All Chapters of Taboo: Ties and Sins : Chapter 241 - Chapter 250

The old mansion in the Santa Luzia mountains looked like something out of an old movie—gray stone facade, tall arched windows, a garden illuminated by paper lanterns swaying in the cold night wind. It was a vacation home belonging to a couple who were friends of Hellen's, renovated with discretion and enough money to turn the basement into a private space that no one mentioned out loud. The party had no official name. It was just "the Saturday gathering." Invitations via encrypted messages, no photos, no direct mention of what happened inside. Those who arrived knew exactly where they were.Hellen drove the car slowly along the dirt road, the headlights cutting through the darkness. Jaston was in the passenger seat, wearing an impeccable white dress shirt, black dress pants, and polished shoes. Under the open collar of the shirt—two buttons undone, as she had instructed—the black leather day collar rested hot against his skin. The discreet steel ring barely showed, but he felt every b

The Sunday afternoon was lazy, the sun filtering through the half-closed blinds of Hellen's apartment, painting golden stripes on the light wooden floor. The air smelled of fresh coffee and her perfume—floral, with a note of vanilla that always left him hungry for more than food. Jaston was sitting on the sofa, legs stretched out, reading some book on design he had picked from her shelf. Hellen entered the room from the bedroom, wearing a tight black pencil skirt and a white silk blouse, her hair tied in a high bun that left her neck exposed. On her feet, thin heels that clicked on the floor like a code of authority.She sat beside him, crossed her legs, and took the book from his hands without ceremony. She closed it with a sharp snap and placed it on the coffee table.“We need to talk,” she said, her voice calm but firm.Jaston turned to her, his heart already racing. He knew the tone. He knew that when she started like this, the night—or the weekend—would be intense.“About what?”

Tuesday morning arrived timidly, with a gray light slipping through the slats of the blinds and spreading across the bedroom like a veil. The apartment was silent, except for the distant sound of traffic on the avenue below and the faint hum of the air conditioner Hellen had left running all night. Jaston woke first—or perhaps he had never truly slept. He lay on his side, his body still sore from the 48 hours, but what weighed heaviest was his chest. The sub drop had passed, leaving an emptiness that wasn’t only physical. He looked at Hellen sleeping beside him: her face relaxed, hair fanned across the pillow, breathing calm. The leather collar still around his neck felt, for the first time, too heavy.Hellen opened her eyes slowly, sensing his gaze. She turned to face him. For a long moment, neither spoke. They simply looked at each other—eye to eye, no masks, no roles. She reached out, touched his face with her fingertips, tracing the line of stubble.“Good morning,” she whispered.

The rooftop terrace of Hellen’s apartment was on the top floor of an old building in the center of Santa Luzia. It wasn’t large—just a rusty iron table, four mismatched chairs, hanging fern pots swaying from the railings, and a partial view of the city that, at night, turned into a carpet of flickering lights. The cool March breeze slipped through the half-open sliding door, carrying the damp scent of recent rain mixed with warm asphalt. Hellen had set two glasses of red wine on the table, a half-empty bottle, and an empty ashtray she never used but kept there out of habit.Jaston stepped out first, barefoot, wearing only gray sweatpants and an old T-shirt that still smelled faintly of her. Hellen followed right behind, wrapped in a wide beige wool cardigan over the light white cotton dress she’d worn all day. Her hair loose, still damp from the quick shower they’d taken together after their afternoon nap. In her left hand she carried a small dark wooden box.They sat facing each othe

The cheap red lampshade light trembled slightly, as if the apartment itself were panting. The television cast cold blue shadows across the ceiling, but no one was looking at the muted screen. The ceiling fan spun lazily, unable to dispel the humid heat that clung to their skin. All that could be heard was the distant hum of the blades and the wet sound of heavy breathing.The black faux-leather sofa creaked with every minimal movement. Old stains—sweat, spilled beer, dried semen from previous nights—marked the upholstery like filthy tattoos. On the center table, two warm Brahma cans sweated thick drops. Two empty requeijão cheese cups still reeked of cheap cachaça mixed with cheap energy drink from the pharmacy. The cracked glass ashtray overflowed with crushed cigarette butts, some smeared with faded red lipstick.Nora was on all fours, knees sunk into the thin cushions that had long lost any shape. Her cheap black lace panties—bought on sale on Shopee—were pulled to the right side,