Chapter 5

VALERIA

Stepping into the house where I had spent my childhood, I felt nostalgia settle over me like a familiar weight I had never fully escaped. Everything still looked exactly the same as it had two years ago when I left home, as if life here had continued without interruption while I had been busy breaking apart elsewhere.

“Come on,” Xavier Jiménez Aguirre urged, pulling me gently out of my thoughts. “They are waiting for us in the study room.”

I followed him in silence, my footsteps quiet against the polished floor as we climbed the stairs. We stopped outside the familiar study door, and after a couple of knocks, Xavier pushed it open. We stepped inside together.

The first person my eyes landed on was my mother, Camila Torres Beltrán, sitting with her usual immaculate presence. She wore a white dress that looked like it belonged on a runway, possibly Versace, tailored so perfectly it almost felt like it belonged more to a mannequin than a human body. Her hair was pulled tightly into a bun, not a strand out of place, and I could not help but wonder how she endured such precision without ever showing discomfort. Silver accessories rested on her wrists and neck, each one carrying the quiet weight of wealth that never needed to announce itself.

My gaze shifted toward the wall of awards mounted behind her, a silent declaration of everything this family had built. My father’s section was nearly overflowing with accolades, each one carefully placed as though even success had to obey order. Xavier’s side was already full, structured and impressive in a way that matched everything about him. My mother had her share too, mostly tied to charity foundations and elite social contributions that always looked effortless from the outside. My own space, however, remained painfully empty, a visual reminder of absence, as if I had never been expected to achieve anything worth displaying.

“Stop staring like you are lost and take a seat,” my father, Thiago Jiménez Aguirre, instructed firmly, his voice calm but carrying the authority that had always defined him.

I obeyed and sat down, slowly lifting my gaze until it met his. “Hello, Dad,” I greeted, forcing a small smile that barely held together under the pressure in the room.

“Have you finally overcome that madness?” he asked, his tone measured and unreadable.

I glanced at Xavier, seated beside me, and he gave me a subtle nod, silently urging me forward.

“All I can say is that I am sorry for abandoning my family,” I began carefully, my voice steady despite the heaviness in my chest. “Even though it often felt like I was the one who was abandoned. But I still stand by my decision to reject a marriage to a stranger.”

“And how did marrying someone you knew work out for you?” he countered without hesitation, his expression calm but sharp beneath the surface. “Two years into the marriage and you are already divorced.”

His hand gestured briefly toward Camila Torres Beltrán. “I did not know your mother before I married her,” he continued. “We met at the altar for the first time, and we are still together.” He leaned forward slightly, fingers interlocked. “It is not just about familiarity, Valeria Jiménez Aguirre. It is about compatibility. And you and that man Emiliano Navarro Reyes were never compatible.”

I bit my lip, forcing myself not to react. His illness made every argument feel heavier than it should have been, as though even disagreement had become a form of cruelty.

“Why did no one tell me you were sick?” I asked finally, my voice tightening as I fought back emotion.

His gaze flicked toward Xavier.

“She needed to know now that she is back,” Xavier replied calmly, accepting responsibility without hesitation.

My father returned his attention to me, his expression firm yet faintly vulnerable. “Do not turn my sickness into something dramatic,” he said quietly. “I still have time left.”

I looked away, swallowing hard.

“Look at me,” he ordered.

I obeyed again, lifting my head to meet his gaze. Before I could prepare myself for anything gentle, he placed a thick document on the table and pushed it toward me.

“This is a business that has always been passed down to the female heirs in this family,” he explained. “Your grandmother handled it exceptionally well.”

Curious despite myself, I opened the file and flipped through the pages slowly. “A real estate company?” I murmured, confusion rising. “How did I not know that Grandma ran Comfort Zone?”

“It requires both our signatures to transfer ownership to you,” he said firmly, “and I will only sign if you are done with that man Emiliano Navarro Reyes.”

“He is a closed chapter,” I said immediately. “I am done with him.”

“I know nothing about real estate,” I admitted, feeling the weight of something far larger than I had expected settling onto my shoulders. Even with a business degree, the industry itself felt unfamiliar, distant, almost foreign.

“Xavier knows nothing either,” my father replied. “And I am too unwell to train you.”

Xavier gave a quiet laugh, though I could feel my tension rising again.

“She would be better suited for charity work,” Xavier suggested lightly.

“Blackheart,” my father interrupted, his tone sharpening instantly.

The room went still.

“Damián Ibarra Cruz is the one who will guide you,” he continued. “I have already spoken with him, and he has agreed to mentor you for two months.”

Stepping into the house where I had spent my childhood, a familiar heaviness settled in my chest as memories I thought I had buried began to surface again. Everything remained exactly as I remembered it from two years ago, down to the smallest detail, as though time had refused to move forward in this place even when I had.

Xavier walked slightly ahead of me, his voice cutting gently through my thoughts as he urged me forward, reminding me that they were waiting in the study room. I followed him in silence, my steps slower than his, until we reached the familiar door that always felt more like a threshold into judgment than a place of family warmth.

After a few knocks, he pushed it open and we entered.

The first person I saw was my mother, Camila Torres Beltrán, seated with the same polished elegance she always carried. She wore a pristine white dress that resembled something out of a luxury runway collection, her hair pulled tightly into a bun that made her appear even more unapproachable. Every accessory on her body looked expensive enough to fund an entire household, yet none of it softened the rigid aura she carried.

My gaze drifted past her toward the wall where awards and recognitions were carefully displayed like trophies of worth. My father’s side was nearly full, Xavier’s shelf was already overflowing, and my mother had a modest collection from her charity involvements. My own space, however, remained almost empty, as though I had never contributed anything meaningful to this family at all.

Thiago Jiménez Aguirre’s voice broke through the silence as he instructed me to sit. His tone was calm, but it still carried the authority that had defined every version of him I had ever known. I obeyed, lowering myself into the chair as my eyes finally met his.

“Hello, Dad,” I greeted softly, forcing a small smile that did not quite reach my eyes.

He studied me for a moment before speaking. His question was direct, asking if I had finally overcome what he considered my madness. I knew what he meant without needing further explanation. Xavier shifted slightly beside me, silently encouraging me to respond, and I exhaled slowly before speaking.

All I could offer was an apology for leaving, even though in truth it had often felt like I was the one who had been left behind long before I ever walked out. I reminded him that I still stood by my decision to refuse a marriage I never chose for myself.

Thiago countered immediately, his voice steady as he questioned how my choices had worked out for me. Two years into the marriage with Emiliano Navarro Reyes, it had already ended in divorce, and he did not hesitate to point it out. He compared it to his own marriage to Camila, explaining that they had met at the altar yet still managed to build something that lasted.

His words carried the same belief he had always held, that compatibility mattered more than familiarity, and that my marriage had never stood on anything solid to begin with. I bit down on my lip, forcing myself to stay quiet even as my emotions tightened in my chest, especially knowing his health was fragile and any argument would only make things worse.

Instead, I asked why no one had told me he was sick. My voice cracked slightly despite my effort to remain composed. Xavier answered before my father could, explaining that it was time I knew now that I had returned.

Thiago dismissed the concern quickly, insisting I should not make a big deal of it, claiming he still had time left. I avoided his gaze, my hands tightening slightly as I struggled to keep my composure.

Then he ordered me to look at him.

When I finally did, he slid a document across the table toward me. His explanation followed, stating that the family business traditionally passed to the female heir, a responsibility my grandmother had once managed with excellence. Confusion flickered through me as I flipped through the pages and realized it was a real estate company I had never known existed under the family name.

He explained that ownership required both of their signatures, but he would only agree if I confirmed I was truly done with the past. The mention of Emiliano felt like a closed door I had already locked. I told him firmly that I was done with him.

When I admitted I knew nothing about real estate, Xavier added that neither he nor Thiago had time to guide me through it. My mother suggested I might be better suited for charity work instead, but my father interrupted with a different name entirely.

Damián Ibarra Cruz.

The name alone shifted the atmosphere in the room.

Thiago explained that Damián would be the one to train me, stating he had already spoken with him and that he had agreed to mentor me for two months. Xavier confirmed it quietly, and I turned to him, confused and unsettled, wondering what kind of man would be assigned to shape my future.

Xavier began explaining who Damián was, describing him as someone deeply involved in multiple industries, from a food production company called GoFood to hotels, casinos, bars, golf clubs, and real estate investments. More than that, he was someone with an unusual ability to predict which businesses would succeed and which would collapse, not through guesswork but through precise analysis that made him invaluable in business circles.

Despite everything I heard, something about him unsettled me in a way I could not explain. It felt as though his presence alone carried pressure I had not agreed to carry.

Xavier added that he had once saved our family business from collapse, which was why Thiago had considered offering my hand in marriage to him as a form of gratitude. The words landed heavily in the room, and I could not help the bitter realization that even gratitude in this family often came with sacrifice.

When I asked if I had any say in it, Thiago told me I would only gain full access to the business after two months, once Damián confirmed I was capable of managing it. I reluctantly agreed, knowing I had no choice if I wanted control over my own life again.

When asked where I would stay, I immediately refused to live in the main house. I declined their apartment offer as well, insisting I would manage my own accommodation. My mother tried to persuade me to stay, but I already knew she would drown me in charity events and social obligations I no longer had the patience for.

Instead, I announced I would stay with Xavier temporarily.

My mother protested again, citing his male friends, but I dismissed her concern without hesitation, pointing out that I was no longer a child and no longer bound by the same rules she once imposed on me.

The room fell into an awkward silence before Xavier quickly stepped in, claiming he would take me shopping. I glanced at him, unsure when that plan had been made, but I said nothing as I rose to leave.

Before I walked away, I looked at my father one last time and told him it was good to be home.

A faint smile appeared on his face, barely visible but real enough.

“It is good to have you home,” he replied.