misguided concern. It was about possession. Inês didn't want to save Lívia; she wanted to have her.
The revelation broke something in Lívia. All the stress of the residency, the pain of the distance, the gut-wrenching fear she'd felt during Camila's desperate call—it all coalesced into a white-hot, blinding rage. She saw red.
"You don't get to say that," Lívia whispered, her voice trembling with fury. "You don't get to do this and then say you love me."
She lunged. It wasn't a calculated move; it was pure, unadulterated emotion. She grabbed Inês by the front of her shirt, her fingers twisting in the fabric. Inês stumbled backward, crying out in surprise and fear.
"Lívia, stop!" Inês pleaded, trying to pry Lívia's hands off her.
But Lívia was beyond reason. She shoved Inês hard, sending her crashing into a nearby shelf stacked with architectural models and books. The sound was deafening—a cascade of cardboard, paper, and splintering wood. Inês cried out as she fell, her arm hitting the edge of a steel table on her way down.
Lívia was on her in an instant, her mind a fog of betrayal. She didn't see Inês's terrified face or the blood already welling from a cut on her arm. She saw the messages, she heard Camila's broken sobs, she felt the phantom pain of a future being stolen. She grabbed a handful of Inês's hair, pulling her head back.
"Why?" Lívia screamed, her voice raw. "How could you do that to me? To us?"
"Get off me! You're crazy!" Inês screamed, thrashing wildly.
The commotion was finally noticed. A few other residents, who had been working late in a separate office, rushed in. One of them, a tall German man named Klaus, saw the scene and immediately pulled out his phone. "I'm calling security! This is insane!"
Lívia didn't even register his words. She was trapped in a vortex of her own making, her only focus the woman who had tried to ruin her life.
"Let her go, Lívia! Now!" Klaus yelled, his phone pressed to his ear.
It was the sound of his voice, the authority in it, that finally pierced through the red haze. Lívia froze, her hands still tangled in Inês's hair. She looked down and saw Inês's tear-streaked, terrified face. She saw the blood on her arm. She saw the wreckage of the studio around them.
And she realized what she had done.
She let go as if she'd been burned, stumbling backward, her hands flying to her mouth. "Oh my God," she whispered, the full weight of her actions crashing down on her. "Oh my God, what have I done?"
It was too late. Within minutes, the studio was filled with security guards, and shortly after, two uniformed police officers. They took in the scene with practiced, impassive eyes—the disheveled, crying Inês being tended to by another resident, the shell-shocked and trembling Lívia, the debris scattered across the floor.
"Who started this?" one of the officers asked, his voice gruff.
"She did!" Inês cried immediately, pointing a shaking finger at Lívia. "She attacked me! She's insane!"
Lívia just stood there, mute with horror and shame. She couldn't deny it. She had. She had let her rage consume her, and now she was paying the price.
The officer approached her, his expression unreadable. "Senhorita, you need to come with us."
Lívia didn't resist. She allowed him to take her arm, her eyes scanning the room as he led her out. Her gaze fell on her laptop, still open on the table, the screen a silent witness to the digital crime that had led to this physical one. She thought of Camila, waiting for her call. The bridge they had so carefully built had just been dynamited. And she had been the one to light the fuse.
The next forty-eight hours were a Kafkaesque nightmare. Lívia was processed, photographed, and placed in a holding cell with two other women, one of whom wept silently while the other stared at the wall with a vacant intensity that was more frightening than any accusation. The sterile, gray walls of the police station, the unintelligible shouting of other detainees, the acrid smell of disinfectant—it was a world away from the light-filled, creative sanctuary of her studio. The shame was a physical weight, pressing down on her chest, making it hard to breathe. She hadn't just lost her temper; she had become the person Inês had falsely accused her of being: unstable, violent, out of control.
On the third morning, a guard appeared at her cell door. "Santos. You're being released."
Confused, she was led to the front desk where a grim-faced officer handed her her personal belongings in a plastic bag. Waiting for her in the sterile lobby was Inês. Her arm was in a sling, and she had a bandage on her cheek, but her eyes were clear, filled with a disconcerting mixture of pity and triumph.
"I dropped the charges," Inês said, her voice soft, almost gentle. "I told them it was all a misunderstanding. That we were both stressed and things got out of hand."
Lívia just stared at her, speechless. The audacity was staggering. She had orchestrated the entire catastrophe, and now she was playing the magnanimous benefactor.
"Why?" Lívia finally managed to ask, her voice hoarse from disuse.
"Because we're friends," Inês said, stepping closer, her good hand reaching out to touch Lívia's arm. "Because I know you're not a violent person. You were just... upset. By my mistake. I take full responsibility for that. What I did was wrong, Lívia. I was scared and I acted selfishly. Can you ever forgive me?"
The apology was perfectly calibrated, designed to absolve her of all culpability while simultaneously making Lívia feel indebted to her. A wave of nausea rolled through Lívia, but she suppressed it. She saw a path forward, a dark and twisted one, but it was the only one that led out of this nightmare. She could play this game. She could be colder.
Lívia let out a shaky breath, forcing tears into her eyes. "I don't know what to say," she whispered, her voice trembling with feigned vulnerability. "I was so scared, Inês. In that cell... all I could think about was how I ruined everything. How I ruined us."
Inês's face softened with relief, the hope she had been clinging to now blooming in her eyes. "No, no. We can fix this. I'll help you. We can put this behind us."
"Thank you," Lívia said, leaning into the touch on her arm. "Thank you for getting me out. I don't know what I would have done."
"Let me take you home," Inês offered, her voice full of concern. "You shouldn't be alone."
Lívia nodded, allowing Inês to lead her out of the station and into a taxi. The ride to Inês's apartment was silent, but it was a charged silence, thick with unspoken lies. Inês thought she had won. She thought she had her forgiveness, a second chance. Lívia knew she was just walking deeper into the lion's den, but it was the only way to get close enough to see its weakness.
Inside Inês's neat, minimalist apartment, Lívia excused herself to the bathroom, locking the door behind her. Her hands were shaking as she pulled out her phone. She ignored the dozens of messages from panicked friends and residency directors and found Camila's name. She hit dial, her heart pounding.
"Lívia? Oh my God, where are you? I've been calling every hospital in Lisbon!" Camila's voice was a frantic lifeline.
"I'm okay," Lívia said, her voice cracking with the release of tension she hadn't realized she was holding. "I'm okay, Camila. I'm with Inês."
There was a stunned silence on the other end. "You're what? Why? Is she holding you there?"
"No, no. She bailed me out. She dropped the charges. She's... apologizing," Lívia explained, her voice low and hurried. "But listen to me. This is a trap. She thinks I've forgiven her. She thinks there's hope."
"Hope for what? For what? Lívia, what the hell is going on?"
"She's obsessed, Camila. This wasn't just about sabotaging us. This was about removing you. She thinks she can have me now," Lívia said, her voice hardening. "I have to play along. I have to make her believe it."
"No," Camila said, her voice firm, decisive. "Absolutely not. You are not staying with her. That's not a plan, that's a suicide mission."
"It's the only way to keep her calm until I can figure out what to do! If I leave, she'll know I was lying. Who knows what she'll do next!" Lívia whispered fiercely.
"Then we change the variables," Camila said, her lawyer brain kicking into high gear. "We remove you from the equation entirely. This isn't just about her feelings anymore, Lívia. This is about your safety. She escalated from digital sabotage to physical confrontation. The next step is unpredictable. I can feel it."
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying you're not safe in Lisbon. Not near her," Camila said, her voice leaving no room for argument. "I'm booking a flight. I'll be there tomorrow."
"But... your work. The merger."
"Fuck the merger," Camila said, the raw, protective fury in her voice sending a shiver down Lívia's spine. "There is no merger, there is no career, there is no *me* without you. I will fight my battles from there. We'll get you a hotel, a safe place, away from her. We will figure this out together. Just... hang on. Play your part until I get there. Can you do that?"
Lívia closed her eyes, a wave of profound relief washing over her so intensely it almost brought her to her knees. "Yes," she whispered. "Yes, I can."
"Good. I love you. Don't let her out of your sight."
"I love you too."