That Ace Is A Goddess

The piercing silence of the morning was the first blow that struck Celina when she woke. It wasn’t just the absence of sound—it was the absence of him. Again. The cold, untouched satin sheet beside her screamed a truth she could no longer ignore: César hadn’t come home. And it had been happening for months.

With her eyes still heavy from a restless night, she lay still, staring at the blank white ceiling of the oversized bedroom that now felt like an abandoned stage. The mansion, grand and impressive from the outside, had become a gilded prison on the inside. The lavish furniture, the artwork on the walls, the perfectly arranged flowers replaced daily by the staff—all of it felt meaningless against the hollow ache consuming her chest.

Slowly, she sat up, a knot tightening in her throat. Her bare feet touched the icy floor. The echo of her own footsteps as she walked toward the closet seemed to mock the loneliness surrounding her. She stopped before the massive mirror and stared.

The reflection stole her breath.

Am I ugly now? she thought, wrapping her arms around herself as though trying to find shelter in her own body. Am I getting old? Has he found someone better? Prettier? More interesting?

Her eyes scanned her own body with silent cruelty. The dark circles betrayed too many sleepless nights. Her skin looked dull, missing the radiance it once had. Her lips were dry, no longer curving into the smile he used to adore. The sparkle in her eyes… gone. But the worst part wasn’t what she saw—it was what she felt.

Am I no longer enough?

She took a deep breath, her eyes burning. The voice in her head whispered every insecurity—rejection, loneliness, the fear of being forgotten, discarded. The woman in the mirror wasn’t the Celina César had once fallen for. Yet she was still there. Hurt, yes. But standing.

Her fingers combed through her loose hair, and in that moment, something flickered to life. Not anger—pain, reshaping itself into drive.

“I’m not going to let this destroy me…” she murmured, her voice trembling. “I’m going to remember who I am.”

With renewed resolve, she began pulling out clothes she hadn’t worn in ages—dresses that hugged her curves, heels that made her walk with purpose. She dug through drawers until she found a black lace lingerie set, still with the tag. A relic from a time she’d still believed they’d love each other forever.

She laid it all out carefully, then called the spa she used to frequent before her life began to crumble.

Hours later, Celina was submerged in a process of rebirth. The esthetician’s delicate hands massaged her tense shoulders while soft music filled the air. She had her nails done, waxed, treated her skin, her hair. Makeup brought out the green in her eyes and softened the lines carved by exhaustion.

By the time she looked in the salon mirror that evening, she barely recognized herself. The woman staring back was stunning. Strong. Ready.

Behind the wheel, she drove under a sky heavy with clouds toward the mirrored high-rise of Brown & Associates. Each mile was a battle between fear, hope, pain, desire, and doubt.

She didn’t know what she would find there.

Only that she had to try.

She had to look him in the eye. She had to remember what they once were. She had to fight—just once—for herself. Not as the wife left behind, but as the woman who still deserved love.

By the time she parked in front of the building, night was falling. The workday was nearly over.

And Celina was ready for the truth.

She walked to the elevator and made her way to the executive floor.

Celina opened the office door—and her world shattered.

Her husband, César, was wrapped around another woman.

Nicole was sprawled across his desk, blonde hair mussed, lips parted in pure pleasure. Her legs were hooked around César’s waist, nails digging into his back.

Nicole noticed her first. A slow, satisfied smile curved her lips. Her eyes gleamed with malice, as if she had been waiting for this moment, as if she wanted Celina to see her taking what was hers.

Only then did César turn toward his wife. He didn’t startle. He didn’t rush to explain. The look he gave her held no guilt, no regret—only cold detachment.

As if nothing had happened.

As if she meant nothing.

Without a word, he kept going, touching his secretary with calculated indifference.

Celina stepped back, unable to bear another second in that room. She turned and left, tears blurring her vision.

She stumbled into her car and, without thinking, pulled into the first bar she saw. She drank. Then, restless, she started the engine and drove. Aimlessly, through the streets of São Paulo.

The rain was falling in a fine mist, mixing with the tears streaming down her face. She drove without direction, chest tight, mind numb from the sting of betrayal. The world seemed to slow—until it all happened at once.

She blew through a red light without realizing.

A shadow. A figure. An impact.

“Oh my God!” she gasped, slamming the brakes.

The car jolted to a stop. Heart pounding, Celina ran to the front.

A man was lying on the pavement, groaning. He was homeless, but not what she had pictured—his body was strong, shoulders broad even beneath his wet shirt. His face, though dirty, was handsome. Strong features. Intense eyes.

“Are you okay? I—I didn’t see you! Do you need to go to a hospital?” she asked, crouching beside him.

“I think… I’m fine. Just hurt my leg. But I’m alive,” he said, trying to stand.

Celina hesitated. The Brown name weighed heavily on her mind. The fear of being recognized, of this becoming a headline, made her chest tighten. Another scandal could destroy what little was left of her life.

“Look… I can help you. If you don’t want to go to a hospital, I can take you to a hotel. Somewhere warm, where you can rest, take a shower, get cleaned up.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Because I… need to do something.”

He studied her, suspicious, but then nodded. She helped him into the car. The silence between them was taut.

When they arrived, the hotel was small and discreet. Celina led him up to the room.

“Go on, take a shower. I’ll wait here,” she said, sitting at the edge of the bed.

He held her gaze for a moment before heading into the bathroom.

As the sound of running water filled the air, Celina drew a deep breath. The room smelled clean—so unlike the chaos inside her.

When he emerged, hair damp, a towel around his waist, Celina looked at him in silence.

Handsome. Real.

More real than anything she had left behind that night.