Pedro shut down his computer around eleven at night, when the mall was already empty and completely silent except for the low hum of air conditioning still running in a few sections. He rubbed his eyes, tired, grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair, and turned off the office lights before taking the private elevator down to the underground parking garage.
The drive to his apartment was short — fifteen minutes with the light nighttime traffic — but it was enough time for his mind to start working against him.
When Pedro opened the door to the penthouse he'd lived in for three years, silence greeted him like an old friend. The automatic entry lights flickered on, revealing a spacious layout of minimalist furniture in dark tones and an open kitchen done entirely in marble and brushed steel that looked like it belonged in a magazine — and was almost never used for actual cooking. Everything perfect, and just as empty.
No TV playing in the background, no conversation, no smell of food drifting through the apartment. Just the organized emptiness of a space that didn't quite feel lived in.
Pedro tossed his keys onto the kitchen island and loosened his tie. He opened the enormous, mostly empty fridge and grabbed a bottle of water, then walked to the floor-to-ceiling glass wall that offered a sweeping view of the city.
Outside, headlights streamed past. Pedro took a long drink, feeling the cold water slide down his throat.
The loneliness weighed heavier that night. It always did on the days when he was most exhausted — those were the moments a crack opened up, moments when the apartment felt too large for one person.
Those were the nights when Pedro simply wished he could hear someone ask how his day went.
But reality always snapped back fast — the memories, the past — making him prefer the deafening silence over returning to a home where love was nothing but a bargaining chip, a weapon, an illusion.
He could still perfectly remember his father coming home with another woman's scent soaked into his clothes. The screaming matches with his mother. Broken objects. His mother falling apart, crying in the locked bathroom, pretending for her son that everything was fine. He remembered how the two of them turned what was once love into a constant war inside those walls until they finally split.
Maybe that was why he'd learned early never to depend on anyone emotionally. That relationships were unstable. That people disappointed. That feelings could flip in an instant. And in the end, someone always got hurt.
Pedro closed his eyes for a second, and the image came uninvited: the night he woke up to find his father's wife in his bed. The warm body pressed against his. The breathy voice whispering things he'd never been able to forget.
He remembered how he'd reacted. Her performance the next morning. The fake tears. And worst of all — his father staring at him with disgust, choosing to believe his wife over his own son.
Pedro opened his eyes and took another drink of water. He'd built a different life. He had career success, money. He owed nothing to anyone. And above all, he wasn't handing his heart to anyone.
"Better this way," he told his reflection in the glass.
For him, it was better to live alone than to risk another bad experience trying to build a family. His father was on his fourth marriage, cycling through wives like they were cars. His mother, bitter after the betrayal, had shut herself off from the world — and from him. His half-siblings were strangers he barely knew.
Pedro finished his water and headed for the shower. The hot water poured over his tense shoulders, but it didn't wash away the weight in his chest.
Later, lying in bed with only the bedside lamp on, Pedro grabbed his phone out of habit. He scrolled through messages without interest. Daniel had sent a photo of himself and his wife at dinner with the caption: "Love exists, you stubborn man." Pedro didn't respond. He locked the screen and tossed the phone aside.
"Not for me," he whispered, turning over and switching off the light. In the dark, the apartment's stillness felt strange somehow, and even as the uncomfortable void pressed in, Pedro repeated it to himself like a mantra:
"It's better this way."
A few days later, Duda was focused in her home office, answering emails over a glass of iced tea, when her phone started buzzing on the desk.
She glanced away from her laptop, checking the screen — a business number.
"Hello?" She picked up.
"Good morning. May I speak with Maria Eduarda?"
"Good morning. Speaking."
"I'm calling from the marketing office at Shopping Central. Your agency was recommended by two of our clients to handle the Valentine's Day digital campaign. We'd like to schedule a briefing meeting with you and your team."
Duda raised her eyebrows in surprise. Shopping Central was one of the biggest and most important malls in the city — the same one Pedro managed, though she didn't know that yet.
She listened carefully as they explained they were looking for a fresh digital media strategy. They wanted something modern, audience-friendly, more human — to break away from the usual cliches and create a campaign that genuinely connected with couples of all ages.
"Absolutely! I'd love that." Duda couldn't hide her excitement.
By the end of the call, the first meeting was already booked for the following week.
The moment she hung up, Duda sat staring at her phone for a few seconds, a smile spreading across her face and a good feeling settling in her chest.
"This is going to be good. Really good."
Duda didn't frequent malls much — she preferred smaller shops or buying things online. But she knew that to create something truly impactful, she needed to feel the space. Observe the flow of people, the window displays, the lighting, the gathering spots, and how couples behaved there.
For her, inspiration almost always came from experience. So she decided to visit the mall that morning — but she didn't plan on going alone.
She picked up her phone again and called Gabriela, who answered immediately.
"Hey, Duda. Good morning."
"Morning, Gabi! How are my favorite niece and nephew?"
Gabriela laughed.
"They're great. Missing the world's best aunt."
"I miss them too — so much. That's actually why I'm calling. I'm heading to the mall, and I saw on the website they've got this petting zoo thing that's perfect for Felipe's age. I'd love to take the kids with me — can I?"
"Of course! The nanny's here and can go with you. Do you want me to pack anything? I haven't left for work yet."
"Don't worry about a thing. I'm on my way to pick them up."
"All right. And Duda — don't buy them the entire mall."
Duda was already laughing, fishing her car keys out of her bag.
"I make no promises. One extra toy never hurt anyone," she said before heading out the door.
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