I woke up in the guest room at Claudia's house with a strange feeling of disorientation. For a blessed moment, I couldn't remember anything. I was just there, in a comfortable bed, with sunlight streaming through the window.
Then it all came back. An avalanche of horrible memories.
Rafael. Sofia. The wedding. The resignation. Everything.
I looked at the clock. 2:37 PM. I had slept for almost twelve hours.
My body ached as if I had been run over. In a sense, I had been. Emotionally run over, destroyed, left bleeding in the gutter.
I got up with effort, looking at my reflection in the mirror. Horror. Disheveled hair, eyes swollen from crying, pale skin. I looked like a corpse.
Appropriate, because I felt dead inside.
In the bathroom, I found a note from Claudia on the sink:
"Elena, my love,I had to go out to take care of some things. There's food in the fridge, please eat something. I'll be back at 6 p.m. If you need anything, call me.You are strong. You are loved. You will get through this.With love, Clau."
Loved. The word seemed strange. Alien. As if it no longer applied to me.
I took a long, hot shower, hoping it would burn away the pain. It didn't work. It never worked.
When I came out, wrapped in Claudia's fluffy bathrobe, my phone showed 47 missed notifications.
Messages from numbers I didn't recognize. Probably journalists. The scandal must be spreading—disinherited daughter, jilted fiancée, family drama. Valmont loved that kind of gossip.
A message from Rafael (from ANOTHER new number): "Please, Elena. Just listen to me. I love you. This doesn't change anything between us."
I blocked it without responding.
One from Sofia: "Thanks for not showing up yesterday. It would have ruined everything. For the first time, you did something right."
The audacity. The pure, psychopathic audacity.
I deleted it.
And a message from a number that made my blood run cold. Monica:
"Elena, we need to talk. About the fund. Maybe we can come to an agreement. Call me."
Agreement. She wanted to make an agreement now? After stealing everything?
I called. I couldn't resist.
"Elena!" Monica's voice was sugary. Fake. "I'm glad you called. I was worried about you."
"Cut the crap, Monica. What do you want?"
"What language!" She laughed, but there was no humor in it. "I see you're going through a difficult time. Understandable. So I'll be direct: I'm here to offer a solution."
"What solution?"
"You give up all claims to the trust fund. Officially. You sign documents acknowledging that the transfer was legitimate. And in exchange..." dramatic pause "I'll give you fifty thousand reais."
Fifty thousand. It was nothing compared to the nearly two million in the fund. Crumbs.
"You must be joking."
"I'm being generous." Her voice hardened. "Elena, you don't have a lawyer, you don't have money, you don't have anything. Even if you try to sue, you'll lose. And you'll spend what you don't have on the lawsuit. Fifty thousand is more than you'll get any other way."
"It's a bribe."
"It's a practical solution," she corrected. "Think about it: fifty thousand will get you a few months. Time to stabilize. Find a new job. Move on."
"And you get almost two million without a legal challenge."
"Exactly. Everyone wins."
"Except me."
"You gain freedom from prolonged legal battles," Monica argued. "Elena, be realistic. You lost. Accept it, take the money, and rebuild your life somewhere else. Far from Valmont. Far from us."
Far away. She wanted to pay me to leave. To disappear.
"I'll think about it."
"You have until Wednesday. After that, the offer is off." Her voice was cold again. "And Elena? I advise you to accept. Because if you don't, I'll make sure you never work in Valmont again. I'll make sure no one will hire you, rent you an apartment, or give you credit. I'll make your life impossible until you leave anyway. Without any money."
"You can't do that."
"I can. And I will." She said it with absolute certainty. "Your father has a lot of influence in this city. And I have a lot of influence over him. So yes, I can make your life miserable. The choice is yours: fifty thousand and freedom, or nothing and a war you can't win."
She hung up before I could respond.
I stood there, phone in hand, processing.
Monica was right. She could do that. Dad had connections all over Valmont. One whisper from him, and I'd be persona non grata everywhere.
Fifty thousand was an insult. But it was also more than zero.
But to accept would be to admit defeat. It would be to say they won.
And fuck them if they won.
But what could I do? No money, no lawyer, no support...
Nothing. I couldn't do anything at all.
The helplessness burned more than the betrayal.
I spent the rest of the afternoon in a downward spiral. I tried looking for jobs online. All the decent positions required experience I didn't have or training I hadn't completed.
I tried to calculate how long fifty thousand would last. Six months if I was frugal. Four if I wanted to live like a human being.
I tried to imagine life outside Valmont. Starting from scratch in a strange city, where no one knew me. Where I wouldn't be "that Elena Moreira who went crazy."
I tried. And I failed. Because I couldn't imagine any future. Everything was empty, gray, shapeless.
At 5 p.m., I couldn't stand being inside anymore. I sent Claudia a message saying I was going for a drive. She replied, concerned, but let it go.
I got my car from the parking lot where I had left it. I drove without a destination, just... driving.
And then it started to rain.
Not a gentle rain. A full-blown storm. Lightning lit up the sky, thunder shook the earth, water fell in curtains so dense that I could barely see through the windshield.
Perfect. Even the sky was crying.
I ended up in a part of Valmont I didn't know well. The oldest commercial district, historic buildings, expensive restaurants. The kind of place my dad used to go to.
The kind of place I would never belong again.
I parked and turned off the engine. Rain hammered on the roof of the car, deafening.
And then, I don't know why, I got out.
I left the car, stepped out into the rain, and just... walked.
I didn't run. I didn't try to protect myself. I just walked, letting the water soak me completely. Hair sticking to my face, clothes clinging to my skin, shoes filling with water.
But I didn't care. Because there was nothing else to care about.
I saw my reflection in a shop window. A soaked woman, empty eyes, defeated posture. A ghost. I was a ghost.
"Excuse me?" A male voice came from behind. "Are you okay?"
I didn't turn around. I didn't have the energy.
"I'm fine." My voice sounded dead even to my own ears.
"You don't look fine." Footsteps approaching. "You look like you're drowning while standing."
The observation was so accurate that I almost laughed.
"Maybe I am."
"Can I help you?"
"Unless you can go back in time and fix my entire life, no." I finally turned to face him.
And my heart stopped.
He was... handsome wasn't the right word. Handsome was common. This man was something else. Tall—very tall, maybe 6'3". Broad shoulders under an obviously expensive suit that even when soaked screamed money. Wet black hair falling over his forehead. Strong jaw, straight nose, well-defined lips.
But it was his eyes that caught my attention. Dark—almost black—and intense in a way that made you feel like he could see right through you. Through all your lies, all your masks, straight to the broken soul underneath.
"I can't turn back time," he said in a deep, slightly hoarse voice. "But I can offer you an umbrella."
Only then did I notice he was holding one. Large, black, protective.
"I'm already soaked. A little too late."
"Then let's both get soaked." And he simply closed the umbrella, exposing himself to the rain as well.
The gesture was so absurd that I actually laughed. Briefly, but genuinely.
"Are you crazy?"
"Probably." He smiled, and it was a smile that reached his eyes. Gentle but with a sharp edge. "Or maybe I just don't like to see a beautiful woman crying alone in the rain."
"I'm not crying."
"No?" He looked closer. "Hard to tell with all this rain."
Touché.
"What do you want?" I asked, too tired for kindness.
"Originally? I was going to dinner." He pointed to an expensive restaurant behind him. "But it seems more interesting to find out why you're having a dramatic movie moment in the middle of a storm."
"It's none of your business."
"True." He agreed easily. "But I'm curious. And you seem to need someone to talk to. Or at least someone to stand in the rain with you so you don't look completely insane."
Despite everything, I smiled again.
"Do you always approach strangers in the rain?"
"Only the interesting ones." His eyes sparkled. "And you definitely seem interesting. In a 'my life is falling apart, but I'm still standing' kind of way, which is the best kind."
"How do you know my life is falling apart?"
"Happy people don't stand in the rain at six o'clock on a Sunday afternoon staring at shop windows as if they want to disappear." He moved slightly closer. "So. Breakup? Death in the family? Existential crisis?"
"All of the above."
"Shit." He whistled softly. "Okay, that's bad. You need a drink. Or several."
"I can't afford a drink."
The words came out before I could stop them. An admission of poverty to a complete stranger.
But he didn't seem surprised or judgmental.
"Then it's a good thing I can." He gestured toward the restaurant. "Come on. You're shaking, I'm starting to shake, and we both look like idiots standing in the rain."
"I don't know you."
"Enzo." He held out his hand. "Enzo Navarro. Local businessman, confirmed bachelor, and apparently savior of damsels in distress."
I looked at his outstretched hand. All logic screamed not to go. He was a stranger. He could be dangerous. He might want something.
But also... what did I have to lose?
I had already lost everything.
"Elena." I took his hand. It was warm, firm, anchored. "Elena Moreira. Ex-fiancée, ex-daughter, ex-employee, and currently... nothing."
"Nothing is underestimated." He squeezed my hand gently. "Nothing means potential for anything."
"Are you always this philosophical?"
"Only when wet and intrigued." He guided me to the restaurant. "Come on. At least we'll be wet and intrigued in a place with a heater."
The restaurant was exactly the kind of place I expected. Expensive, elegant, with a maître d' who looked at our soaked clothes with barely concealed horror.
"Mr. Navarro..." he began.
"Private table, Mario. In the back. And towels. Lots of towels." Enzo didn't wait for an answer, he simply guided me through the restaurant, ignoring curious glances.
The private table was set apart, with a partition that gave the illusion of intimacy. Enzo offered me a chair, waited for me to sit down, then sat across from me.
Mario appeared with towels and menus.
"Wine?" he asked, professional despite clearly finding the situation strange.
"Yes. Your best red. And..." Enzo looked at me. "Do you eat meat?"
"Yes?"
"Two medium-rare steaks. And the shrimp appetizer. And dessert. All of them." He handed the menus back without even opening them. "Thank you, Mario."
Mario disappeared, leaving us alone.
"Do you always order for other people?"
"Only when they seem to be in survival mode and unable to make decisions." He leaned back, studying me. "So. Elena Moreira. Tell me. What happened?"
And maybe it was the absurdity of the situation. Maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe it was because he was a stranger and I would never see him again.
But I told him.
Everything.
Rafael, Sofia, the illness, the canceled wedding, my family kicking me out, the stolen money, the dismissal, everything.
He listened in silence, only nodding occasionally, his expression neutral but his eyes growing darker.
When I finished, Mario returned with wine. Enzo filled my glass to the brim.
"Drink."
"He ordered kindly.
I drank. It was good. Probably very expensive. I didn't care.
"So," Enzo finally said. "To recap: your fiancé left you for his supposedly dying half-sister. Your family disinherited you and stole your inheritance. They got you fired. And now they're offering you crumbs to leave quietly."
"Basically."
"And you're considering accepting?"
"I have no choice."
"You always have a choice." He leaned in. "Elena, can I be brutally honest?"
"Honesty would be refreshing."
"Your family is toxic. Your ex-fiancé is a manipulative jerk. And they all treated you like disposable trash." He didn't sugarcoat it. "But you know what? They underestimated you."
"How so?"
"Because you're still here. After all that, you're still standing. Soaked, broken, but standing." His eyes were intense. "And that says something about you. Something they didn't see. Strength they didn't know you had."
"I don't feel strong."
"No one does when they're at rock bottom." He took a sip of wine. "But that's when you find out who you really are. Not at the top where everything is easy. But at the bottom where you have to dig to get out."
"What if I can't dig?"
"Then I'll lend you a shovel." Simple. As if it were obvious.
I looked at this stranger—this Enzo Navarro—who had appeared out of nowhere and was... what? Offering help? Why?
"Why do you care? You don't even know me."
"True." He agreed. "But I recognize the look. I've been there. I've been at rock bottom, with nothing, thinking there was no way out. And someone helped me." So now? I'm moving on."
"You've been down there?"
"Son of poor immigrants," he said unashamedly. "I grew up with nothing. I built everything from scratch. I know exactly what it's like to feel like the whole world is against you."
"But now you're..." I gestured vaguely at the expensive suit, the restaurant, everything.
"Successful. Yes." He smiled. "But I haven't forgotten where I came from. And I haven't forgotten who helped me when I needed it."
The food arrived. It looked amazing. But my stomach was too tight.
Enzo noticed.
"Eat. At least a few bites. You need energy."
"For what?"
"For what comes next." He cut a piece of meat, eating calmly. "Elena, I'm going to make you a proposal. It's bizarre, but hear me out before you reject it."
My heart raced.
"What proposal?"
"Marry me."
I choked on my wine.
"WHAT?"
"Marry me." He repeated calmly. "A marriage contract. Temporary. With mutual benefits."
"You're crazy."
"Maybe." He leaned in. "But listen: Your family destroyed you. Your ex cheated on you. They think you're finished. But what if you came back? Not as broken Elena Moreira. But as Elena Navarro. Married to a billionaire. Powerful. Untouchable."
My mind was spinning.
"Why would you do that?"
"Two reasons." He raised one finger. "One: your family, especially Monica and your father, have blocked me in business for years. They see me as 'new money,' not good enough for their circles. A marriage to Augusto Moreira's daughter? It would give me access that money alone cannot buy."
"So it's revenge."
"Partially." He raised a second finger. "Two: you need help. And I'm in a position to help. Win-win."
"That's insane."
"It's strategic." He corrected himself. "Think about it: you gain resources, protection, power to get revenge. I gain social access and a beautiful wife for events. We both win."
"And when it's over? When you get tired of it?"
"One year. A one-year contract. Then we divorce amicably. You keep what you've gained, I keep my reputation. Clean. Simple."
Simple. Nothing about it was simple.
"You're suggesting a business marriage."
"Exactly." He didn't deny it. "No complicated emotions. No unrealistic expectations. Just... partnership. With mutual benefits."
"That's crazy."
"It's an opportunity," he retorted. "Elena, what do you have to lose? You've already lost everything. This would give you a chance to rebuild. To get revenge. To prove to everyone who underestimated you that they were wrong."
He was right. What did I have to lose?
Nothing. Literally nothing.
But marry a stranger? For revenge?
It was crazy.
It was absurd.
It was...
Tempting. Dangerously tempting.
"I need to think about it," I finally said.
"Of course." He pulled a business card from his soaked pocket. It was wet but legible. "My number. Call me when you decide. But Elena?"
"Yes?"
"Don't take too long. Your time with this fifty thousand offer ends on Wednesday. And I have a feeling Monica won't be kind if you refuse without a plan B."
How did he know so much? How did he seem to read the situation so perfectly?
"Who are you really?" I whispered.
"Someone who recognizes a broken soul when he sees one." He smiled, but there was something dark about him. "And someone who knows how to use destruction to rebuild something better."
We ate in relative silence after that. He didn't press me. He just made small talk about Valmont, about art (when I mentioned my incomplete college education, he was genuinely interested), about everything and nothing.
When we finished, he paid—probably a fortune—without batting an eye.
"I'll take you home," he announced.
"It's not necessary..."
"Elena." He looked at me. "You're exhausted, emotional, and driving now would be stupid. I'll take you. It's not a request."
I didn't argue. I didn't have the energy.
He took me to his car—a black Mercedes, of course—and opened the door for me. Inside, the heater turned on immediately.
"Address?"
I gave him Claudia's.
We drove in silence. The rain had slowed to a drizzle. The streets were almost empty.
When we arrived, he parked but didn't turn off the engine.
"Elena." He turned to face me completely. "I know this sounds crazy. I know you don't know me, that you have no reason to trust me. But I promise you: If you accept, I'll give you the resources to destroy everyone who destroyed you. I'll give you power. I'll give you revenge."
"Why?" I asked again. "Why do you really care?"
He was silent for a long moment. Then:
"Because I've been where you are. And no one helped me." I had to dig my way out alone. And it was hell." His eyes were dark with memory. "So now that I can help someone else avoid that hell? Why not?"
It was true. I could see it in his eyes, complicated, but true.
"I'll think about it," I repeated.
"That's all I ask." He leaned over and kissed my cheek gently. A simple gesture, but one that sent warmth through me. "Think about it. And call me."
I got out of the car, watching him drive away. The Mercedes disappearing into the night.
Enzo Navarro. A mysterious stranger who appeared in the storm offering... what? Salvation? Revenge? Madness?
All of the above?
When I entered the house, Claudia was waiting, clearly anxious.
"Elena!" Thank God! I was worried! You're soaking wet! What happened?"
"I met someone," I said, my voice sounding strange even to me. "Someone who made an interesting proposal."
"What kind of proposal?"
I looked at her. At the only person who still cared.
"The kind that will either save me... or destroy me completely. And I don't know which yet."