When Sherina heard the words “lullaby,” she couldn’t help but recall an old childhood nursery rhyme.
She had long forgotten how it went.
All she could remember was the little boy who used to hum it softly to her as she fell asleep—his eyes as gentle as starlight.
That memory, faint yet vivid, made the dizziness and unease she had been feeling ever since she landed in Barcelona spike sharply.
She knew full well the root of her discomfort.
It all stemmed from the tall silhouette she glimpsed at the airport—that familiar back turned away, an arm wrapped protectively around a petite girl as they exited the terminal.
For a brief, breathless moment, she had truly thought that man was Preston.
Later that night, while Kervin was in the shower, Sherina opened Instagram.
Preston hadn’t replied to her message about the scarf.
What was that supposed to mean?
Was he giving her silent treatment?
With a cold smirk tugging at her lips, she scoffed, tossed her phone aside, and joined Kervin in the shower, indulging in a steamy lovers' bath.
For the next three full days, Sherina abandoned all her work and devoted herself entirely to accompanying Kervin as they toured nearly every corner of the city.
On the fourth night abroad, Kervin clutching a handful of postcards, wrapped his arms around Sherina with giddy excitement.
Grinning from ear to ear, he began writing exaggerated letters to his buddies back in America—eager to show off.
After Kervin fell asleep, Sherina—bored and restless—took a blank postcard for herself.
Her hand moved almost on its own, and wrote a name.
Preston.
She stared at the word in silence.
A second later, her face darkened. She crushed the card into a tight ball and tossed it in the trash.
Early morning of day six, Sherina made a casual call to a subordinate back in New York.
Trying to sound nonchalant, she asked, “Has Preston caused any scenes at the company lately? Like before—storming in just because he couldn’t reach me?”
There was an awkward pause on the other end.
“President Andrews... Mr. Silva hasn’t been to the office at all.”
Her grip on the phone tightened.
“Really?” she sneered. “At least he knows how to behave.”
She hung up and dove straight into the infinity pool, swimming furiously until her limbs gave out.
Only then did she drag herself back to the room.
Day seven.
Strolling through a foreign alleyway with Kervin’s hand in hers, they looked like the perfect honeymoon couple—laughing, carefree, radiant with sweetness.
They caught the eye of every street vendor they passed.
That was, until a man in an olive-green military coat appeared across the street.
Sherina’s eyes narrowed.
“Tch. So that’s why you’ve been so quiet lately, Preston. You actually bought a ticket and followed me here?”
Sneering, she stormed across the road, shoved her way up behind the man, and spun him around—only to freeze in place.
She had the wrong person.
This man looked nothing like Preston.
But the coat was the same one he used to wear all the time—the one she always claimed to hate.
That was enough to throw her into chaos.
Ignoring oncoming traffic, she dashed across the street recklessly, chasing after a shadow that had already disappeared.
Breathless, stunned, she suddenly realized her phone had been vibrating nonstop.
It was her Instagram girls’ group chat. Messages pouring in like a flood.
Irritated, she tapped in, ready to leave the group altogether—only to see a photo that made her vision go red with fury.
