Diego said nothing. He took off his jacket and gently placed it over her shoulders.

When he saw the mark on her cheek, his expression changed.

Not shock.

Controlled anger. Cold and quiet.

“Who did this to you?”

Camila didn’t answer.

She didn’t need to.

Diego lifted his gaze toward the house. Lights on. Curtains shifting. Shadows behind the glass.

He already knew.

He had always known.

Only Camila had refused to see it.

“Come on,” he said firmly. “You’re leaving with me.”

She hesitated.

Her eyes drifted to the door—that place she once called home, now nothing more than a prison.

“I have nothing,” she whispered.

Diego clenched his jaw.

“You have yourself.”

A pause.

“And that’s enough.”

He didn’t knock.

Didn’t shout.