Rafaell's mansion, perched on the hills away from the city, boasted classic architecture, so its Gothic towers stood out under the cloak of night. The dim light from the lamps along the driveway cast dancing shadows on the stone walls, creating an almost ethereal atmosphere. The night wind whispered ancient secrets among the branches of the centuries-old trees that lined the path.

Rafaell, stepping out of the car, cast a brief but discontented glance. His steps, firm and hurried, echoed in the night's silence. The briefcase in his hand seemed heavier than usual, not just because of its physical contents but also due to the thoughts tormenting him.

Crossing the entrance hall, a spacious and elegantly decorated area with a crystal chandelier hanging from the high ceiling, Rafaell barely noticed the presence of his faithful butler, Stewart.

"Sir..."

"Not now, Stewart," Rafaell interrupted, without slowing down. His voice, though young, carried a tired authority. He tossed the briefcase towards the butler without looking him in the eyes. "I'm going to my room. Bring dinner."

Stewart, a middle-aged man with a calm demeanor contrasting Rafaell's agitation, caught the briefcase in mid-air. He watched the young master of the house walk away, muttering something inaudible. With a sigh, Stewart spoke to himself, a mix of concern and surprise in his voice:

"The young master is trying. Who would have thought he would change so much in just a few months?"

Stewart, with silent steps, followed to Rafaell's room, carrying the young master's dinner. After two respectful knocks on the door, he entered the dimly lit room, illuminated only by the moonlight filtering through the curtains. The room, a sanctuary of paintings and art, reflected Rafaell's almost obsessive passion.

"Sir, your dinner," Stewart announced, delicately placing the tray on an antique table, capturing Rafaell's attention, who was lost in thought, seated by the window.

Rafaell, dressed in a white blouson, looked at Stewart, his youthful and almost childlike expression briefly revealing itself again.

"I had forgotten that face," Stewart commented, with a touch of nostalgia.

Rafaell crossed his arms, bracing for the conversation that was about to unfold.

"When we were at the Valentinov mansion, you always returned from school with that expression," Stewart began, reminiscing about the past. "Similar to when you argued with your father or your brother."

"I'm not upset," Rafaell retorted, keeping his arms crossed, but Stewart smiled slightly at this response. "And don’t mention my father or brother. I’d prefer to forget I share the same blood with them. I can’t wait to change my surname... By the way..." Rafaell raised his eyebrows, remembering something crucial.

"I thought you’d never ask, sir."

"How is she?" Rafaell’s voice softened a bit with the question.

"She’s sleeping."

"Sleeping?"

"Yes, sir. She fell asleep after a bath and didn’t even eat. She must be exhausted."

Rafaell nodded, getting up and walking to the table, about to start his dinner. But Stewart watched him with a serious expression.

"What? What is it?" Rafaell asked, sensing the tension in the butler's gaze.

"Is that all? You’re just going to nod and have dinner? You left without exchanging a word with the lady. You didn’t welcome her or assure her that this house is now hers. That’s no way to treat someone you intend to marry, young master."

Rafaell, surprised, put down his cutlery, speechless.

"And you couldn’t have done that?" he managed to argue after a moment.

"I wasn’t the one who took her from her home with a marriage proposal," Stewart replied firmly, suppressing Rafaell’s expressions of indignation. "The lady must be confused and frightened. And you’ve done nothing to welcome her as you should."

Rafaell sighed deeply.

"Why would she be scared? I’m not a monster."

"The rumors about you aren’t the best, young master." Rafaell blinked, indignant, but Stewart changed tactics. "Master Jasper?"

Rafaell fixed his gaze on Stewart, surprised to hear his middle name.

"Why did you bring this girl here?"

Rafaell hesitated, then stood up and walked to the window, the moonlight illuminating his face.

"I need her. More than that, I need the Castillo surname."

Stewart nodded, understanding, releasing a heavy sigh.

"But she doesn’t know that. The lady must have many questions now. A young man like you, taking on another family’s debts without apparent reason, and on top of that, proposing marriage." Rafaell listened attentively. "You’re not that impulsive young man anymore. You act with caution, plan carefully. And I know you will act in the best possible way with Miss Cielle. After all, she, innocent in everything, is being involved in your future plans, isn’t she?" Rafaell remained silent, and Stewart understood. "Moreover, she asked to speak with you."

Rafaell turned quickly. "She asked?"

"Yes, sir."

After a brief silence, Rafaell finally spoke:

"I will talk to her. The right and proper way. I’ll do it in the morning."

Stewart nodded, bowed respectfully, and left the room.

Cielle, still sleepy, let herself be enveloped by the strangeness of waking up in an unfamiliar environment. Night already reigned outside, a dark cloak dotted with stars, visible through the wide windows of the room. The tranquility of the place was a stark contrast to the tumultuous environment of her former home, where rest was often interrupted by loud voices and discord from her aunt and cousin.

Realizing the emptiness in her stomach, she murmured, "I'm hungry... what do I do?" The reality of being in a new place, with unknown rules, made her feel insecure. In her previous home, nighttime trips to the kitchen were a risky adventure, filled with tension and fear of being discovered and having to sleep in the attic as punishment. The memory of endless nights sent a chill down her spine.

Now, in the silence and peace of that room, the thought of exploring the mansion in search of food seemed both an adventure and a challenge.

"Would it be too presumptuous of me?" she questioned herself, her stomach growling as a reminder of her need. "Well, there shouldn't be anyone awake."

Decided, Cielle slid out of bed, her mother's dress fabric gliding smoothly over her skin. With bare feet, she approached the door, an imposing structure that opened to the dark and silent corridor of the mansion.

"I need to find the kitchen first," she whispered to herself, her voice almost lost in the vastness of the corridor.

She took a hesitant step out of the room, leaving behind the safety and familiarity of that small refuge. The sleeping mansion around her seemed like a labyrinth of shadows and silence.

Descending the staircase cautiously, Cielle entered the corridors of the lower floor with a mix of apprehension and curiosity. The paintings on the walls, though majestic, provoked a feeling of restlessness in her. After taking a few wrong turns, she finally found the kitchen, a vast and welcoming space.

Small and somewhat lost, she sought comfort in the simple: bread and milk. She knew how to boil it but hesitated, fearing to wake someone or disturb the kind servants who inhabited the mansion.

Cielle cut a generous piece of bread and ate it unpretentiously, accompanied by cold milk straight from the jug. She stood there, alternating between hurried bites and quick sips.

Suddenly, footsteps echoed towards the kitchen. She froze, eyes wide in shock, nearly choking. With the milk jug still in hand, she frantically looked for a hiding place, choosing to crouch under the table as the footsteps drew closer.