The villa was quiet that evening, filled only with the soft sound of cutlery and the faint hum of laughter from the boys around the table. Jamila moved with careful grace, her heart thudding as she placed the last dish down. She wasn’t just serving dinner tonight she was preparing herself for something far more terrifying.

Her eyes flicked to Carl. He sat at the end of the table, his usual confident posture making him seem larger than life. His fingers tapped idly against his glass, his expression unreadable as always. To Jamila, he was everything she thought love should look like handsome, strong, and unshaken by the world.

She swallowed hard. Now or never.

Taking a deep breath, Jamila set the tray aside and stepped closer to him. “Carl… can I speak with you?” Her voice trembled despite her effort to sound calm.

The chatter at the table faded. Dave raised a brow, Jhan gave a curious look, and Mark, sitting quietly at the corner, lowered his gaze to his plate as if he already knew what was coming.

Carl turned his head slightly, his sharp eyes settling on Jamila. “What is it?” His tone was smooth, almost too smooth.

Jamila’s palms were damp. Her chest burned as she forced the words out. “I… I like you.”

The room seemed to still. Even Dave, who always had a joke ready, stayed silent. Jamila clasped her hands together, desperate not to lose her courage. “I’ve admired you for so long. You’re… you’re everything I’ve dreamed of. I don’t care that I work here. I just… I had to tell you.”

Carl’s lips parted slightly, but he didn’t answer right away. His eyes softened, but there was something distant in them, something Jamila couldn’t name. For a moment, he looked as if he might reach out to her. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, exhaling a quiet breath.

“Jamila,” he said gently, “you’re kind. And brave to say this. But… I don’t want to hurt you with promises I can’t keep.”

Her heart sank. “So… you don’t feel the same?”

Carl’s gaze flicked downward, and his jaw tightened. “It’s not that simple.”

The others exchanged glances, but no one spoke. Jamila bit her lip, her throat stinging. She tried to smile, but the edges faltered. “I understand,” she whispered, stepping back.

Carl watched her retreat, his face unreadable to the rest. But when his eyes shifted, they landed not on Jamila but on Mark.

Mark looked up, just briefly, and their eyes met. For the smallest second, something unspoken passed between them. A spark. A secret.

Carl quickly looked away, hiding it behind his usual calm exterior. But inside, his chest tightened. He wanted to tell the truth that the strength Jamila admired was only a mask, that his heart and body bent in ways she would never imagine. That Mark, quiet Mark, was the one who held him in ways no one else could.

But he stayed silent.

And Jamila, clutching her hands to stop their trembling, never saw the secret in his eyes.