What was he doing here?

Helena didn't hesitate, holding the boy firmly and lifting him to the top of the stairs.

“Come on, hero. Be brave. I'll protect you from down here.”

The little boy turned around one last time, his eyes brimming with tears, and began to climb slowly, with effort, and when he reached the skylight, he disappeared into the light.

Helena breathed a sigh of relief, but her relief was short-lived when a sudden dizziness made the world spin.

The air grew heavy.

The floor seemed to recede beneath her feet.

“No...” she murmured.

And then everything went dark.

The sound of her body hitting the floor echoed in the warehouse, dry and sharp. The little boy stood motionless for a second—then panic took over his small face.

“Auntie!” he tried to shout, but his voice came out shaky, almost a whisper.

Down below, Helena's body lay on the cold concrete, and yet she opened her eyes with effort, her gaze cloudy and feverish. With her last ounce of strength, she whispered:

“Go...”

The skylight let in a pale, almost silvery light.

 Under that glow, Helena looked like a living painting — fragile, serene, absurdly beautiful.

 Her hair stuck to her sweaty skin, and in her eyes there was a deep glow, like a sea full of stars.

She was no longer the naive girl from the countryside.

 Nor was she the ugly duckling that everyone despised.

 Now, facing death, she was a woman shaped by pain.

But what good was that?

A bitter smile curved her cracked lips.

 Before achieving the revenge she had dreamed of so much... perhaps this was her end.

 Even so, there was peace in her heart.

At least, before she died, she had saved a life.

 That helpless child...

If her son hadn't died five years ago, he would be the same age as that little boy, and the memories came in violent waves.

After the tragedy, the Rodrigues family—ashamed of the stain on their name—sent her abroad, a punishment disguised as redemption.

But Helena did not stay, refusing to continue being a burden.

She abandoned everything and started over from scratch.

She retook the entrance exam for the College of Fine Arts and studied until she was exhausted, thus transforming her pain into fuel.

 

Being an actress or even an influencer had always been her dream, but fate—cruel and ironic—pushed her behind the scenes, and there, between scripts and shadows, she reinvented herself.

With talent, intelligence, and a face that no one could forget, she caught people's attention, and Tania discovered her. Soon after, she signed a contract with the powerful Vox Talents, which seemed like the perfect new beginning.

But fate—or Camila—would not leave her alone.

Camila also joined Vox and bribed Tania, who stole her projects, spread rumors, and turned each of Helena's victories into a new wound.

And now, locked in a dark warehouse, with fever burning under her skin and her body exhausted, Helena realized... History was about to repeat itself, but this time... she would not die.

–

At the same time, in the luxurious reception hall of Piratas Bar, the air was thick enough to suffocate, and the bar owner, managers, security guards—all stood silently in line, their faces pale, their eyes downcast, and above all, fear hung in the air like a fog.

They knew: one wrong word, and all hell would break loose.

The heir to the ProCosan Group—the prince of the Ballmer family—had disappeared inside that bar, and in the center of the room, sitting on a black leather sofa, was Henrique Ballmer, who emanated a coldness that froze the air.

No emotion. No words. But his mere presence made everyone's hearts tremble.

A young man, kneeling at his feet, was shaking so much he could barely breathe.

“B-brother... forgive me!” he sobbed, his face covered in tears and sweat. “It's all my fault! I shouldn't have brought Mateo here! If anything happens to him... I swear, I'll kill myself!”

Henrique didn't even blink.

Then, without warning, he raised his leg and delivered a sharp kick to the boy's chest.

“Agh!” Axel Ballmer fell, coughing, his body curling in pain. Even so, he knelt again, head bowed, breathing heavily.

The fear was almost palpable.

His parents were on another continent—and if they found out that their grandson had disappeared, Axel would surely not survive the wrath of either his brother or his parents.

Panic consumed him from within.

And then—knock, knock.

A brief sound at the door made everyone hold their breath.

The nearest security guard hesitantly approached and slowly opened it, and for a second, he saw no one, until he looked down.

His eyes widened.

“Mateo!”

The cry echoed like a miracle.

“Mateo?!” Axel stumbled to the door and fell to his knees, grabbing the child in his arms. “My God, you're okay... you're okay, my little one!”

The air trapped in the hall was finally released, and the atmosphere of death dissipated—for a moment.

Henrique rose slowly, and his every movement exuded control, absolute mastery.

He walked over to his brother, grabbed him by the collar, and threw him aside effortlessly.

He crouched down in front of the boy.

“What happened, son?”

Mateo was still gasping for breath, his eyes wide and wet. He tried to speak, but instead held his father's hand with silent desperation and began to pull him toward the exit.

Henrique frowned, confused.

 Then something struck him — not his son's touch, but a smell.

A faint aroma floated in the air, coming from Mateo's clothes.

It wasn't perfume.

Nor alcohol.

Soft and pure, but with a cold and unforgettable undertone — like an old memory. For a second, Henrique's heart faltered.

Mateo pulled his little hand again, making low, distressed sounds.

Henrique lifted him into his arms and, without saying a word, followed the path the boy was pointing to. Behind him, Axel and the security guards exchanged silent glances and accompanied him.

Five minutes later, the group reached the top floor of the bar—a narrow corridor with flashing lights and the distant sound of the night city vibrating under their feet.

Mateo, impatient, squirmed in his father's arms and, before anyone could hold him back, jumped to the floor. He ran to a door at the end of the corridor and began to bang on it hard, his small fists echoing distressed sounds.

“Mateo, what's going on?” Axel asked, panting. “What's in there?”