Marco walked back through the quiet streets of Rosehill.
Dinner with Mila hadn't gone as badly as it could have.
No yelling.
No tears.
Just closure.
Real, final.
But still, something tugged at him.
Not regret.
Fear.
Because going back to Talia and Elena now meant facing something more dangerous than an ex.
Feelings.
When he reached the cottage, he didn't knock.
He had a key, and the porch light was on.
Inside, he found them just like he imagined—on the couch, sharing a blanket, wine glasses on the coffee table.
Close.
Laughing.
Their heads turning at once when he stepped in.
"Hey," he said softly.
Talia stood first. "So?"
"She's gone," he replied.
"And it's really over. For good."
Elena stood too.
"How do you feel?"
"Free," he admitted.
"And a little terrified."
"Of us?" Talia asked.
He nodded.
"Yeah."
The three of them stood in a soft triangle of space.
No one moved.
"I don't know what we are," Elena said.
"But I know I don't want to walk away."
Talia's voice was quiet. "Me either."
Marco took a step forward.
"Then let's stop pretending we're just figuring things out. We already know."
Elena blinked.
"What do you know?"
"That this isn't just fun," he said.
"Not anymore."
Talia crossed her arms.
"So what is it?"
Marco looked at both of them.
"Something I want to hold on to."
They didn't answer right away.
Then Talia stepped forward and reached for Elena's hand.
Elena reached for Marco's.
And just like that, the triangle closed.
Later, they didn't rush into anything physical.
Not that night.
Instead, they shared leftovers, laughed over burnt toast, and ended up in a blanket pile on the floor.
No pressure.
Just presence.
And for the first time, real belonging.