Prologue

The night deepened as the party at the Caravaggio Hotel began to wind down. Pearce's elite and selective guests, mostly, had departed, leaving a select few on the upper floor.

Among them, Rafaell Jasper Valentinov was a figure impossible to overlook. Gliding through the extensive corridor, he seemed to float, each step taken with unshakeable serenity. Now nicknamed “Golden Boy” and “Hawk Eyes,” Rafaell exuded sharp intelligence and meticulous caution. Despite his cool, reserved demeanor, his impeccable reputation spread throughout Pearce, overshadowing echoes of a past he preferred to forget.

His presence, though intimidating, commanded admiration. His sharp, probing eyes attracted curious glances, but the golden ring on his finger was a constant reminder of his commitment.

“How much longer must we stay, Isaac?” Rafaell’s voice broke the hallway’s silence.

Stopping in front of ornate doors, he awaited a response from his secretary, Isaac, a young man with an optimistic demeanor.

“Long enough to be polite, then an excuse to leave. Your wife is waiting at home, isn’t she?” Isaac suggested with a smile.

Rafaell raised an eyebrow. “Since when is my wife an excuse?”

“It’s Christmas Eve, sir. Why not make that excuse a reality?” Isaac proposed.

Rafaell pondered briefly, adjusting his suit buttons. “Let's go in. Twenty minutes.”

As he opened the door, voices flooded the corridor. Rafaell hesitated, standing in the threshold. A heated argument echoed inside.

“You’re drunk! Stop talking nonsense!”

“I’m serious! Cielle and I...” A slurred voice, belonging to a man named Felippe, stood out. “She was in love with me. She was lonely, I felt pity.”

Behind Rafaell, Isaac watched worriedly. “Sir?”

“Enough! Rafaell could arrive at any moment,” a woman's voice cautioned.

“So what? It’s not like he truly loves Cielle. Besides, she still looks at me with those desiring eyes...”

Hearing this, Rafaell felt a surge of resolve. “Seems we'll stay less than twenty minutes, Isaac.”

Entering the room, Rafaell immediately captured the attention of the six occupants. He knew each one, their names and stories. He wouldn’t allow them to speak of his wife, even if only in name, like this.

Realizing Rafaell’s presence, Felippe straightened up, alarmed. Rafaell advanced, each second marked by the ticking of the watch on his wrist.

“You’re right, Felippe. I was spoiled, but I’ve learned some hard lessons.”

“Rafaell, I was just...” Felippe stuttered, backing away.

“How many lessons have you learned, Felippe?” Rafaell asked, his calm tone masking the rising tension.

Before Felippe could reply, Rafaell acted. His movements were quick and precise, the room erupted into chaos. Isaac stood still, anticipating the inevitable. Women screamed, men tried to intervene, but Rafaell was determined to teach Felippe a lesson, regardless of the consequences.

Chapter 1 - I'm not a lady

In a secluded corner of the small yet grandiose Pearce, stood a mansion that defied time with its magnificence. Surrounded by meticulously groomed gardens and woods whispering ancient tales, the residence of the old Castillo family, now home to the Burroughs, dominated the landscape as a relic of an aristocratic past. With towers piercing the gray sky and baroque architecture, the mansion exuded a timeless elegance, despite the echoes of an era slowly fading away.

Inside, opulence reigned supreme. Each corridor, each hall, was adorned with rich tapestries, carved furniture, and imposing portraits of ancestors. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, casting light over whispered conversations and the muffled footsteps of the numerous servants who moved like faithful shadows.

In contrast to this grandeur, Cielle Castillo's room, located in a less frequented wing of the mansion, was an oasis of simplicity. Spacious, yes, but devoid of the excesses that marked the rest of the residence. The walls were adorned only with a few subtle paintings, and the furniture, though of good quality, was noticeably more modest.

Cielle, a young woman of serene beauty and calm gaze, sat by the window, engrossed in her studies. The soft light of dusk caressed her kind face, highlighting the natural elegance that radiated from her, an elegance that did not depend on adornments or fashion. Her clothes, though fine, had an air of bygone times, as if she belonged more to the world of books in front of her than to the opulence surrounding her.

In the midst of the almost tangible silence, the distant sound of a car arriving shattered the stillness. Cielle looked up, peering out the window. She then saw her uncle, aunt, and cousin Elisa alighting from the vehicle. Elisa, in particular, cast a glance her way - a look laden with malice and disdain. Cielle felt a subtle shiver run down her spine, a brief but undeniable disturbance in her usual tranquility.

The mansion, with its secrets and stories, seemed to breathe around Cielle, a silent witness to the life unfolding within its domain. And as night began to fall, wrapping the world outside, young Castillo remained there, a solitary figure against the vast backdrop of an era that was, bit by bit, bidding farewell.

As twilight intertwined with the mansion's shadows, Cielle Castillo, in her haven of simplicity, set aside the magazine on Pearce's most advantageous textile factories and turned to a book of poems. Her voice, soft and melodious, filled the room as she recited the verses to herself, each word a bridge to distant worlds and deep feelings.

“We are bound, you and I. Waiting hand-tied for freedom in each other." she whispered. “We search desperately, like the drowning gasping for breath. We do not find it, and death is slow, enduring, reminding us of all we could have been had we been just a bit more virtuous. Cry, it's alright. It does no harm to walk through the valley of shadows, even for a short while; one must be blinded by darkness to learn to recognize the light and its purity.” Cielle turned the page. “Sing, for there are those who listen. Here I am, see, and I do not give up, for such is my heart, always recognizing the best that can come from you. I am bound to you, by the tie of an unbreakable affection, and we can endure pain, as long as there is freedom."

For Cielle, poetry was an escape, a silent dialogue with authors who spoke to her soul.

Then, the sound of discreet knocks on the door interrupted the harmony of her solitary moment. The door gently opened, revealing the figure of Abby, the maid serving Cielle's chambers. Abby's expression was downcast, a cloud of worry hovering over her ordinary yet kind features.

Through Abby's eyes, the affection she held for Cielle was evident. There was an almost maternal tenderness in her gaze, a concern that transcended the bounds of a mere employer-servant relationship. Abby, in many ways, had been a constant presence in Cielle's life, witnessing her growth and changes, perhaps knowing her better than many of her own blood.

With visible effort, Abby spoke, her trembling voice breaking the quiet of the room: "Miss Cielle, your uncle Ottoni and aunt Cora are waiting for you in the tea room." There was an unspoken element in Abby's words, a hesitation that revealed more than she intended.

Cielle, with her keen perception, noticed Abby's unease, but couldn't fully decipher its source. She nodded in response, a gentle gesture, but her mind was already weaving possibilities. Why would her uncle and aunt be waiting for her? And why did Abby seem so troubled?

Closing her book of poems, Cielle stood up, her reflection briefly captured in the window glass before getting lost in the growing shadows of the room. With a final look at Abby, who still seemed hesitant to say more, Cielle made her way out of the room, leaving behind the comfortable solitude and facing the uncertainty of what was to come.

Within the opulently decorated living room of the Castillo mansion, the air was thick with tension. Cielle's uncles, seated rigidly on the luxurious upholstery, resembled figures from an old painting - imposing, distant, and unapproachable. Elisa, the cousin, mirrored her mother Tia Cora's condescending arrogance, both figures from a proud lineage, yet corrupted by vanity and greed.

"Sit down, Cielle. We need to talk," said Ottoni, his voice firm, echoing authority.

With a composure that belied her inner turmoil, Cielle obliged. Elisa, with a look of disdain, was compelled to leave after a brief attempt to stay.

"You will soon finish your studies, Cielle. Reaching maturity, you know what this means, don't you?" began Ottoni, staring at her with a cold intensity.

"Yes, uncle. I know," Cielle responded, aware of the sad legacy awaiting her: debts, a squandered estate, and a name tarnished with shame.

"Your mother, my sister, left behind a great trail of shame," continued Ottoni, with a tone of disapproval that tightened Cielle's heart. Cora, beside him, expressed her disdain with a grimace.

"This stained the honor of the Castillo family. I even took my wife’s surname to try not to be spoken of in the business world here in Pearce."

"Oh, dear..." Aunt Cora used her forced charm on the uncle. Cielle noticed it.

"Unfortunately," the uncle continued, "I couldn't do much. I took you in because you were not to blame for your mother's mistakes. However, your father caused great chaos. Debts upon debts. After all, I didn't pay them myself, how could you?"

"I will pay," Cielle interrupted her uncle, determined.

"Child, that doesn't matter now."

"Uncle, I have a plan. A seven-year plan."

“That's irrelevant,” Ottoni retorted, disregarding the interruption. "Cielle, it doesn't matter. Your debts, I mean, your parents' debts have been bought."

Cielle, confused, blinked. "What? I don't understand."

Her uncle took a breath, searching for the right words.

"Cielle, pay close attention to what I'm about to tell you. A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity has struck us. A young man has offered to pay off the debts of the Castillo name. All of them," Ottoni explained.

“That is…”

“I know, it's...” the uncle tried to follow Cielle's thought, but it wasn't what she had in mind.

"...absurd."

The uncle reacted in surprise.

"Why would someone pay off someone else’s debts? In exchange for what?"

"In exchange for your hand in marriage. In return for taking on all your debts and your entire estate with no business intentions, you must marry him."

"Someone... offered this? It’s offensive," Cielle said, her voice tinged with disbelief and disgust. Cora, minimally interested, poured herself more tea.

“What did you say in response, uncle? That something like this is…”

"He also offered a dowry," Ottoni added.

"What?" Cielle could hardly believe what she was hearing.

"In exchange for the debts, the shamed Castillo name, and a favorable dowry, he only asked for your hand in marriage."

The uncle looked to Aunt Cora for affirmation. "It’s a wonderful deal. You will marry Rafaell Valentinov," declared Ottoni.

"No," Cielle refused firmly. “I don’t need anyone to pay my debts, nor do I need to marry. Uncle, I can…”

Cora, irritated by Cielle's resistance, stood up and threw her hot tea at her, which Cielle instinctively blocked with her arm.

"Don't talk back to your uncle!" reprimanded Cora.

A suffocating silence followed. Cielle, with her burning arm, held back her tears.

"Rafaell proposed that we cut ties with you," Ottoni continued calmly. "You will leave tomorrow."

"Me? Leave? But... what about this house? My mother’s house..." Cielle asked, her voice trembling.

"This house is ours," Cora declared coldly. "And don't mention your mother again. It's disgusting."

"The ceremony will be held at his house. We will attend, don't worry," concluded Ottoni. "He's not someone suspicious, he’s a Valentinov. A renegade, but still."

"Of course, he doesn't come close to his brother." Cora laughed exaggeratedly.

"Of course not, his brother is a man recognized by businesses all over the world," the uncle also laughed now. "Imagine the luck if our Elisa met him, right? I think they would be great together.”

The two delighted in the idea, while Cielle watched it all, trying to cope with the news she had just received.

She then stood up, shaken, as Ottoni handed her the letter with the location of Rafaell's house. "It's practically in the middle of nowhere," Cora mocked.

"What if I refuse?" Cielle challenged.

"It’s better not to think about that, dear." Cora picked up a strand of Cielle's hair. "You wouldn't want to know what I had planned for you. Going to language school? College? Never. You would be trapped here forever. And don’t even try to run away, because I would find you and make your life a living hell."

Cielle fought back tears.

"But why the long face? You've struck it lucky. After all, you don't know what awaits you," she leaned in close to Cielle's ear. "So, be a good wife. Know how to obey properly unless you want to end up without a roof over your head. And don't come back here, this time, you won't spend days in the attic, but years."

Cielle finally left the room, passing by Abby, who was crying silently, and Elisa, who smiled with satisfaction. "They say your future husband is very handsome... but he's like a fruitless tree. Rotten," taunted Elisa.

Running to her room, Cielle locked the door behind her, falling to her knees. There were no tears, just a dry sob, the lament of a soul refusing to break under the weight of a cruel fate.

The young man paced back and forth in his spacious office, his manner calm, as if he did not want to betray his thoughts. His secretary, Isaac, and the butler, Stewart, watched him anxiously as their employer shook his head with such serenity.

Occasionally, Rafaell would direct his gaze towards the large window in his office. Then, he stopped.

“It’s past ten in the morning,” Rafaell finally said, prompting Isaac and Stewart to breathe a sigh of relief. “She hasn’t arrived yet... Isaac?”

“Yes, sir?”

“The dowry was paid properly, correct?”

“Yes, sir. Five days ago, exactly.”

“Could they have backed out?” Rafaell crossed his arms, thoughtful. “Or maybe, she did?”

“But they affirmed that the young lady was in agreement, sir, didn’t they?” Stewart reminded.

“Yes, that's what they said. But tell me, Isaac... those two, did they seem trustworthy to you?”

“Not in the slightest, sir.”

Then, Rafaell suddenly became serious.

“But what…” he leaned closer to the window.

Down below, in the garden, the young Cielle was accompanied by the servants. She was barefoot, holding a handbag and her shoes. She was alone.