Chapter 2 - The Toast in His Own House
The mansion gates opened under warm golden lights.
Ricardo stepped out of the van holding a red velvet jewelry box in one hand. Inside was a diamond necklace he had chosen himself in Dubai.
He pictured Camila’s face when she opened it.
The way she would laugh.
The way she would cover her mouth.
The way she would say, “Ricardo, this is too much,” even though he wanted to give her more.
Music thumped inside the mansion.
He smiled.
A party.
Maybe his family had planned something. Maybe Camila knew after all.
A new guard stopped him near the entrance, then went pale when he checked Ricardo’s ID.
“Mr. Vale,” the guard stammered. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know—”
Ricardo waved it off.
“Don’t announce me.”
He entered quietly.
Then stopped.
The dining hall was overflowing.
Imported wine. Roasted meat. Seafood towers. Gold-rimmed plates. Guests in designer clothes laughing beneath chandeliers.
His mother glittered with jewelry.
Patrícia stood in a red dress, holding court like the hostess.
His brother Marcelo raised a glass and shouted, “A toast to Ricardo’s transfers!”
The room roared with laughter.
Ricardo did not move.
He looked around slowly.
There were new cars outside.
New art on the walls.
New watches on wrists.
But no Camila.
Not beside his mother.
Not laughing with guests.
Not anywhere near the table built for her.
A cold unease moved through him.
He stopped a waiter carrying a tray.
“Where is Mrs. Camila?”
The waiter hesitated, then pointed toward the back.
May you like
“Service kitchen, sir. I think Dona Patrícia had her washing pots.”
Ricardo’s smile disappeared.
