Erica laughed and hooked her arm through Heloísa's. "Let’s leave her here where she belongs."
Alana’s legs felt weak, but she refused to cry. She wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.
Three days later, the Tavares mansion erupted in shouts.
"You went to that disgusting nightclub?" Francisco Tavares’ voice boomed. "How could my daughter embarrass me like this?"
"Daddy, I didn’t—"
"Enough!" Francisco snapped. "You’ve crossed the line. Pack your things. You’re not my daughter anymore."
Erica stood on the stairs, watching with a smug smile. Everything was going as planned.
Upstairs, as Alana packed her suitcase, Erica cornered her. "Finally, you’re leaving. This house was never yours."
Anger boiled in Alana. She slapped Erica across the face, leaving a red mark. Erica screamed, running downstairs.
"Mom, Dad! She hit me!" Erica cried, throwing herself into Francisco’s arms.
Minutes later, Alana stood at the door, her suitcase in hand. Her father’s cold glare and Erica’s victorious smile were the last things she saw before entering the night.
Five years passed. Alana built a quiet life far from the Tavares family. She tried to heal, but peace didn’t last long.
One evening, a knock on her apartment door interrupted her work. She opened it to see two men in suits.
"Miss Alana Tavares?" one asked.
Her heart sank. "Who wants to know?"
"Your mother, Amelia Camacho, saved our young lord’s life years ago. Our Lady wishes to meet you."
Alana frowned. "Old Lady Presgrave?"
The man nodded. "Yes. It’s important."
Before she could respond, a small voice called from inside. "Mommy, who is it?"
Alana’s chest tightened. "No one," she said, shutting the door.
Meanwhile, a man sat on a leather couch in a distant mansion. His voice was low and commanding. "Have you found her?"
"Yes, Young Lord Enzo. She’s in the city."
A dark smile crossed his face. "Good. Bring her to me."
Last updated on May 30th, 2025 at 08:04 pm
