"Yeah, I noticed she’s different around Trish," Joey said beside him.

"Hmmm..." Winn hummed, eyes still tracking Sylvia’s flight. The smooth purr of an engine approached. A Lamborghini glided into the driveway.

Sharona stepped out.

"She’s also different around that one," Joey muttered, nodding toward Sharona.

"I’m gonna go lay down," Joey said, the exhaustion settling back into his features. The grief didn’t vanish; it just retreated into the corners of his eyes. "Thanks for letting me stay here, but you really don’t have to babysit me anymore. I’m good."

Winn turned toward him. "I’ll be the judge of that."

"This is not something I can get over, Winn."

"I know," Winn said simply. "I’ll be here all the same." He meant it.

Joey smiled faintly. He started toward the front door, and Winn fell into step beside him. The house loomed before them. "I have to go back to work," Joey murmured.

"Anything you need, man. Whatever you need."

Meanwhile, chaos brewed again near the garden path. Trish had finally caught Sylvia by the arm. Both women were breathing hard, their hair slightly disheveled.

"I thought we were friends!" Trish huffed.

"I wasn’t avoiding you, I was avoiding my life!"

"Oh, really?!" Trish shot back, crossing her arms dramatically.

"I was going to call you back!" Sylvia protested, brushing her hair out of her face.

"After the apocalypse?"

"Maybe!" Sylvia snapped, then immediately softened, breaking into an embarrassed laugh. "Okay, fine, I messed up. Happy now?"

"Ladies?" Sharona’s voice sliced through the bickering. She stood at the foot of the terrace.

Sylvia turned around and froze. Her spine straightened. "What are you doing here?" she asked. Her eyes, wide and unguarded a second ago, now burned with disbelief and fury.

Sharona, framed in the sunlight tilted her head ever so slightly. She was immaculate. "I came to see you," she said evenly. "Check on you."

"No, you didn’t." Her hands shook at her sides, and she balled them into fists to hide it. "Go away."

Sharona blinked, feigning confusion. "Sylvia, I don’t understand why you’re being like this," she said, stepping forward a little. "I am your friend."

Sylvia’s eyes snapped up. "You are not my anything. I don’t know you. I don’t want you around me or my brother. Get out!"

Sharona’s gaze hardened into ice. "Think about what you’re doing, Syl," she said, trying to keep her voice calm.

Before Sylvia could answer, Trish’s voice rang out behind her, dripping with attitude and protective fury. "Did you not hear her the first time? She said scram!"

Sharona turned slowly, and looked Trish up and down. Her lips curved into a mocking smile. "Aren’t you the other stripper? Ivy’s little colleague."

Trish’s brow arched. The corner of her mouth twitched. "Are you begging to have your pretty curls messed up?" she asked, stepping forward.

Sharona gave a soft, cruel laugh. "I’m not even going to disturb my pearls for you, darling." She glanced at Sylvia again. "This is who you hang out with now?"

"Get the fuck out!" Trish snapped.

There was no winning this scene—not with Winn in the house. So she retreated.

She made it to her car. The second the door shut behind her, the facade dropped. Her fingers gripped the steering wheel. Anger simmered beneath the surface. Sylvia’s rejection was dangerous. It meant loyalty was shifting.

She pulled out her phone, her thumb swiping fast through her contacts until she found the name she wanted. "Tom," she hissed the moment he picked up.

There was a pause on the other end, then Tom’s familiar, measured tone: "What’s wrong?"

Sharona stared at the house, where Sylvia and Trish still stood—a pair of unlikely allies. Her lips parted slowly, and she let out a bitter sigh. "We have a problem."

Back on the terrace, Sylvia leaned against the railing.

Sylvia turned to Trish. "Thank you." Her shoulders dropped as if the simple words carried the weight of everything she’d been holding back for weeks—fear, guilt, anger, and exhaustion. The late afternoon light bathed her face, highlighting the shadows beneath her eyes. She looked worn-out, emotionally drained.

Trish waved her hand dismissively. "You’re welcome. But seriously, what’s the deal between you guys?" she asked, glancing toward the direction Sharona’s Lamborghini had gone.

"She’s not what she seems." Sylvia’s gaze went distant for a moment.

Trish raised a brow. "Right. So, you’re going to tell me why you haven’t been picking my calls now? I’ve been calling like I owe you money."

Sylvia rubbed her arms. "I’m not in a good place, Trish." She walked slowly toward the railing again. "With Diane dying, I feel... terrible. I wanted her out of the way so I could have Joey, but not like this." Her eyes glistened as she pressed her lips together to keep them from trembling. "She didn’t deserve that."

Trish stepped closer and placed a hand on Sylvia’s shoulder, grounding her. "Oh, baby," she said gently, her usual sass replaced by warmth. "Come on. It’s not your fault." She squeezed lightly. "And if you’re going to be with Joey, everything will work itself out. Just don’t rush him, okay? He’s still in the dark cloud of grief."

Sylvia shook her head, her throat tightening. "I don’t intend on doing anything. My obsession with Joey was... unhealthy. I can’t go back to that. It almost cost me everything." She turned to Trish then, managing a faint, watery smile. "So... you heard from Ivy yet?"

The question made Trish freeze for a fraction of a second, but she covered it quickly, brushing her curls back. "Uh... no... no." She tried to sound casual, but the hesitation in her tone betrayed her. Sylvia caught it immediately—her instincts were too sharp to miss it.

Sylvia tilted her head slightly, studying her friend’s face. "My brother is a mess," she said quietly. "He’s breaking, and I don’t know how to help him. I hate that I can’t fix it." She sighed and started walking toward the house.

Trish followed beside her, keeping her tone light to cut through the heaviness. "Just be patient, honey. Everything will be fine. Trust me."