Ayslan barely slept that night.
The club's lights still seemed burned into her mind, along with that man's gaze. It wasn't desire. It wasn't simple curiosity. It was something heavier, deeper — as though he'd seen something in her that even she didn't know existed.
The next morning, she woke early as always, to the sound of her grandmother's uneven breathing. Daniela was a little better, but still weak. Ayslan tended to her in silence, trying to push the previous night's thoughts away.
But they kept coming back.
His name wouldn't leave her head.
Alvaro Mendes.
She'd known who he was before anyone told her. At the club, certain names didn't need introductions. The quiet respect, the contained fear, the way everyone stepped aside when he passed — that said enough.
When her phone buzzed, Ayslan jumped.
It was Camila.
Girl, are you okay?
Ayslan typed back quickly:
Yeah. Why?
The reply came almost instantly.
Because Alvaro Mendes asked about you this morning. Went to the club owner.
Ayslan's heart slammed.
What do you mean?
Camila took a little longer this time.
He asked to see you today. Outside the club.
Ayslan sank onto the edge of the bed, feeling the floor vanish beneath her feet.
Camila, I can't—
I know. I told Mr. Andre that, but he didn't ask, Ayslan.
Ayslan closed her eyes.
"Damn..." she muttered.
Camila sent the address and added:
I'll go with you to the door. Don't go in alone. Trust me.
Hours later, Ayslan left Daniela sleeping, with the pills organized and everything within reach. The kiss she pressed to her grandmother's forehead lasted longer than usual, as though it were a silent plea for forgiveness.
The place Camila had sent her to wasn't an ordinary office.
It was a luxurious building — too discreet to attract attention, but elegant enough to intimidate. Two men in suits stood at the entrance. No smiles. No unnecessary words.
Camila squeezed Ayslan's hand.
"Anything goes wrong, you walk out. I'll be right here."
Ayslan nodded, trying to look strong.
The elevator rose in silence. Each floor felt like a countdown.
When the doors opened, she was led to a wide room with glass windows and dark furniture. Alvaro Mendes stood with his back to her, looking out at the city as though he owned it.
He didn't turn around immediately.
"You can go," he told one of the men.
When they were alone, he finally faced her.
The same dark suit. The same imposing posture. But there was something different in his eyes. Not less cold — more decided.
"Sit down, Ayslan."
She obeyed.
Alvaro walked slowly to the desk and rested his hands on it.
"I know about you."
Her stomach clenched.
"I know you live in a simple house. I know you take care of your grandmother alone. I know she's sick... and that you can't afford the treatment."
Ayslan felt her face burn.
"You have no right—"
"I do." He cut her off without raising his voice. "Because I can fix this."
She shot to her feet.
"If this is money in exchange for favors, I won't—"
Alvaro raised his hand, imposing silence.
"It's not that."
He circled the desk and stopped in front of her, keeping a calculated distance.
"I don't want your body," he said coldly. "I want your presence."
Ayslan frowned.
"I don't understand."
Alvaro drew a deep breath, as though pulling something up from the very bottom of his chest.
"You look like someone I lost."
The silence turned heavy.
"I want you to marry me."
The words landed like a blow.
"What?!" Ayslan stepped back. "Have you lost your mind?"
"No." His calm was unnerving. "I'm being extremely rational."
Ayslan felt her legs tremble.
"I don't even know who you really are!"
"You know enough." Alvaro's voice didn't waver. "And I'm not asking for your opinion."
She felt the panic rising.
"I won't do this!"
Alvaro took a step closer.
"I'll pay for your grandmother's entire treatment. The best doctors. The best hospitals. She won't lack for anything."
Ayslan felt her heart crack.
"And in return...?"
"You'll be my wife," he said. "You'll live with me. You'll represent my name. Nothing more will be demanded... as long as you fulfill your role."
"What role?" she whispered.
Alvaro's gaze darkened.
"The role of filling a place that's empty — the place of my wife Bruna, who passed away. You look very much like her."
Ayslan shook her head, tears forming.
"I'm not anyone's substitute..."
"You will be." He said it without cruelty, but without room for refusal. "Or your grandmother will keep suffering."
The silence was cutting.
Ayslan felt the weight of the choice crush her chest. Love or dignity. Freedom or survival. She thought of Daniela lying in that bed, fragile, trusting her.
"If I accept..." Her voice broke. "When does it end?"
Alvaro held her gaze.
"When I decide."
Ayslan closed her eyes.
And in that moment, she knew: she wasn't accepting a marriage.
She was walking into a prison built from power, pain...
...and memories that weren't hers.
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