Mateo's hand is still on Andrea's shoulder, his grip just firm enough to keep her anchored in place against her car. His expression is perfectly calibrated—concern without pity, sympathy without judgment. He's always been good at this, at reading people and reflecting back exactly what they need to see.
"Andrea," he says gently, his voice dropping to that confidential tone reserved for sharing secrets. "I know this isn't easy to hear, but you should know what you're dealing with."
Andrea's throat is still raw from crying, her defenses stripped away by Kayden's rejection. She should tell Mateo to leave, should get in her car and drive away, but exhaustion has made her vulnerable, and Mateo's concern—manufactured or not—feels like the only kindness she's been offered in days.
"What do you mean?" she asks, her voice small.
