It's All Adding Up
RONNY’S POV
The morning sun filtered through the curtains, golden light spilling across the dining table. The smell of coffee and toast drifted in the air, but none of it compared to the girl sitting across from me.
Liliana.
Her hair was a little messy, still carrying that silk-soft scent from last night. Her cheeks had that post-bliss glow, and her lips were curved in a smile that was far too distracting for me to focus on my breakfast.
She wasn’t eating. She wasn’t even pretending to eat.
She was staring at me.
Not shyly, not subtly—full-on staring like I was the only thing in the room worth looking at.
I set my fork down, raising a brow. “What is it?”
Her smile widened, eyes glimmering like she knew exactly what she was doing. “You love me.”
I leaned back in my chair, suppressing the smirk tugging at my mouth. “Yes, Liliana. I love you.”
Her eyes softened, lips parting like she wanted to bottle up every single word. Then, like a child caught sneaking cookies, she quickly looked away, finally poking at her eggs.
I chuckled, shaking my head. “Eat your breakfast.”
She tried, I’ll give her that. She tried to focus on her plate. But not thirty seconds later, her head tilted again, and her gaze was back on me.
“You love me, right?” she asked suddenly, voice light but laced with something deeper.
I dropped my fork with a sigh. “Yes, Liliana, for the love of God, I love you!”
She laughed, high and sweet, tossing her hair back as she scooped a bite of food. “You don’t have to yell, Ronny.”
I groaned, dragging a hand down my face. She was enjoying this far too much.
The way she ate after that—swinging her legs beneath the chair, humming a little tune, grinning like she’d won some kind of battle—made her look like a mischievous child. And yet, my chest swelled with something fierce and unshakable.
I was done for.
Halfway through her toast, she suddenly stopped, her face twisting. “Oh—”
The sound that escaped her throat was sharp and wrong. She clutched her stomach, pushing back her chair so fast it screeched across the floor.
“Liliana?” I was on my feet instantly.
She didn’t answer. She bolted for the kitchen sink, her bare feet slapping the tile, and then it came—the sound of her throwing up.
My heart stopped.
“Baby—hey—” I was behind her in seconds, one hand sweeping her hair away from her face, the other rubbing her back as her body convulsed.
She spat, coughed, then sagged against the counter, her knuckles white where she clutched the sink.
I crouched beside her, panic clawing at my chest. “Are you okay? Should I call someone?”
She shook her head weakly, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “No, no… I’m fine.” Her voice was hoarse. Then she actually gave a tiny laugh. “I forgot—I’m not really a fan of peanut butter.”
I blinked at her. “Are you serious? You scared the hell out of me.”
She leaned against me, her cheek brushing my shoulder. “I’m okay, promise.”
I searched her face, still unconvinced. “You sure?”
“Yes,” she said firmly this time, then her lips curved in that teasing way that always unraveled me. “Do you still love me after I just threw up?”
I groaned, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Yes.”
“What if I was a worm?” she asked suddenly, eyes twinkling despite her pale face.
I turned to glare at her. “Yes.”
She giggled. “What if I was a bird?”
“Yes!”
Her laughter filled the kitchen, light and musical, spilling out of her like she hadn’t just been sick seconds ago. She looked so damn happy, so free, that even my frustration couldn’t hold. I just stared at her, helpless.
Maybe I should’ve waited a little longer before confessing last night. Maybe I should’ve built up to it, tested the waters. But then again, what difference would it have made? I was madly in love with her. And Liliana would always be Liliana—bratty, wild, impossible, mine.
We finished breakfast at a slower pace after that, with her teasing me endlessly, dropping ridiculous questions like “Would you still love me if I had no teeth?” and laughing when I threatened to stuff her mouth with toast.
Eventually, she pushed her chair back, standing and stretching like a cat. “I’m going upstairs to change,” she announced, her voice sweet but her eyes wicked. “Don’t miss me too much.”
I watched her walk away, her hips swaying deliberately. That girl was going to kill me.
When she disappeared up the stairs, I finally exhaled, dragging a hand down my face before heading to my office.
There were things I needed to do. Things I’d been putting off.
The recovered footage from her family’s house waited for me on my laptop, a dark reminder that while my heart was tangled with her, danger still lurked around us.
I sat down, opened the files, and hit play.
The first video loaded: her father, her stepmother, and her stepsister sitting at the breakfast table. The air looked heavy, tense, though I couldn’t hear a word. Liliana’s father’s jaw was tight, his eyes shadowed. The stepmother clutched her coffee cup like it was the only thing anchoring her. The sister—Lily—kept her arms folded, her gaze down.
Then Lily suddenly pushed her chair back and left the table.
My eyes narrowed.
The next clip switched to an outdoor camera. Liliana’s father stood in the driveway, shaking hands with a man I didn’t recognize. Their faces were unreadable, their body language stiff. I couldn’t hear, but I didn’t need to. My gut told me everything—whatever this was, it wasn’t casual.
One of them was responsible. One of them had a hand in her mother’s failed brakes.
I scrolled through, jaw clenched, eyes burning from staring too long. Then, without thinking, I clicked on an older video I’d already reviewed.
The screen flickered, the grainy feed showing the front of the house on the day of the accident.
I almost clicked away, ready to move forward. But then—
Something caught my eye.
A shadow in the window.
I froze.
Rewinding slowly, I leaned closer, squinting. My pulse quickened.
There—just at the corner of the frame. A figure standing behind the glass, almost hidden in the curtain. If you weren’t looking for it, you’d miss it.
I paused the frame, my fingers tightening on the mouse.
Zoom in.
The pixels blurred, then sharpened enough for the truth to hit me like a punch.
It was Lily.
Liliana’s stepsister.
But this didn’t make sense.
This was the day of the accident. Back then, Liliana’s father wasn’t even married to Lily’s mother. What the hell was she doing at their house?
And the way she stood there—her body angled, her gaze fixed—not casual, not curious. No.
She was staring.
Staring directly at Liliana’s mother.
My breath left me in a rush.
Every suspicion I’d buried, every unanswered question, every uneasy hunch—it all came crashing together in a single, horrifying realization.
It had always been her.
Lily.
And now it was all adding up.
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