Chapter 7

Chapter 7

She sighed deeply as she entered the old building, the smell of mold mixing with the aroma of bean stew while she climbed the narrow stairs.

The elevator had been broken for weeks again, so she went up the steps slowly, her leg muscles still weak from what had happened at the hospital.

“Almost there.”

On the fourth floor, as if he had radar, the door to apartment 402 opened before she even reached the landing.

The neighbor who always seemed to sniff her out like a dog in heat stepped out and leaned against the doorframe. He was wearing only a worn gray boxer brief, his belly slightly protruding, arms crossed to show off his cheap gym muscles.

“Hey, kitten. Want to fuck today?” he said with a smile he thought was irresistible.

Maitê stopped for a second, looking him up and down with pure disgust. His body was in shape, sure: shaved, artificially tanned, poorly done tattoos on his arms. But the main detail was missing. The one that really mattered.

“It looks like you don’t have a dick,” she said dryly, without even blinking.

He frowned, his ego instantly wounded. He straightened up angrily at the insult.

“Eleven centimeters when it’s hard,” he bragged, his voice rising a tone. “You don’t need more than that. It’ll reach your uterus. I’ll wreck your pussy.”

Maitê shook her head slowly, almost with pity.

“Forget it.”

She kept climbing without looking back.

“You’ll end up begging for me, you bitch!” he shouted from the hallway, his voice echoing off the thin walls of the building.

“Idiot…” she muttered under her breath, already on the last flight of stairs. She paused for a second on the landing, leaned against the cold wall, and closed her eyes. “Thinking about it, it’ll be good to get out of this place.”

She entered the tiny apartment that barely fit a double bed, an improvised little table, and a two-burner stove. She threw her bag onto the messy sofa bed, took off her shoes, and walked to the small window that overlooked the back alley. The glass was fogged with humidity, but she could see the graffitied wall and the flickering streetlight.

She sat on the edge of the bed. Her body was still hot, marked by his fingers—Rafael’s. Her thighs burned where he had gripped them, and between her legs she could still feel the trace of him. She closed her eyes and let the memory flood in: the way he held her against the wall, his thick cock going deep, the low grunt in her ear when he came. A laughable contrast to the idiot neighbor.

But it wasn’t just the sex.

It was the way he looked at her. The way he saw her: not as just another nurse or an easy lay. It was like something he wanted to possess. And that scared her as much as it excited her.

She picked up her phone from her bag. He had sent a message: an address downtown and the exact time: Monday, 11 a.m. “Don’t be late. Rafael.”

Maitê saved the contact as “Rafael,” no last name—she still wasn’t used to the idea that he was Rafael Valença. The owner of the hospital. The man who would pay her bills, give her a decent apartment, a car… and who didn’t want children. Who didn’t want more than a year.

She lay down on the bed, staring at the cracked ceiling. A single tear slid down the corner of her eye, but she wiped it away quickly. She wasn’t going to cry over something that hadn’t even started yet.

“One year,” she thought. “And what if I don’t want to leave?”

She turned onto her side, hugged the pillow, and tried to sleep.

Monday would come soon, bringing her the contract. And with the contract… Rafael Valença.

Sunday morning, the sun barely reached the small window of the studio apartment. She woke up early, her body still sore in a way that made her smile to herself when she remembered Friday. But today wasn’t the day to remember. It was the day to act.

She sat up in bed and took a deep breath.

“Better get everything ready ahead of time,” she murmured to herself, looking around the cramped space. “Monday is definitely going to be hectic, and from the looks of it, my boss will want exclusivity starting right away.”

She got up, put on an old T-shirt and a worn denim short, tied her hair into a messy bun, and started organizing everything.

She folded the clothes, the basic lingerie—nothing sophisticated. She put everything into cardboard boxes she kept under the bed for eventual moves. She labeled each one with a black marker: “Summer Clothes,” “Uniforms,” “Essentials.”

Then the books—there weren’t many, but they were cherished: old novels her mother had given her, a nursing manual with notes in the margins, a poetry book she read when the shifts got too heavy. She wrapped them in brown paper and placed them in another box.

Personal hygiene products went into a travel bag. Minimal makeup, body cream, toothbrush, pads. Everything that fit into a practical life.

The furniture belonged to the studio; she didn’t need to worry about that. When she left, she would leave everything as it was. The landlord would probably rent it out again the next day.

She stopped in the middle of the tiny living room, hands on her hips, and looked at the result.

“All good,” she said out loud, and smiled.

She sat on the edge of the bed, picked up her phone, and opened Rafael’s message. She replied right away: “I’ll be there.”

Monday would change everything, and she was ready.

Or almost.

***

Meanwhile, at the Valença mansion, the morning sun streamed through the tall windows of the dining room. Rafael came down the stairs, his white dress shirt open at the first button, dark jeans, hair still damp from the shower.

Daniel was in the dining room having breakfast, his tablet next to his plate open to some medical video.

“You look different, Dad,” his son said without taking his eyes off the screen.

Rafael sat down and took the coffee cup the butler handed him.

“I’m great.”

Daniel raised an eyebrow.

“I can tell. Looks like the woman who stayed over these past few days really got to you.”

Rafael took a slow sip, the corner of his mouth curving into a minimal smile.

“Maybe yes. Maybe no.”

His phone vibrated on the table. He looked at the screen and answered.

“Yes. I’ll be there in thirty minutes,” he said curtly, then hung up. He stood up right after.

Daniel frowned.

“Where are you going? Already have a date?”

The father looked at his son with a raised eyebrow.

“Do I need to tell you everything?”

“No.”

“Hm…”

Rafael picked up his blazer from the chair.

“I’m going to look at some properties.”

Daniel blinked, surprised.

“You already have so many, Dad.”

“See you later, Daniel.”

“Later, Dad.”

Rafael left. Daniel shrugged, finished his toast, and went to the living room to watch a movie.

Meanwhile, Rafael crossed the main hall and headed straight to the garage. The driver approached quickly.

“Going out, sir? I’ll get the car.”

Rafael raised his hand, stopping him.

“No need. I’ll drive.” He paused and looked at him seriously. “And I don’t want you opening your mouth to talk about me anymore.”

The young man swallowed hard.

“I have no patience for gossip. If you’re not discreet, you’ll be dismissed.”

“I won’t do it again, sir.”

“Good. Give me the keys to the Mercedes.”

The driver handed over the keys with trembling hands. As he drove through the tree-lined streets of the upper city toward downtown, Rafael thought about Maitê. About the studio apartment she had described. About the place he had already reserved—a modern loft, two bedrooms, view of the park, 24-hour security, and brand-new custom furniture.

One year. Long enough to satisfy the desire.

But deep down, very deep down, a part of him knew that one year might not be enough.