Chapter 2

The walk to the club was a blur of nerves.

Ayslan moved fast, clutching her purse against her body. The streets looked the same as always, but with every block she felt herself crossing an invisible line — from the simple life she knew into something darker, more dangerous, more unknown.

When she reached the address, her steps slowed.

The building was large, elegant, its facade glowing with light. Expensive cars pulled up and pulled away, and well-dressed men walked in as though this were just another part of their routine.

Ayslan stopped on the sidewalk. A chill crept up her spine.

That's when Camila appeared, hurrying toward her in uniform, her expression dead serious.

"Girl!" Camila grabbed both her hands. "You actually came."

Ayslan tried to smile but couldn't manage it.

"I came."

Camila looked her up and down and took a deep breath.

"Listen. You only do what they tell you within your job. Nothing more. You don't owe anyone anything, you hear me? If someone looks at you wrong, if someone says too much, you come find me."

Ayslan nodded, and Camila squeezed her hand.

"It'll be fine. The first night's the worst. After that, you get used to it... or learn to fake it."

Ayslan swallowed hard.

"Let's go?"

Camila nodded and gently pulled her inside.

The moment she crossed the threshold, Ayslan was hit by lights, perfume, music, and voices. An entire world, all at once.

She tried to breathe, but the air felt different in here. Dense. Expensive. Loaded with intent.

As Camila guided her toward the staff corridor, Ayslan sensed — without understanding why — that someone was watching her.

Across the room, in a roped-off area, a man sat as though he owned everything around him. The dark suit looked custom-made, and his posture wasn't that of a patron. It was that of someone who commanded.

Ayslan didn't see his face clearly. She only felt the weight of his gaze cutting through the music and the crowd, like a silent warning.

And without knowing it, she'd just walked into the story that would change her life forever.

The club was packed that night.

Low music, calculated laughter, expensive glasses served with precision. For most people, this place was entertainment. For others, power. For Alvaro Mendes, it was simply territory.

Seated in the reserved section, he observed everything without really seeing any of it. Cold, distant eyes. Men talked around him, deals discussed in casual tones.

Alvaro listened. Nodded when needed. But his mind was somewhere else.

It always was.

Bruna's death had never left that space between his chest and his throat. It didn't matter how many years passed. It didn't matter how many enemies he eliminated, how many alliances he forged. The memory stayed alive, pulsing like a wound that refused to close.

He raised the glass of whiskey to his lips but didn't drink.

"The shipment arrives tomorrow," one of the men at the table said. "Everything's under control."

Alvaro gave a brief nod. Control. The word didn't mean as much as it used to.

Then something shifted in the air.

Not the music. Not the tone of the voices.

It was a strange, unsettling sensation — as though someone had touched a memory he kept locked away by force.

He raised his eyes.

Across the room, a young woman walked behind another waitress. Her plain uniform clashed with the luxurious surroundings. She looked out of place — and that was exactly why she drew attention.

Alvaro's gaze narrowed.

The world around him lost its sound.

The way she walked. The delicate profile. The hair pinned back simply. And when she turned her face slightly, the blow landed square.

The glass nearly slipped from his hand.

"No..." he murmured, barely a whisper.

The image in front of him made no sense. It was impossible. Bruna was dead. He'd buried her with his own hands. He'd seen the body. He'd felt the blood, the smell, the end.

And yet—

Standing right there, in front of him, was someone who looked as though she'd been ripped from the past.

"Alvaro?" one of the men called, noticing the silence. "Everything all right?"

He didn't answer.

He stood slowly, ignoring the questions, the curious stares, the protocols. His steps were steady, but inside, everything was falling apart.

Ayslan was carrying a tray of champagne flutes when she felt the shiver run down her spine. The air seemed to grow heavier. She tried to hold her composure, remembering Camila's words: eyes down, steady steps, don't attract attention.

But something — or someone — forced her to look up.

The man was heading straight for her.

Tall. Elegant. Dangerous.

There was no smile on his face, only a hard, almost disbelieving expression. His dark eyes seemed to cut right through her, searching for something beyond what she was.

Ayslan's heart hammered.

She didn't know who he was, but she knew instinctively that this man was nothing like the other clients. He didn't look at her with desire. He looked at her with recognition... or demand.

Alvaro stopped a few steps away from her.

The entire room seemed to vanish.

"What's your name?" he asked, his voice low, controlled, but weighted with something she couldn't identify.

Ayslan swallowed hard.

"Ayslan... sir."

The name wasn't what he'd expected.

But the face — the face was a cruel blow.

He took another step, closing the distance too much. Across the room, Camila spotted the scene and felt her stomach drop. She knew this man by sight. Everyone here did. And everyone knew you didn't say no to him.

"Look up," Alvaro ordered.

Ayslan hesitated for a second. It wasn't a request. It was a command.

She lifted her chin.

Their eyes met.

Alvaro felt the ground disappear beneath his feet.

She wasn't Bruna. There was something different. Softer. More real. But the resemblance was too cruel to be coincidence.

"How long have you worked here?" he asked, his voice colder now.

"It's... my first day."

Her first day.

The irony nearly made him laugh.

Alvaro drew a deep breath, fighting the impulse growing inside him — the same impulse that had once cost him everything.

"I want you serving only at my table tonight."

Ayslan's blood ran cold.

"Sir, I... I need to talk to the supervisor."

"No, you don't." He pulled a card from his pocket and handed it to her. "Tell her it was my request."

Camila appeared at her side almost immediately.

"Problem?" she asked, trying to sound steady.

Alvaro gave the other waitress a quick glance.

"None." Then he turned back to Ayslan. "She stays with me."

Camila knew that look. There was no argument to be made.

"Ayslan..." she murmured, leaning close as she passed. "Anything at all, you come get me."

Ayslan nodded, her whole body tense.

As she followed Alvaro toward the reserved area, she couldn't explain what she felt. Fear, yes. But there was something else too — as if this man carried a pain as heavy as her own.

Alvaro sat down and gestured to the chair across from him.

"Serve."

She obeyed, hands trembling.

He watched her in silence. Every gesture. Every breath. Not the way a man watches a woman he desires, but the way someone tries to fit a broken piece back into his own soul.

"Do you have family?" he asked abruptly.

Ayslan was caught off guard.

"I do... my grandmother."

"Just her?"

"Just her."

Alvaro's jaw tightened.

"Why did you come to work here?"

"My grandmother's very sick. I need the money to take care of her."

"And you'd do anything for her?"

Ayslan answered without thinking:

"Anything."

The silence that followed was heavy.