“Dad, why is she looking for food in the trash?” the little girl asked the SEO. What he did left her speechless. “Dad, why is that woman looking in the trash?” Renata felt the ground open up beneath her feet. Her hands froze on the wet cardboard she had just pulled from the green bin. The little girl’s voice cut through the cold air like a sentence. “Don’t turn around, don’t look at them.”

She kept searching. But her fingers trembled so much that the cardboard slipped from her grasp. The sound against the pavement echoed like an accusation. “Luciana, don’t signal,” a male voice murmured. Renata closed her eyes. She wanted to disappear, to sink into the trash she was rummaging through, to become nothing, to cease to exist under those stares that burned her back.

 Three weeks ago she was buying coffee at Starbucks. Two months ago she was presenting projects in boardrooms. Six months ago she had an apartment, a career, a future. Now she was scavenging for aluminum cans to sell for spare change. “Are you cold, Dad? You’re shivering.” The little girl again. Her innocence was a knife. Renata forced herself to continue. She put her hands in the bin, feeling disgust rise in her throat.

 A plastic bottle, two cans, a piece of copper that might be worth something. Footsteps drew nearer. No, please, no. Excuse me. The man’s voice was soft, but firm. Renata kept her head down, her dirty blond hair falling over her face like a curtain. The white dress, once her favorite, now hung in tatters, her stockings ripped, her bare feet in shoes that no longer fit. “I don’t need anything,” Renata said.

 Her voice cracked. “Leave me alone. We just wanted to say I don’t need your pity,” she turned to face them. The man took a step back in surprise. Renata saw his impeccable suit, the cashmere coat, the shoes that probably cost more than everything she owned now. The little girl beside him, bundled up in beige down, a red and white hat, red gloves, her cheeks flushed from the cold.

 The little girl looked at her without fear, only curiosity, and that hurt more than contempt ever could have. “I have hot chocolate,” the girl said, extending a steaming cup. “Want some?” Renata felt tears welling up. No, she wouldn’t cry in front of strangers. She hadn’t even lost that dignity. But she would cling to it with all her might. “Luciana.” The man placed a hand on his daughter’s shoulder. “But she’s cold, Daddy.”

 Look, she’s shaking much more than I am. Renata lowered her gaze. Her hands were shaking uncontrollably. It wasn’t just the December cold; it was the hunger, the exhaustion, the three days sleeping on the street after the last shelter filled up. I can’t accept this, she whispered. Please, the girl said. My therapist says that helping others makes us feel better, and I need to feel better.

Something in those words broke Renata’s last defense. She took the glass with trembling hands. The heat burned her frozen fingers, but she didn’t let go. She brought it to her lips. The taste of the chocolate exploded in her mouth. Sweet, creamy, real. Tears fell. “How did you get here?” the man asked. His voice had changed.

 It wasn’t charity anymore; it was something darker, genuine concern. Renata looked up, studied him—thirty-something, maybe forty, with striking features, intense eyes, the bearing of someone accustomed to power, yet he held her daughter tenderly. Protective. It’s not her problem. Perhaps not, but my daughter asked a question. It deserves an answer.

 Renata laughed, a bitter sound that scraped her throat. “Do you want to know why I’m searching through the trash? Because three weeks ago I was living in an apartment. I had a job, I had a future. What happened? My boss stole my project, forged my signature on fraudulent documents, accused me of embezzlement, emptied my bank account with a fake court order. I was evicted.”

 The man exchanged glances with his daughter. The girl squeezed his hand. “What was your profession?” “I’m an architect.” The word came out with fierce pride. Renata straightened her back. They could take everything from her, but not her identity. “Specializing in sustainable design, I won the National Green Innovation Award two years ago. I worked for four years at Pizarro & Associates.”

 The project was mine, the sustainable housing complex in La Reina. Ernesto Pizarro inaugurated it last month as his own. The man tensed. I know that project. Everyone knows it. It’s brilliant because I designed it. Silence fell over them. Christmas lights twinkled on the nearby buildings. A couple walked by laughing, carrying bags of gifts.

 The world kept turning, indifferent to Renata’s breakdown. “Do you have a place to sleep tonight?” the man asked. “It’s not his place. I have a guest apartment. It’s empty.” Renata stared at him, searching for an angle. There was always an angle. Men didn’t offer shelter without expecting something in return. “I don’t sell my body for a roof over my head.”

 The man blinked, genuinely surprised. Then his expression hardened. “I’m not buying. I’m offering a safe night. Door locked from the inside, bathroom, bed. You can leave tomorrow if you want.” “Why?” He looked at his daughter. Luciana was watching Renata with huge, hopeful eyes. “Because my daughter asked a question she shouldn’t have to ask, because an award-winning architect shouldn’t be rummaging through the trash, because tomorrow is Christmas and nobody deserves to spend it on the street.”

 Renata felt something stir in her chest, something that had died weeks ago. Hope. No, it was too soon for that, but perhaps it was the will to survive one more night. One night, the barely audible voice said. Just one night. The man extended his hand. Sebastián Olmedo.

 Renata looked at that clean, strong hand, offering something that could be either a trap or salvation. She took it in her own dirty, trembling hand. Renata Salazar. Luciana smiled. A smile that lit up the dark street. Let’s go home, Renata. We have hot soup. As they walked, Renata glanced one last time at the green dumpster. Her life for the past few weeks, her hell.

 She hadn’t known this walk would lead her to something far more dangerous than the street. It would lead her straight to the heart of a man who could either destroy her or save her. And she would have to decide which. The mansion appeared beyond the electronic gates like a fever dream. Renata stopped dead in her tracks. I can’t go in there.

 Sebastian had already pressed the remote. The gates began to open. We’re here. There’s no point in staying outside. I literally live on the street. I’m going to make a mess. Luciana pulled on his hand with surprising strength for a 5-year-old. We have a watering can and soap. Dad buys the one that smells like flowers. The car drove through the gates.

 Renata felt as if she were stepping into another universe. Perfectly manicured gardens shimmered under soft lighting. The house rose on three levels, modern and elegant, all glass and stone. A fountain danced in the center of the circular walkway. Two months ago, Renata had lived comfortably, but this was a whole new level of wealth. “What exactly do you do?” she asked. “Construction.”

 I’m a CO of Pacífico Construction. Renata closed her eyes. Of course, the stolen project involved the three largest construction companies in Santiago. Pacífico was one of them. Do you know Ernesto Pizarro? We compete frequently. The car stopped. An elderly man opened Sebastián’s door, surprise crossing his face when he saw Renata.

 Good evening, Mr. Sebastian. We didn’t know you were bringing guests. Please prepare the guest apartment. Clean towels, fresh linens. Renata got out of the car. Her bare feet touched the stone, warmed by the day’s sun. December in Santiago meant heat. Long evenings, summer stretching until 9 p.m.

 Now, past 8, the air was just beginning to cool. The front door opened. A woman in her sixties, her gray hair neatly pulled back in a bun, was waiting for them. Her gaze swept over Renata from head to toe. The judgment in those eyes was instant and absolute. “Lorenza, this is Renata,” Sebastián said. “She’ll be staying in the guest apartment tonight, for now.”

Lorenza pressed her lips together into a thin line. “Can I speak with you for a moment, Don Sebastián?” Then, first show her where everything is. “Daddy, I’ll show her.” Luciana was already pulling Renata’s hand toward the stairs. “My room is upstairs too. We’re neighbors.” Renata let the girl lead the way, aware of the eyes fixed on her back.

 The staircase was marble; her dirty feet left footprints. Here, Luciana pushed open a door at the end of the hallway. It’s the nicest one after Dad’s. The apartment was bigger than the place where Renata had lived before the disaster. Living room, small kitchen, bedroom with ensuite bathroom, all in shades of white and gray, minimalist, clean, too clean for her.

 “I shouldn’t be here,” Renata whispered. “Why not? Why? Look at me.” Luciana studied her with a seriousness uncharacteristic of her age. “You look tired and sad, but my therapist says we all need help. Sometimes Dad helps me when I have nightmares. I can help you.” Something broke in Renata’s chest. She knelt down, getting down to the girl’s level.

 You have nightmares about my mom. She left when I was a baby. Sometimes I dream that she comes back, but then she leaves again. Luciana’s eyes filled with tears, but they didn’t fall. She blinked hard, throwing her head back. “Dad says crying is okay, but I already cried a lot today in therapy.” Renata hugged her; she didn’t think, she just acted. The little girl clung to her with desperate force.

 “Mothers who leave are foolish,” Renata murmured against her hair. “Because they left behind what was most precious. Do you have a mother?” She died when I was 17, and so did my father. Luciana pulled away, looking at her with wide eyes. “Are you all alone in the world?” Renata nodded, unable to speak. “Then you can stay with us,” Luciana decided. “My father and I are alone too.”

 We can be alone together. It doesn’t work that way, little one. Why not? Because the world wasn’t a fairy tale. Because rich men didn’t rescue women from the street without expecting something in return. Because Renata had learned that trusting was the fastest way to be destroyed, but she couldn’t tell that to a five-year-old. We’ll see, she said. Instead, Lorenza appeared in the doorway holding immaculate white towels.

 Mr. Sebastian says to use whatever you need. There are clothes in Luciana’s mother’s closet. She never took her things. Disapproval dripped from every word. Thank you, Renata took the towels. Luciana, it’s time for bed, but I want to stay with Renata now. The tone brooked no argument.

 Luciana sighed dramatically, but obeyed. At the door, she turned. “Will you be here tomorrow?” Renata looked at Lorenza, then at the little girl. “Yes, I’ll be here tomorrow.” Luciana’s smile was worth every second of discomfort. When they left, Renata locked the door. She leaned against it, her legs trembling.

 Only then did she allow herself to truly look at the space. A full-length mirror hung on the wall. She saw herself for the first time in weeks. The scream died in her throat. The woman in the reflection was a specter. Matted, dirty hair, tangled with leaves and trash. A gaunt face, cheekbones cutting into her skin.

 The white dress she’d worn to her last project presentation two months ago hung in tatters. Stains of grime covered her arms. Her legs showed bruises and scratches—evidence of weeks surviving on the streets. “My God,” she whispered. “No, I don’t believe in God anymore. No god would allow this.” She forced herself to walk to the bathroom. She turned on the shower. Hot water gushed out immediately. Renata stared at her, mesmerized.

 For three weeks she used public restrooms, cleaned herself in gas station sinks, endured disgusted stares, and then she went in fully clothed. The water hit her body and she cried. She cried for everything: for her parents, killed in that car accident 11 years ago; for working three jobs while finishing college; for trusting Ernesto Pizarro when he hired her at 23, fresh out of college, promising to mentor her.

 She wept for four years of honest work, for the project she designed, pouring her heart and soul into every line, for the day Pizarro told her that signing the documents was standard procedure. She wept for discovering six weeks later that those documents authorized funds for nonexistent construction, for the police arriving at her apartment, for Pizarro looking at her with feigned pity as he accused her of embezzlement.

 She cried for the legal process that emptied her bank account, for the eviction that took a whole month, watching her fall in slow motion, for the three weeks sleeping in shelters until they were full, for the nights on the street, the constant fear, the hunger that gnawed at her insides. She cried until the water ran clear, until there were no more tears left. She took off her ruined dress.

 She looked at it for a moment, remembering the woman who had last used it. Bright, hopeful, naive. That woman was dead. She found soap on the shelf. It smelled like the band. She scrubbed her skin until it burned, until every inch was clean. She washed her hair three times. When she came out wrapped in soft towels, she felt human again.

 The wardrobe contained elegant, expensive women’s clothing, all in the right size. Sebastian’s wife had to be his height. Renata chose the simplest outfit: cotton pants and a white T-shirt. A soft knock on the door startled her. “Yes, it’s me,” Sebastian’s voice said. “May I come in?” Renata opened it. He was holding a tray with steaming soup, bread, and fruit.

I thought you’d be hungry. Renata’s stomach growled in response. Sebastian smiled slightly. “I’ll let you eat in peace. I just need to establish some rules. Of course, you can stay two more weeks if you need to, but we’ll evaluate. You don’t owe anyone anything. The door is that red. You’re free to leave whenever you want.” “Why are you doing this?” Sebastian remained silent.

 Her gaze drifted toward Luciana’s room at the end of the hall. My daughter asked something tonight that embarrassed me. Not for her, for me. For the world I’m building for her. You can’t save everyone. I’m not trying to save everyone, just someone who was destroyed by a system I know all too well. She left before Renata could answer.

 She ate slowly, savoring each spoonful. The soup was homemade, rich, perfect. When she finished, she lay down on the softest bed she had touched in weeks. She thought she wouldn’t be able to sleep, that nightmares would come, but the darkness was merciful. For the first time in 21 days, Renata Salazar slept without fear. Luciana’s laughter filled the garden like forgotten music.

Renata held the pencil to the paper, showing her how to draw basic floor plans. A week had passed since Christmas Eve, seven days of discovering that normalcy could still exist. “And here’s my room?” Luciana asked.

 pointing to a precise rectangle, with large windows to let in the sunlight and a secret closet. Renata smiled. Her first genuine smile in two months. Every good plan needs secret spaces. Sebastián watched them from the glass door of his office. Lorenza appeared beside him with coffee. “She’s getting attached,” the housekeeper said. Clear disapproval in her voice. “I know. She’s leaving in a week. She’s thought about how that will affect Luciana.”

Sebastián hadn’t thought of anything else. His daughter was laughing again. She was sleeping without nightmares. This morning, when Renata came down for breakfast, Luciana had shouted, “Good morning, Renata!” with pure joy. Five years raising his daughter alone. Five years of therapists explaining that Luciana needed emotional stability, predictable routines, and in seven days a stranger had achieved what he couldn’t in years. His phone vibrated.

 A message from Álvaro Pinto, the private investigator he hired six days ago. “I have the report. You need to see it today. Cancel all my afternoon meetings,” he told Lorenza. “You have a meeting with the design team at 3. All of them.” Two hours later, Sebastián was reading the report for the third time. Each reading made him angrier.

 Álvaro Pinto sat across from him, waiting. “Are you absolutely sure about this?” Sebastián asked. “I have documents, emails, testimonies from three former employees. Ernesto Pizarro is a systematic predator.” The report detailed a six-year operation. Pizarro identified young, talented architects without support networks.

 He hired them, gained their trust, and expected them to develop innovative projects. Then he destroyed them. Forging signatures is his specialty, Álvaro continued. He gets people to sign administrative documents that actually authorize fraudulent funds. When the fraud is discovered, the architect is legally responsible. How many? As far as we can confirm, seven in six years.

 Renata Salazar is the eighth. Why didn’t anyone report him? Some tried. Pizarro has excellent lawyers and friendly judges. The cases stall. The victims are left without the resources to fight. Eventually, they disappear, leave the city, change professions, give up. Sebastián finished the report. His hands trembled with rage.

 The sustainable housing project in La Reina was hers. Every plan, every design, every innovation. I have the digital file with the timestamps. Renata Salazar created everything in 18 months. Pizarro simply erased her name and replaced it with his own, along with the criminal accusations. Interesting, isn’t it? The complaint was filed six weeks ago, but the prosecutor still hasn’t issued an arrest warrant.

 Why not? Because the evidence is weak. Pizarro forged the documents well, but not perfectly. A competent forensic analyst would see the inconsistencies in the signatures. The problem is that Renata doesn’t have the money to hire a lawyer. Her bank account is frozen by court order while the investigation is underway. Pizarro filed a civil lawsuit claiming she owes him $300,000 in embezzled funds.

 It’s a lie, but the judge ordered the precautionary freeze. It could take months to resolve. Sebastián stood up and walked to the window. Outside, Renata was helping Luciana plant flowers in the garden. Her daughter held an oversized shovel, intently focused. What more do I need to know? Pizarro already knows Renata is here. Sebastián turned sharply.

 How so? He has connections everywhere. One of his lawyers saw Renata get into your car a week ago. Pizarro had her followed. He knows she’s living at your house and he’s furious. He thought he was done with her, that she’d disappear like the others. The fact that she’s under your protection makes him nervous. Good for him. Álvaro studied Sebastián carefully.

 What are you going to do? I don’t know yet, but thank you for this. When Álvaro left, Sebastián put the report in his safe. He needed to think. He needed a plan. He needed to talk to Renata. He found her on the terrace after Luciana went for her afternoon nap. Renata was watering the newly planted flowers, deep in thought. “We need to talk,” Sebastián said. She tensed up and put down the watering can.

 “My time is up, isn’t it? It’s been seven days. You promised two weeks, but that’s not it. Sit down.” Renata cautiously obeyed. Sebastián sat down across from her. The report between them. I hired an investigator to find out what really happened between you and Ernesto Pizarro. The color drained from Renata’s face. You had no right.

 I have a five-year-old daughter under this roof. I had a right to know if you were telling the truth. And you found out I’m a criminal, a liar. I found out you’re the eighth victim, that Pizarro has been doing this for years, that destroying careers is his favorite pastime. Renata closed her eyes. A tear escaped, rolling slowly down her cheek.

 I also discovered that every line of that project was yours, that you worked on it for 18 months, that the energy efficiency innovations were revolutionary, that Pizarro stole your masterpiece. I know, Renata whispered. I created it. Tell me everything. From the beginning, without omitting anything. Renata’s eyes widened. The vulnerability in them hit Sebastián like a punch.

 Why? So you have the whole story when you fire me. I’m not going to fire you, but I need the truth. She took a deep breath, then began. My parents died when I was 17. Car accident. I was a senior in high school. I had no extended family, no one. Her voice was monotone, reciting facts. I worked three jobs while finishing high school. Waitress, babysitter, office cleaner.

 I managed to get into university on a full scholarship, but scholarships don’t cover food or rent. I kept working. Three jobs over six years. I slept four hours a night, but I graduated with honors. I won the National Green Innovation Award for my thesis on sustainable architecture and Pizarro. He was on the jury. He offered me a job immediately. I was 23 years old.

 He said he saw potential in me, that he would make me his protégé. Renata laughed bitterly. I was so naive, so stupidly grateful. I didn’t have a father. He was 60 years old. I thought he really cared about my career. He used me. The first three years were good. Real projects, genuine learning.

 Then he assigned me the Queen’s project. He said it was my chance to shine. And shine I did. I poured my heart and soul into that project for 18 months. All my knowledge, all my creativity. I designed an integrated rainwater harvesting system, solar panels at optimized angles, cross-ventilation that reduces cooling costs by 40%. It was perfect. His voice cracked.

 Two weeks before the final client presentation, Pizarro had me sign documents. He said they were administrative transfers, standard authorizations. I signed without reading. I trusted him. He betrayed me. A week later, the police came to my apartment. They said I had authorized fraudulent fund transfers. $300,000 diverted to shell accounts. My signature was on everything. Renata wiped away her tears in fury. Pizarro testified against me.

 He said he discovered the fraud, that he confronted me, that I admitted it. Lies. All lies, but he had lawyers and evidence. I only had my word. He filed a criminal complaint six weeks ago, and a civil suit as well. My bank account was frozen. I lost my apartment because I couldn’t pay rent. The eviction process took a month.

 I tried to get a job, but no one hires architects with pending criminal charges. Family, friends. I don’t have any family. And when you fall so quickly, you find out who really knew you. No one answered my calls. Sebastián felt rage burning in his chest, not just for Pizarro, but for the entire system that allowed this. “Three weeks on the street,” Renata continued.

 “I learned where the shelters are, how to avoid violence, what trash has value. I learned that the world ignores you when you have no direction, that you disappear.” “Not anymore!” Renata looked at him. “In a week I’m leaving. I’m going back to being invisible. And if you don’t have to leave, I don’t accept charity. I don’t offer charity. I offer work.” The silence fell like a hammer.

 What? Sebastian leaned forward. Pacific Construction. Needs a sustainability consultant. Your designs are worth millions. Your ideas on energy efficiency are years ahead of the competition. I have pending criminal charges. There’s no arrest warrant yet, just a complaint and investigation. Technically, you’re clean until proven otherwise.

 Your reputation is my reputation. I decide what to do with it. Renata stood up and walked away. Why? Why would you risk everything for a stranger? Sebastián stood up too and followed her. Because Pizarro destroyed eight innocent people. Because the system is broken.

 Because my daughter asked a question that embarrassed me to my very core. He stopped in front of her. And because when I look at your designs, I see genius. I’m not going to let that genius die searching for cans in the trash. People are going to talk. They’re going to say you’re helping me for other reasons. Let them talk. Your board of directors. I work for them. They don’t control me. Renata studied him, searching for deception. Sebastián held her gaze.

“This isn’t a bailout,” he said. “It’s an investment. You produce, I pay. Simple.” Nothing is simple. “No, but it’s fair.” Renata closed her eyes. Sebastián saw the internal struggle unfold on her face. “Two conditions,” he said finally, “tell me, first, you pay me a market wage. Not charity. Real work for real pay.” “Done.”

 Second, if this blows up, if your reputation suffers, I’ll resign immediately without a fight. I don’t accept that condition. Then, I don’t accept the job. Their wills clashed. “Modification,” Sebastian said. “If my reputation suffers, we’ll decide together what to do. You don’t make unilateral decisions.” Renata considered this. She nodded slowly. She tried.

 She extended her hand. Sebastian took it. The contact sent a jolt of electricity through his arm; he let go quickly, too quickly. “I want you in the office on Monday. We have a social housing project that urgently needs redesigning. Today is Wednesday, which gives you five days to prepare. Do you need clothes, materials?” “I need everything. I lost everything. Lorenza will help you with clothes.”

 My assistant will get you a laptop, design software, whatever you need. Renata shook her head. Inc. This is crazy. You’ll probably regret it. I doubt it. In her office, Maritza Escobar was reading Sebastián Olmedo’s email for the board of directors for the fifth time. Subject: New hire, sustainability consulting.

 Dear colleagues, I am pleased to inform you that I have hired Renata Salazar as a senior sustainability consultant on Monday. Ms. Salazar is an award-winning architect specializing in ecological design. Maritza clicked the mouse until her knuckles turned white. She knew that name. The entire industry knew that name.

 The architect accused of fraud, the ruined woman, the one who had disappeared weeks ago. And Sebastián hired her. He searched on Google. He found a photo of Renata from a year ago. Young, beautiful, blonde, smiling—everything Marita wasn’t at 45. He dialed Sebastián’s number.

 It rang five times before she answered, “Yes, Maritza, I can see you. It’s urgent. I’m busy. It’s about the new hire. Silence. Then my office. 30 minutes.” Maritza hung up. She looked at herself in the mirror on her desk, lines around her eyes, brown hair with gray streaks that she dyed religiously, a body that fought every extra kilogram.

 Five years in love with Sebastián Olmedo, five years waiting for him to notice she was more than just his girlfriend, to see that she understood him, that she supported him, that she could love him. Five years of hope slowly dying. And now this. She touched up her makeup, smoothed her tailored suit. When she arrived at Sebastián’s office, he was on the phone. She signaled for him to wait.

 Maritza sat with her legs crossed. She practiced her professional smile. Sebastián ended the call. “Maritza, I know what you’re going to say. You’ve lost your mind.” The smile vanished. The rage she had held back for an hour exploded. “You hired a criminal, a woman accused of embezzlement. Do you have any idea of ​​the damage to our reputation? She’s not a criminal until proven so. She has pending charges.”

 Customers will flee, investors will flee. I’ve already made the decision. Then reconsider. No. Marita stood up, trembling. Why? Give me a reason that makes sense. Sebastián looked at her for a long time. When he spoke, his voice was cold. Because it’s the right decision for the company. Her designs are exceptional.

 There are hundreds of exceptional architects without legal backgrounds, unlike her. What does she have that the others don’t? The question hung in the air. Maritza saw something cross Sebastián’s eyes, something that chilled her blood. Interest, protectiveness, something dangerously close to affection. Talent, Sebastián said. That’s all. But Maritza knew that look. She had seen it once, years before, when Sebastián was talking about his ex-wife before she left him.

 “You made a mistake,” Maritza said, her voice trembling, “a huge mistake,” she blurted out before the tears fell. In the hallway, she leaned against the wall, taking deep breaths. She couldn’t lose him. Not like this, not over some homeless woman Sebastián had picked up off the street. She pulled out her phone, searched through her contacts, and found Ernesto Pizarro’s number. Her fingers hovered over the call button. This was crossing a line. She knew it.

 But five years of unrequited love had twisted her heart. She pressed the call button for Maritza Escobar. Pizarro’s voice sounded surprised. “What a surprise! We need to talk,” she said about Renata Salazar. “I’m listening.” Maritza closed her eyes. Sebastián Olmedo just hired her. She starts Monday.

The silence on the other end was long. When Pizarro spoke, his voice dripped with satisfaction. Interesting. Very interesting. Thank you for the information, Maritza. Wait, I need something in return. What do you need? Help me destroy her. Remove her from his life. And why would I do that? Maritza swallowed. The truth came out in a whisper.

 Because if I don’t, I’ll lose him forever. Pizarro’s laugh was soft, cruel. Unrequited love. I know that pain well. Very well, Maritza, let’s work together. What do you need me to do for now? Just observe. Report everything to me, especially if Renata makes any mistakes.

 And believe me, he paused, everyone makes mistakes. Eventually, he hung up. Maritza waited for the phone to ring. She didn’t feel triumph, only emptiness. But the emptiness was familiar, and she was willing to live with it if it meant Sebastián would never look at another woman the way he had just looked at Renata Salazar.

 The silence in the boardroom was louder than any shout. Renata kept her chin up as twelve pairs of eyes judged her. Sebastian had introduced her two minutes ago. No one had said a word since. “Any questions?” Sebastian asked, his voice dangerously calm. Maritza leaned forward, smiled, but her eyes were ice.

 I have several, Miss Salazar. Is it true you have pending criminal charges? Renata felt everyone holding their breath. It’s true there’s a complaint. No formal charges have been filed yet. And I’m innocent. How convenient. All criminals say that, Maritza. Sebastian’s warning was clear. No, it’s fine. Renata looked directly at Maritza.

You’re right to ask. Ernesto Pizarro accused me of embezzlement after stealing my work. He forged my signature on fraudulent documents. The investigation will prove my innocence. And if it doesn’t? asked another board member, Ricardo Fuentes, 60 years old, with a stony face. Then I’ll resign immediately and face the consequences.

 The consequences would include prison, Maritza said. Sebastián is asking us to risk this company’s reputation for someone who could be in jail in six months. I’m asking you to trust my judgment, Sebastián replied, as you have for eight years. Eight years in which you never hired criminals. I’m not a criminal. Renata’s voice came out louder than intended.

She took a deep breath. She controlled her temper. But I understand your concern. I propose this. Give me a month, a single project. If I don’t meet expectations, I’ll leave without severance pay. And regarding the reputational damage, Maritza insisted, I myself will issue a statement taking full responsibility. Sebastián and the company will be completely exonerated.

 Sebastián looked at her in surprise. They hadn’t discussed this. Ricardo Fuentes drummed his fingers on the table. One month. One project. Do you have something specific in mind, Sebastián? The social housing development in Puente Alto. We’ve been stuck for three months. The current design doesn’t meet energy efficiency regulations without exceeding the budget. That project is dead, another member said. We canceled it last week.

 Renata will revive it. Silence returned. Then Ricardo spoke. Very well, a month. But Maritza is right about one thing. If this blows up, you’ll get burned, Sebastián. Politically, professionally. I know. It’s worth it. Sebastián looked at Renata. She held his gaze, inwardly praying that he wouldn’t let her down. Yes, he said. It’s worth it. The meeting ended. The members left murmuring.

 Maritza was the last to leave, giving Renata a look that promised war. When they were gone, Renata slumped into a chair. “My God, you did well. They hate me. They fear you. It’s different.” Sebastián turned around. “Thank you for standing up for us.” “Don’t thank me. Just keep your promise.” Renata nodded. Sebastián left, leaving her alone in the boardroom.

 Through the glass, she watched the city spread out. Santiago shimmered in the January sun. Summer was in full swing, dry heat, clear skies. Two months ago, she’d been scavenging for food in the garbage. Now she had a chance to rebuild everything. She couldn’t fail. The scandal broke on Wednesday. Renata was in her new office when Sebastián walked in with a newspaper.

“Get ready,” she said, throwing it onto her desk. The headline screamed. “CEO of Pacífico construction company hires architect accused of fraud.” Renata read it quickly. The article speculated about a personal relationship between her and Sebastián. It mentioned that she lived in his house. It cited anonymous sources questioning Sebastián’s judgment. “Maritza,” Renata said. “Without a doubt.”

 This is exactly what she feared. Sebastian sat on the edge of his desk. “Are you leaving? Do you want me to leave? I asked you first.” Renata studied his face. She saw determination, something deeper too, something that both frightened and excited her. She didn’t say, “I’m not leaving. I’m going to finish this project and shut everyone up.” Sebastian smiled.

 A genuine, warm smile. That’s what she’d hoped for. The following days were hellish. Renata immersed herself in the Puente Alto project. She reviewed every plan, every specification, every budget. The problem was obvious. The original design treated energy efficiency as an add-on, not as a fundamental principle. It needed a complete redesign. She worked 18 hours a day.

 Sebastián brought coffee at 10 p.m., finding her surrounded by blueprints. “You should rest,” he said. “I have three and a half weeks,” she replied. “Rest is a luxury, Renata. I have to prove to you, to the board, to everyone who read that article that it was worth it. You don’t have to prove anything to me.” She looked up. Exhaustion marked her face, but her eyes burned with determination.

 “I have to, because if I fail, I won’t just destroy myself, I’ll destroy you.” Sebastian knelt beside her chair. “Look at me.” She obeyed. You’ve already won. Do you understand? The day you refused to accept handouts, the day you demanded a fair wage, the day you stood up to that board, you’ve already won. Pretty words don’t pay the bills. No, but talent does.

 And you have talent to spare. Their faces were inches apart. Renata felt his breath. She saw his eyes drop to her lips. The moment stretched out. Intense, dangerous. The door opened. “Sebastián, I need you to sign.” Maritza froze. Her eyes darted between them. Sebastián standing next to Renata, too close. “Sorry,” Maritza said, her voice icy. “Am I interrupting?” “You’re not interrupting anything.”

 Sebastian walked away quickly. “What do you need? It can wait.” He left. The door slammed shut. Renata let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “This can’t happen,” she said. “What?” “This is what almost happened, Sebastian. They already think there’s something between us. If there really is, there isn’t.” The words trailed off.

 Renata told herself that what she felt was relief, not disappointment. Good, because I won’t be that woman who uses a man to escape poverty, the one everyone thinks I am. Sebastián looked at her for a long time. No one who knows you would think that. No one knows me. They only see what they want to see. He left without another word. Renata went back to her drawings, but the lines were blurring.

She told herself she was a liar. A liar, because she had felt something from the first moment Sebastián offered her chocolate through his daughter, from the moment he defended her at the meeting, from every night he brought her coffee and they stayed talking until dawn, but feeling wasn’t an option, not for her. Three weeks later, Renata presented her design. The boardroom was packed.

 Board of directors, architecture team, engineers, and specialized press. Sebastián had warned her: this would be either a media circus, a triumph, or a public execution. Renata opened her presentation. The original design failed because it treated sustainability as cosmetic. My proposal makes it structural. She projected the first plan. Murmurs filled the room. North-south orientation. Optimizes passive heating.

 Reduces heating costs by 35%. Next step: double-pane windows with low-emissivity glass, larger initial investment. Payback in 18 months. Next step: rainwater harvesting system integrated into foundations. Reduces municipal water consumption by 40%. Continued. Every element, every decision backed by numbers, not abstract theory. Real economics.

 When it ended, the silence was absolute. Ricardo Fuentes spoke first. Total budget 3% higher than the original, but operating savings of 20% annually, payback in 5 years. It meets all regulations, exceeds them. This project would qualify for Lead Gold certification. Ricardo looked at Sebastián, then at Renata. Miss Salazar, this is exceptional.

 The journalist from El Mercurio raised his hand. “One question: Is this design similar to Ernesto Pizarro’s project for the Queen?” The room tensed. Renata felt all eyes on her. “Yes,” she said firmly. “Because I designed that project as well. Pizarro stole my work. This design proves I can replicate and surpass what I created before.” “Do you have evidence of the theft?” “I have digital files with timestamps.”

I have emails. I have testimonies from former colleagues, and when the prosecutor finishes his investigation, I will have justice. Sebastián intervened. This conference is about the Puente Alto project, not about past litigation, but the damage was done, or the healing depended on tomorrow’s headline. Later, when everyone had left, Sebastián found Renata on the 20th-floor terrace.

 She watched the city sprawl toward the mountains. “Did you do it?” he asked. “Not yet. Tomorrow the newspapers will decide if I was brilliant or arrogant. You were brilliant.” Renata turned. The afternoon sun illuminated her hair. In two months she had gained weight. Her face was no longer gaunt. She wore a navy blue pantsuit—professional, powerful.

 Sebastián could barely remember the woman in Arapos searching through trash. Almost. Sebastián. Me. His phone rang. Ernesto Pizarro. Renata paled at the sight of it. Don’t answer. But Sebastián answered. He put it on speakerphone. Olmedo. Sebastián. Pizarro’s voice was like oil. I saw today’s presentation. Impressive. What do you want, Ernesto? To warn you, Renata Salazar is a toxic problem.

 It will destroy your reputation. My reputation is my business, and your daughter is your business too, putting criminals under her roof. Sebastian gripped the phone. Careful, Ernesto. No, careful. You destroyed Renata once. I can do it again. And this time I’ll take you with you. Try it. Oh, I will. In fact, I’ve already started.

 The call ended. Renata was trembling. “I warned you, I told you this would happen. That he’d threaten. He can’t touch you here. Are you sure? Because Pizarro always wins, he always gets his hands on her purse. Renata, wait. I need air, I need to think.” She left before he could stop her. Sebastián called Álvaro Pinto. “I need you to keep an eye on Ernesto Pizarro. Every move, every call. If he sneezes, I want to know.”

Did something happen? He just declared war. And you, Sebastián looked toward where Renata had disappeared. I agreed a long time ago. I just didn’t know until now. That night in his private office, Ernesto Pizarro poured whiskey into a cut glass. His lawyer, Felipe Torres, awaited instructions. I need information on Sebastián Olmedo. Finances, business, personal life, everything.

We’re looking for something specific. Weak points, everyone has them. Find yours. And Renata Salazar. Pizarro smiled. A smile that didn’t reach his eyes. Renata, it’s easy. I already destroyed her once. I know exactly where to strike. What do you want me to do? Hire private investigators. The best.

 I need evidence that he’s doing something illegal. Industrial espionage, conflict of interest, anything. And if he’s not doing anything illegal—Pizarro takes a long sip—then we’ll make it look like he is. Felipe frowned. That’s risky. If they find out we fabricated evidence, they won’t find out. I’m very good at this. Or have you already forgotten the previous seven times?

Renata is different. She has protection now. Olmedo has resources. Everyone has a price. Felipe. Olmedo too. I just need to find it. Pizarro walked to the window. His office overlooked the queen’s project. The sustainable housing units shimmered under the nighttime lights. The project that had made him famous. The project Renata designed. She had been special.

 More talented than the others. That’s why it hurt more when he had to destroy her, and now she was coming back. Stronger, protected, unacceptable. Is there anything else? Felipe asked. Maritza Escobar called. She wants to meet. The CFO of Pacífico. Yes, she says she has valuable information. Pizarro smiled. Interesting, very interesting. Schedule the meeting. When Felipe left, Pizarro made one more call.

 Yes, a male voice answered. I need surveillance. Sebastián Olmedo and Renata Salazar. Photos, videos, conversations, if possible. Are you looking for something specific? Romance, infidelity, anything that proves an inappropriate relationship between boss and employee.

 And if there’s nothing there, then create it—Photoshop, video editing, whatever it takes. But I need it to look real. Understood? This will cost. Money isn’t the issue, just get results. Ernesto Pizarro hung up. He had built an empire on the ruins of young architects. Eight in total. They had all tried to fight, they had all lost.

 Renata Salazar would be the ninth, and this time she would take Sebastián Olmedo with her, because Pizarro had learned long ago that power wasn’t about creating, it was about destroying those who threatened your creation. And Renata, with her brilliant talent and unwavering sense of justice, was the greatest threat he had ever faced, but she would also be the most satisfying to destroy.

 She took another sip of whiskey. The war had begun, and Pizarro never lost a war. The audience rose to their feet. Thunderous applause filled the space as Renata held the trophy with trembling hands, the national award for innovation in sustainable architecture. Again, but this time it was different. This time she wasn’t a hungry student with dreams, she was a scarred survivor.

 “Thank you,” she said into the microphone, waiting for the noise to die down. “This award recognizes the Puente Alto project, but the truth is more complex.” She looked for Sebastián in the front row. He was looking at her with something that made her heart stumble. Three months ago, he had been scavenging for food in the garbage. He had lost everything: his career, his home, his dignity.

 A man and his daughter gave me back the possibility of existing again. Her voice broke slightly. Sebastián Olmedo didn’t rescue me. He gave me the tools to rescue myself. That’s the real prize tonight. More applause. Sebastián smiled, but his eyes shone suspiciously. Later, at the reception, journalists surrounded them. It’s true that he lives at Mr. Olmedo’s house.

 “I have an apartment on his property,” Renata corrected. “It’s a temporary arrangement while I resolve my legal situation.” Speaking of which, what’s the status of the charges? Sebastián interjected. “The prosecutor has reviewed forensic evidence. The inconsistencies in the signatures are obvious. We expect him to drop the charges within a month.” And their personal relationship—Renata felt a heat rise in her neck. “Professional.”

Purely professional. The journalist grinned like a shark smelling blood. So he denies a romance between you two. There’s nothing to deny because there’s nothing, Sebastián said curtly. Next question. In the car on the way back, the silence was thick. “Sorry,” Renata finally said. I shouldn’t have mentioned you in the speech. It only gave him more ammunition.

Don’t apologize. You told the truth. The truth makes them speculate. Sebastián glanced at her sideways. Do you care what they speculate? Renata opened her mouth, then closed it. She didn’t know how to answer without lying, because it did matter, because every time someone hinted at a romance, part of her wished it were true. And that was dangerous.

 They arrived home after 11. Lorenza was waiting for them with a worried expression. Luciana had a nightmare. She didn’t want to go to sleep until Renata returned. Renata ran upstairs. She found Luciana sitting on her bed hugging a stuffed rabbit. “Hey, sweetie, what happened? I dreamt you were leaving. Like Mom.” Renata sat on the bed, hugging her. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Do you promise?” The question was a trap. Renata couldn’t promise that. Her situation was temporary. Eventually, she would have to leave, but looking into those frightened eyes, she lied. “I promise.” Sebastián appeared in the doorway. He saw his daughter curled up against Renata, finally relaxing. Something changed in his expression, something deep and terrifying. When Luciana fell asleep, they went out into the hallway.

 “This isn’t healthy,” Sebastian whispered. “She’s getting too close.” “I know.” “So what are we going to do?” “I don’t know.” They looked at each other. The distance between them was less than a meter. Sebastian raised his hand, brushing Renata’s hair. “Renata.” “No.” She moved away. “We can’t.” “You know we can’t?” “Why not?” “Because when this is over, when I leave, it will be harder for everyone.”

 And what if I don’t want you to leave? The words hung in the air. Renata felt tears sting. Sebastian, please, don’t make this any harder than it already is. He went to his apartment, locked the door, leaned against it, tears streaming down his face. He was falling in love, and this was the worst thing that could happen.

 Two weeks later, Maritza met with Ernesto Pizarro at a discreet café in Providencia. “I have what you need,” she said, sliding a USB drive across the table. Pizarro plugged it into his laptop. His eyes lit up as he reviewed files. Renata leaking confidential information, bank transfers to external accounts. “This is perfect.”

 “It’s not real,” Maritza admitted. “I had to fabricate some things. How? I hired the IT assistant. I paid him to plant emails on the server. They’re from two months ago, but the metadata is fake.” Pizarro closed his laptop. “Does anyone else know? No one. The assistant quit yesterday. He moved to Argentina. He won’t talk. And the bank transfers.”

Shell accounts created last month. Small amounts. 50,000 in total. Enough to look like corporate espionage without being obvious. Pizarro studied Marita carefully. “Why are you doing this? What do you gain? I already told you. I want Renata out of his life. And then, do you think Sebastián will even look at you? That he’ll love you?” Maritza gripped her coffee cup. “Maybe not, but at least he won’t love her. Unrequited love.” Pizarro chuckled softly.

It’s poison, isn’t it? It eats you up inside until you’d do anything to stop it. You speak from experience, more than you’d admit. Fine, Marita, I’ll use this, but understand, once I start, there’s no turning back. Renata will fall, and probably Sebastián too. I understand. Are you sure? Five years working for him.

 “Will you destroy that, Marita?” She thought of five years of silent love, of hope slowly dying, of seeing Sebastián devoted to his daughter, to his company, to everything except her, and now, Renata, young, beautiful, talented, everything Maritza wasn’t. “I’m sure,” she said. Pizarro extended his hand. “Then we’re partners.” Maritza shook it, sealing their fate.

 The bomb exploded on a Tuesday morning. Sebastián was in a meeting when his assistant interrupted, pale-faced. “Don Sebastián, the board demands an emergency meeting.” Now, about what they didn’t say, but Ricardo Fuentes was furious. Sebastián found the boardroom full, all the members present. Renata was noticeably absent. Maritza was standing, laptop connected to the projector.

 “What is this?” Sebastián asked. Ricardo spoke, his voice trembling with rage. “Maritza discovered something, something you should have seen months ago. Show me.” Maritza projected Renata’s first email to an external address. It contained details of a confidential offer for a project in Las Condes. Next email: unpublished technical design specifications. Next: internal budgets. 12 emails in total.

 All from Renata’s account. All leaking corporate information. Sebastián felt the ground shift beneath his feet. “There’s more,” Maritza said. She projected bank statements. “Transfers from external accounts to Renata’s personal account. $50,000 in two months. This is impossible,” Sebastián said. “Renata wouldn’t do it; the evidence isn’t enough,” Ricardo interrupted.

 Email from her account, money in her name. What more do you need? This is fabricated, it has to be. I hired an independent forensic firm, Maritza said. They verified the metadata. The emails are real, sent from our server two months ago. Sebastián looked at the dates, February and March, when Renata was working on confidential projects. Who was she selling information to? he asked.

 Maritza paused dramatically. The receiving accounts are registered under shell companies, but we traced the true ownership. She projected the final document, Ernesto Pizarro. The silence was absolute. Renata is spying for the man who destroyed her, Maritza continued. Why? Perhaps revenge. Perhaps he offered to drop the criminal charges. No 

It doesn’t matter, the result is the same. She betrayed us. No. Sebastián shook his head. I know Renata. You don’t know her. Ricardo leaned forward. You actually found her on the street three months ago. You don’t know anything about her except what she told you. I hired investigators. I checked everything. You checked her past, not her present. Marita closed her laptop. Sebastián, I know this hurts, but we have fiduciary responsibilities.

 Three big lost bids against Pizarro in the last month. Now we know why. I need to talk to Renata. You need to fire her,” Ricardo said immediately and file criminal charges. “I’m not going to… Then you’ll face a vote of no confidence.” Ricardo looked around the table.

 Who supports the motion to remove Sebastián Olmedo as CEO if he doesn’t fire Renata Salazar within 48 hours? Eleven hands went up. Only Sebastián didn’t vote. “48 hours,” Ricardo said. “Either she goes, or you go. Decide.” The meeting ended. Sebastián was left alone in the room. Maritza returned, closing the door behind her.

 “I’m sorry,” she said, but her eyes were dry. “I know this is difficult. How did you find the emails?” Routine audit. The system flagged them as suspicious. When you were planning to tell me, I wanted to be sure first. I didn’t want to accuse her without solid evidence.” Sebastián studied her. Something in his expression, something victorious, poorly concealed. “Are you enjoying this?” “Forgive me, five years, Maritza, five years working together.”

 I thought you were a friend. I am your friend, that’s why I’m showing you the truth. Or because you’re jealous. Marita paled. That’s it, that’s ridiculous. It is. I’ve seen the way you look at Renata, the way you talk about her. This isn’t about protecting the company, it’s personal.

 Everything becomes personal when the CEO loses objectivity over a pretty woman he rescued. Get out of my office, Sebastian. Now Marita has left. Sebastian slumped into a chair. 48 hours, two days to decide between his career and his conscience, between his company and the woman—the woman he loved. Was that it, love? His phone rang. Renata Sebastian. Lorenza called. She said there was an emergency meeting. What happened? I need you to come home now. I’m at a construction site.

 Can you wait? No. The tone silenced Renata. I’m coming. An hour later, Sebastián showed her everything. Emails, transfers, evidence. Renata stared at him with growing disbelief. This is impossible. I didn’t send those emails; they’re from your account. Someone used my account. I’m being framed. The forensics experts say they’re real.

 So, the forensic experts are either wrong or bribed. Renata stood up, pacing in circles. Think, Sebastián, why would I work for Pizarro? He destroyed me. Why would I help him? Maritza suggests revenge. Or that she offered to drop the charges and you believe her instead of me. I don’t know what to believe. Evidence is evidence. Look at me, look me in the eyes and tell me if you think I’m capable of betraying you. Sebastián looked at her.

 She saw anger, pain, despair. She saw no guilt. No, she finally said. I don’t think you did it. Then, I have 48 hours to fire you. Either the board removes me or Renata froze. No, Renata, you’re not going to lose everything because of me. I won’t allow it. It’s not your decision. Of course it’s my decision. I resign now.

Problem solved. You won’t quit. We’ll fight this. We’ll find out who planted that evidence. In 48 hours. That’s impossible. Then I’ll take more time and you’ll lose your company. I don’t care about the company. The shout echoed. Renata stepped back in surprise. Sebastian took a deep breath, regaining his composure.

 I’ve built Pacific Construction for 10 years. I know its worth, and it’s worth less than my integrity. It’s worth less than doing the right thing. It’s worth less than you. Tears streamed down Renata’s face. Don’t say that, please. Don’t say that. Why not? Because it makes everything harder. It’s hard enough as it is. Let’s at least be honest. They stared at each other across the space.

 Years of loneliness, pain, survival between them. “I’m leaving,” Renata finally said. “Tomorrow I’ll write a letter of resignation taking full responsibility. I’ll say I lied to you, that I cheated, whatever it takes to protect you.” No. Yes. And you won’t stop me because you know what’s right. The right thing to do is fight. The right thing to do is for Luciana not to lose her father.

 She needs you more than she needs me. The mention of her daughter hit like a ton of bricks. She needs you too. She’ll survive. Kids are resilient. You should know that better than anyone. You lost your parents. You survived. Renata closed her eyes. I survived. But the scars never heal. Exactly. And I’m not going to give those scars to my daughter willingly.

 So, what do you suggest? That you destroy your life so I can stay? I suggest we find another option. There is no other option. The door opened. Lorena came in. Worried face. Sorry to interrupt, but Luciana heard you shouting. She’s crying in her room. Renata felt her heart break. I’ll go to her. No, said Sebastián. I’ll go.

 You take the night, think, but don’t make any decisions until we talk tomorrow. She went upstairs. Renata stayed in the study, surrounded by false evidence and impossible decisions. In her room, Luciana sobbed in her father’s arms. Renata is leaving. I don’t know, my love, but she promised. She promised she would stay. Sometimes promises are broken.

 Not because we want to, but because there’s no choice. Like Mom. Mom didn’t have a choice either. Sebastián didn’t know how to respond. His ex-wife had chosen her career over family. She’d had every choice in the world, but Luciana didn’t need to know that. Some people leave, she said carefully, and it hurts, but the people who truly love us find a way to stay. Renata loves us. I think so.

 “Do you love her?” The question stopped him in his tracks. Luciana looked at him with swollen but piercing eyes. Honesty, he had taught his daughter. Always honesty. “Yes,” she said, “I think so. Then don’t let her go, Daddy. Please, fight for her like you fight for me.” “I’m trying, sweetheart. I’m trying.” He laid her down. When she finally fell asleep, he went downstairs. Renata was gone.

A note on the desk. I need to think. Don’t look for me tonight, please. R. Sebastián crumpled the paper. He called Álvaro Pinto. 48 hours to prove that evidence is false. Can you do it? I can try, but Sebastián, if it’s well fabricated, then find it, because I’m not going to lose it without a fight. He hung up.

 He looked at his empty house, his sleeping daughter, his life hanging by a thread. Two days. Everything would be decided in two days. And Sebastián Olmedo, the man who built an empire with cold calculation, finally understood what it meant to risk everything. For love, for justice, for the only woman who had managed to break down his walls. He prayed to a god he barely believed in, that two days would be enough.

 Sebastián didn’t sleep all night, sitting in his office staring at numbers that no longer meant anything. Ten years building Pacífico Construction from a small startup to a company valued at 50,000,000 employees, 25 active projects—all at risk because of a woman he’d known for three months. Three months. It felt like a lifetime.

 His phone showed 4:47 a.m., three hours before the ultimatum expired. Forty-eight hours of frantic investigation by Álvaro Pinto, calls to forensic experts, metadata analysis. Everything confirmed the same thing. The evidence seemed real, incredibly real. But Sebastián knew Renata. He had seen her rise from the ashes, witnessed her fierce integrity, her refusal to accept charity, her pride that not even the streets could break.

 That woman wouldn’t betray anyone, but how could they prove it in three hours? He called Álvaro again. Nothing solid. The investigator’s voice sounded exhausted. The emails definitely came from the Pacífico server, but there’s something strange about the access patterns. What? Renata always logs in from her office or personal laptop, but these emails were sent from the IT terminal in the basement at 2 a.m.

 Renata worked those hours. I checked security logs. She never entered the building after 8 p.m. Sebastián straightened up. Then someone else used her account. Possible. But I need more time to trace who had access to that terminal. We don’t have more time. I know. I’m sorry, Sebastián. I did what I could. She hung up. Sebastián rubbed his face. Three options.

 One, fire Renata. Save your company. Break your daughter’s heart. Betray your principles. Two, refuse to fire her, lose the vote of confidence, be removed as SEO, probably lose the company anyway. Three, resign voluntarily. Hand the company over to a successor who would protect Renata.

 None of the options were good; they all hurt. He heard footsteps in the hallway. Lorenza appeared, surprised to find him awake. Don Sebastián was here all night. He couldn’t sleep. Nobody can handle this mess. Lorenza hesitated. Can I say something? Go ahead. I didn’t trust Renata. At first, I thought she was opportunistic, someone taking advantage of her kindness.

 And now, now I’ve seen how he cares for Luciana, how he works until midnight on projects, how he rejects anything that smacks of special privilege. Lorenza sat across from him, something she’d never done in 15 years of service. That girl has a good heart, and whoever planted that evidence knows you know it. That’s why the trap is so cruel. They’re forcing you to choose between your head and your heart.

 What would you do? I don’t have 300 employees depending on me, but if I did, I’d rather lose the company than lose my soul. He stood up. I’m going to make coffee. It’s going to be a long day. When he left, Sebastián walked to the window. Dawn was painting Santiago orange and gold. April brought cool mornings and warm afternoons. The last breath of summer before winter arrived. Beautiful, everything beautiful.

 Why did beauty always come with pain? He decided. He would resign. It was the only way to protect Renata and his company. He went upstairs to find her. He needed to tell her his decision. He needed to. The guest apartment was ready. Bed made perfectly, desk clean, closet open, showing clothes still hanging, but personal suitcase missing, a white envelope on the nightstand. Sebastian opened it with trembling hands. Sebastian, by the time you read this, I’ll have already opened.

 Forgive my cowardice in leaving without saying goodbye, but I knew that if I saw you, you would convince me to stay, and I can’t stay. I’ve attached my formal resignation letter to the board. In it, I accept full responsibility for corporate espionage. I admit to betraying your trust. I admit everything. It’s a lie, of course, but it’s a necessary lie.

 With my resignation and confession, the board has no reason to remove you. Your reputation remains untarnished. Luciana is supporting her father. Three hundred employees keep their jobs. A small price to pay for so many lives protected. Don’t look for me. I’ve already booked a hostel room until I figure out where to go. The money you paid me gives me time to find something.

 Tell Luciana I love her, that I haven’t forgotten her. That breaking promises is the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but that sometimes breaking promises is like protecting the one you love. And tell yourself you didn’t fail. You gave me three months of dignity, of purpose, of feeling worth something again. No one can take that away from me. Thank you for seeing beyond the woman in the trash.

 Thank you for risking so much for someone who didn’t deserve it. Live well. Love your daughter. Build beautiful things. And forget me, Renata. Sebastián read it twice, three times. Then he ran. He found the hostel in Barrio Brasil. Cheap, clean, anonymous, the kind of place where fallen middle-class refugees hid. The receptionist gave him a room number after seeing a 20,000-peso bill.

 Sebastian went up three floors and banged on the door. “Renata, I know you’re there.” Silence. “Open up or I’ll break down the door.” The lock turned. Renata appeared. Red eyes, a gaunt face. “Go away. I read your letter. So you know it’s done.” “It’s not done until I say it’s done.” “It’s not your decision, Sebastian. It’s mine. I quit.”

I signed the confession. It was over. He pushed open the door and went inside. The room was tiny. Single bed, shared bathroom in the hallway, window overlooking an alley. Three months ago this would have been a luxury for Renata. Now it was a prison she chose willingly. “You can’t decide my battles,” Sebastián said. “Your battles.”

 This is my battle, my past, my problem, my disaster. You got involved in my company, you became part of my family. That’s what makes it our disaster. I don’t have a family, Renata shouted. I only have me. It’s always been just me. And I learned a long time ago that you survive by protecting whoever you can. Even if it means sacrificing yourself.

This isn’t sacrifice, it’s surrender. What’s the difference? Sacrifice has a purpose. Surrender is just giving up. Renata collapsed onto the bed. I’m so tired, Sebastián, so tired of fighting, of surviving, of getting up every time I’m knocked down. So, I didn’t fight alone. Let me help. You already have. Three months of help. More than anyone gave me in 28 years.

 It’s not enough. It has to be enough because if you stay, if you fight, you’ll lose everything. And I can’t live with that guilt. Sebastian knelt before her. Look at me. She raised her eyes. I built this company over 10 years. I know its value, 50 million on paper. But if I lose my integrity to save it, what did I really gain? Soulless money.

 You gained security for Luciana. Luciana doesn’t need money, she needs a father who teaches her to do the right thing, even when it’s difficult, especially when it’s difficult. Tears streamed down Renata’s face. And if you fight and we lose anyway. And if you destroy your life for nothing. Then, at least I tried. At least I looked my daughter in the eyes and said, “I fought for what was right.”

“Sebastian, I love you.” The words hit like bombs. Renata froze. No, yes. I don’t know when it happened. Maybe that first night when you refused charity. Maybe when you faced the board without fear. Maybe all those nights working late, discovering you’re more than just talent.

 You are courage, integrity, a fire that not even the streets could extinguish. I love you and I won’t lose you without a fight. Renata stood up and walked away. You can’t love me. I’m a mess. I come with legal baggage, a ruined reputation, a past that haunts me. I’m not a prize, I’m a burden. You’re everything I need. I’m not. I’m what you don’t need.

 Luciana needs stability. You need peace. I only bring chaos. You bring life. They stared at each other across the tiny room. “Don’t look for me,” Renata finally said. “Please, accept my resignation. Protect your company, forget about me. And if I can’t, then learn.” She grabbed her bag and walked to the door. “Where are you going? That’s none of your business.” She left.

 Sebastian let her go because Renata was right about one thing. He couldn’t force her to stay. He could only prove that she was worth fighting for. Sebastian arrived home at noon, defeated and exhausted. Luciana was waiting for him in the living room, drawing. “Hi, Daddy.” “Hi, sweetie.” “Renata’s coming over today.” Sebastian sat down next to her. How could he explain this to a five-year-old? Renata had to leave.

 Luciana’s eyes instantly filled with tears. Forever. I don’t know, but he promised. He said he’d stay. Sometimes promises are broken. My love, it’s not fair. Luciana threw down her crayons. She stood up. Fists clenched, tears streaming down her face. They always leave. Mom left. Now Renata’s gone. Everyone leaves.

 Luciana, why didn’t you fight for her, Dad? The question stopped him in his tracks. What? When I’m scared, you fight my fears. When I’m sick, you fight the illness. Why don’t you fight for Renata? Sebastián looked at his daughter. Five years old, but wiser than any adult at that moment. He remembered another question three months ago. A cold night.

 Dad, why is that woman looking in the trash? That question changed everything. This question would do the same. You’re right, he said slowly. Yes, yes, I didn’t fight back. I let her go because I was afraid. Of what? Of losing my company, my reputation, the things I’ve built. But Renata is worth more than things, right? Sebastián hugged his daughter. Yes, she’s worth so much more.

 Then go fight, Dad. He stood back, looking at her. I could lose. We could lose the house, the money, everything. Luciana thought about it seriously. My therapist says things can be replaced. People can’t. Your therapist is very wise. Are you going to bring her back? I’m going to try. Do you promise? Sebastian hesitated, then nodded. I promise to try with everything I have. Luciana smiled through her tears.

 That’s enough. Sebastián called Álvaro Pinto. I need the best criminal lawyers in Chile, the ones who defend presidents and billionaires. Why would I destroy Ernesto Pizarro completely and publicly? Sebastián, without solid evidence. Then find evidence. Hire whoever you need.

 Spend whatever it takes. I want everything. His finances, his businesses, every architect he destroyed. I want a pattern so clear that even his lawyers can’t deny it. That will take weeks, maybe months. So start now. Next call. His corporate lawyer drafts a resignation as SEO, effective in 30 days, but includes a clause.

 If the board approves, I’ll transfer shares to escrow and confiscate them for employees. They can’t sell the company for five years. That reduces its value dramatically. Exactly. If they oust me, they can’t stay silent. They have to keep the company running. It’s a risky move. Everything is risky. Now, third call. Trusted journalist at El Mercurio. I have a story.

 Prominent executive systematically destroying young architects. Eight victims in six years. Interested. Can you prove it? Give me two weeks. You’ll have award-winning evidence. I’ll give you three weeks. Then I’ll publish whatever I have. He hung up. He looked at his office. Ten years of life within these walls. Maybe he’d lose them all. But Luciana was right. Things can be replaced, people can’t.

 Lorenza showed up with coffee. She decided to fight. I decided. And the board can do whatever they want. I resign or they remove me, it doesn’t matter, but I’m not going to let them win without a fight. And Renata, first I clear her name, then, then I’ll ask her to forgive me for letting her go. Lorenza smiled. She’ll forgive him. How do you know? Because she’s in love too.

 Anyone with eyes can see it. So why did she leave? Because love sometimes means protecting. Even if protecting hurts. That night Sebastián didn’t sleep again, but this time not out of fear, but out of determination. Ernesto Pizarro had spent six years destroying innocent people. Maritza had betrayed five years of trust out of pathological jealousy.

 The board valued money over justice. Everyone thought Sebastián would choose the safe, the easy, the profitable path. They were wrong. He had built his empire by being calculating, careful, avoiding risks. Now he would risk everything. For truth, for justice, for love. At 3 a.m., he emailed the entire board.

 Dear colleagues, I reject the ultimatum. I will not fire Renata Salazar. I am submitting my voluntary resignation as SEO, effective in 30 days, under the attached terms. During those 30 days, I will investigate the origin of the falsified evidence because it is false, and I will prove it. If at the end of 30 days I have no proof, I will leave without a fight.

 But if I have them, I will file criminal charges against whoever is responsible, no matter who it is. Integrity is non-negotiable. I learned that from the architect I rescued from the trash. She has more integrity than all of us put together. Sebastián Olmedo pressed send. There was no turning back. The sun rose over Santiago. April giving way to May. Autumn arriving in full force.

 Sebastian watched the city awaken. Millions of people beginning their day. Most would never know about this battle, but it mattered nonetheless, because some battles aren’t fought for an audience, they’re fought for a soul. And Sebastian Olmedo had just declared war for his. Day 3. The forensic analyst looked at Sebastian with a strange expression. I found something.

 What? Claudio Núñez, a digital forensics expert from the Investigations Department, projected code onto the screen. The emails look real at first glance. Correct metadata, consistent timestamps. But look here, he pointed to lines of code incomprehensible to Sebastián. Each email has a unique digital signature from the server, like a fingerprint.

 These emails have the correct signature for the Pacific server, so they’re legitimate. Wait, here’s the problem. I checked the server logs. The creation timestamps in the logs don’t match the timestamps in the emails themselves. What does that mean? It means someone with administrative access to the server created these emails directly in the database.

 They weren’t sent by a regular user; they were inserted manually. Sebastian leaned forward. “Can you test it?” “I already did. Look, the email was supposedly sent on February 15th at 2:17 AM, but the server log shows it was created on March 28th at 11:43 PM, six weeks after the date shown.” “Exactly.”

 Someone rolled back the data, and only IT personnel with ROUT access could do that. Who has that access at your company? Four people: the head of IT, two senior administrators, and a systems assistant. Sebastian called HR. “I need the complete IT personnel history for the last three months.” An hour later, he had the answer.

 A systems assistant, Mario Leiva, abruptly resigned on April 5, two days before the evidence surfaced. Where is he now? We don’t know. He listed an address in Argentina on his resignation letter. Sebastián called Álvaro. Mario Leiva, find him. It took four days. Álvaro tracked him down to Buenos Aires. Do you want me to bring him back? Not yet. First, find out who paid him. Day 9. Álvaro called.

 A bank transfer of $100,000 three days before I resigned. Origin: a Shell account in the Cayman Islands. It took a while, but I traced the actual owner. Who? No, Pizarro. Maritza Escobar. Sebastián felt the ground shift beneath him. Are you sure? Absolutely. The Shell account is registered in his deceased mother’s name, a common way to hide money. Maritza deposited $100,000.

 Mario Leiva got them out two days later. Son of Hay más. We audited Marita’s finances. She’s been diverting small amounts for three years. 500 here, 1000 there. Approximate total, $200,000. Embezzlement. Yes. And I bet Pizarro found out, used her as a pawn. Sebastián closed his eyes. Five years working with Maritza, five years of trust, destroyed by jealousy and despair. I want to confront her today.

Are you sure? We could go straight to the police. First, I want to hear her say why. That afternoon, Sebastián found Maritza in his office. She looked up, a tense smile on her face. “Sebastián, do you need something?” He closed the door and locked it. “I need you to tell me the truth.” “About what?” “About Mario Leiva. About the $1,000 you paid him.”

 About how you planted false evidence against Renata. Maritza paled, then recovered. I don’t know what you’re talking about. Sebastián threw the bank documents onto his desk. I have transfers. I have forensic analysis of the emails. I have evidence of your embezzlement for three years. I have everything, Maritza.

 She looked at the papers. Her hands trembled. Sebastian, why wouldn’t you understand? Try me. Maritza stood up and walked to the window. Her reflection showed a broken woman. Five years, she whispered. Five years loving you in silence. Maritza, I came to work every day hoping you would see me. Really see me.

 Not as a CFO, as a woman, as someone who could love you, care for you, be what your ex-wife wasn’t. She turned away, tears streaming freely. But you never saw me. To you, I was just efficient, Maritza, reliable, Maritza. Maritza, who’s always there, but never seen. I’m sorry, I didn’t know. You didn’t have to know, you had to feel, but you didn’t feel anything because I’m not a 28-year-old blonde with a tragic past.

 The bitterness in her voice was like a knife. Then she appeared, rescued from the trash, and in three months she accomplished what I couldn’t in five years. She made you feel, she made you take risks, she made you love. Maritza laughed. A broken sound. Do you know what it feels like to see the man you love look at another woman the way he never looked at you? The way he’ll never look at you again because you’re 45 and you have wrinkles and you’re no longer what men want. This doesn’t justify what you did. I know. Do you think I don’t know? I’m a monster.

 I became a monster because of unrequited love. She slumped in her chair. Pizarro contacted me in March. He said he knew about my embezzlement, that he had evidence, that he would go to the police unless I helped. In exchange for what? Evidence against Renata. He needed it to come from the inside.

 I had access to servers, to IT, to everything. I was perfect. You could have refused, gone to prison, lost everything. At least this way I had a chance. If Renata left, maybe, maybe you would too. It didn’t end. It didn’t need to. Sebastián felt more pity than anger. It’s worth destroying an innocent life for unrequited love.

 No, nothing was worth it, because even if I left, you would never love me. I see it in your eyes now. Disgust, disappointment, but never love. Resign today, and maybe I won’t press charges. Maritza laughed bitterly. You already investigated me. You know about the embezzlement. The charges will come with or without my resignation. So, make things easy for me. Testify against Pizarro. Give me everything, and I’ll plead for leniency at your sentencing.

Why would you do that? Because despite everything, you worked faithfully for years before this. Because your weakness used you. Because I understand desperate love and I have compassion. Maritza closed her eyes. I will testify, I will give you everything, but not out of mercy, for atonement. They remained silent. Then Marita asked, “Do you really love her?” “Yes, more than you loved your wife.” Sebastian thought.

 His ex-wife was youthful passion, attraction, superficial compatibility that collapsed under the pressure of parenthood. “Renata was different, deeper, more real.” “Yes,” he added. “Then go for her. Don’t make my mistake. Don’t let pride or fear steal the only thing that matters. She’s gone now. So find her, and when you find her, don’t let her go.” Maritza opened a drawer and took out an envelope. The resignation letter was already written.

She knew this day would come. She placed it on the desk, and Sebastián, sorry for everything, left his own office. Sebastián watched her go. Five years of working together, ended in a 20-minute conversation. With Maritza’s testimony and forensic evidence, Sebastián expanded the investigation. Day 15.

 Álvaro returned with a devastating discovery. Not eight victims, but fifteen. Sebastián looked up from his documents. What? Pizarro has been doing this for ten years. Fifteen young architects in total, all the same pattern: no family, talented, destroyed when they created something brilliant.

 Where were the other seven? Scattered across Valparaíso, Concepción, La Serena, and even Puerto Montt. Pizarro recruited from different cities, which is why no one connected the dots. And now, I have testimony from four willing to talk. The other 11, some disappeared, some changed professions. One is in drug rehabilitation, another committed suicide two years ago.

Sebastian felt nauseous. My God, this is bigger than corporate fraud. It’s systematic predation, the destruction of lives for greed and ego. We need to go to the prosecutor’s office. I already did. The prosecutor assigned a special team, but they want you to go public. Media pressure will help. When? When you’re ready.

 Sebastian looked at the calendar. Day 18 of his 30-day ultimatum. Press conference scheduled for tomorrow. Ritz Carlton Hotel conference room. May 19. 50 journalists, six television cameras, live broadcast. Sebastian stood before them all. Renata was somewhere in the city, unaware of what was happening. He had tried to contact her.

 Unanswered calls, ignored messages. I was fighting this battle alone for now. Thank you for coming, he began. I have information about systemic fraud in the construction industry, specifically regarding Ernesto Pizarro and his company. Murmurs filled the room. For 10 years, Pizarro has identified talented young architects without support networks.

 He hires them, gains their trust, expects them to develop innovative projects. Then he steals those projects and destroys the architects. He projected the first slide, a list of 15 names. 15 victims we can confirm. There are probably more. Each one lost their career, reputation, years of work. One committed suicide. Others developed mental health problems or addictions.

Next slide. Documents showing a pattern. The method involves signing administrative documents that actually authorize fraudulent funds. When discovered, the architect is legally liable. Pizarro files lawsuits, freezes assets, and destroys reputations. Next slide. Project photos.

 These buildings, these complexes, these award-winning designs—all stolen. The talent belonged to others. Pizarro merely took credit. Journalists wrote frantically. One victim is Renata Salazar. You know her from recent negative coverage. I accused you three months ago of hiring her knowing about her legal troubles. He paused. Those troubles are Pizarro’s doing.

 Renata is innocent, and I have forensic evidence proving it. Claudio Núñez’s analysis was presented. Additionally, recent evidence that appeared to implicate her in corporate espionage was planted by an employee of my company, coerced by Pizarro. That employee resigned and will testify. The questions erupted. Sebastián raised his hand. The prosecution has all the evidence. The formal investigation begins today.

 I expect criminal charges against Ernesto Pizarro this week. Why reveal this publicly? asked a reporter from La Tercera. Because the victims deserve public vindication. Because the industry deserves to know. And because if media pressure helps bring about justice, use it. What do you gain from this? Sebastián smiled sadly.

 Nothing, in fact, I probably lose. Renata Salazar resigned to protect me. She left before I could stop her, and I haven’t been able to find her for two weeks. Her voice cracked slightly, but I learned from her that some things matter more than winning. Doing the right thing matters more than protecting your reputation. Justice matters more than money.

 “Do you love her?” The question came from a young reporter in the front row. Sebastián hesitated, then nodded. “Yes, I love her, and I hope she’s watching this because she needs to know her name is clear, that the world will know the truth, that she didn’t fight alone.” The cameras captured everything. By 6 p.m., the story dominated every newscast. By 8 p.m., Pizarro’s company stock had fallen 40%.

 By 10 a.m., three banks had called to demand loans. Ernesto Pizarro saw his empire collapse in 14 hours. On the 22nd, the prosecutor filed formal charges: 15 counts of fraud, forgery, and defamation. An arrest warrant was issued. Pizarro was arrested in his office, and the arrest was broadcast live. Sebastián saw it on television.

 He felt a hollow victory because Renata was still missing. On the 25th, the board called an emergency meeting. Ricardo Fuentes spoke first. “Sebastián, your resignation still stands. 30 days. I gave you my word. We want you to reconsider.” Sebastián blinked in surprise. “Why?” “Because you were right. About Renata, about prioritizing integrity. You embarrassed us all.” The other 11 members nodded. “We withdraw the ultimatum.”

 Renata Salazar can return whenever she wants. With a public apology from this board. She resigned voluntarily. So convince her to come back. Pacífico needs architects with her integrity. Sebastián felt something loosen in his chest. Thank you, but first I have to find her. He spent three days looking for shelters, hostels, places where Renata could hide. Nothing. Day 28.

 Álvaro called. I think I found her. Where? Yungai neighborhood. There’s a cooperative of young architects. Fair Architecture. Renata is a founder. Sebastián drove immediately. The cooperative occupied a converted old house, with a modest sign. Through the window, he saw half a dozen people working on blueprints, and there, bent over a drawing table, her blonde hair tied back in a ponytail, was Renata, alive, working, rebuilding again. Without him, Sebastián pushed open the door. A bell rang.

 Renata looked up. Their eyes met. Time stood still. “Hi,” Sebastian said. “Hi,” Renata replied. The other architects watched curiously. “Can we talk in private?” Renata hesitated, then nodded, leading him to a small backyard with potted plants, a table and chairs, and autumn sunlight filtering through the trees. “How did you find me?” she asked.

 I wasn’t easy. You’re good at hiding. I had practice. Awkward silence. I saw the press conference, Renata finally said. On television. What you did was incredible. It was the right thing to do. You risked everything. Not everything. I still have a company. The board withdrew the ultimatum. Pizarro is under arrest. Maritza resigned and will testify. And your reputation remains intact.

Maybe better. Turns out principles matter more than I thought. Renata smiled slightly. I told you so. Yes. You did it. Another silence. Sebastián looked around. What is this? Fair, cooperative architecture. Five of us are victims of Pizarro. Two others had similar experiences with different companies. We decided to work together.

Small projects, clients that big firms ignore. But it’s ours, it’s impressive. It’s survival. Again, Renata. No, he raised his hand. I know you’re going to say I should come back, that the board wants me back, that everything is forgiven, and I’m not coming back, not as an employee. Sebastián felt his heart sink.

 Why not? Because I spent 28 years proving my worth to others—to professors, to Pizarro, to the board, to you. He stopped, looking directly at him. Here I don’t have to prove anything. These architects know me, they respect me. We’re equals. I understand. Do you understand? I truly believe you do. That Christmas night I thought I was saving you. I didn’t understand until later that it was me who needed saving. Renata looked at him in surprise.

 You taught me that building isn’t just about buildings. It’s about dignity, purpose, creating spaces where people can live with respect. Sebastián approached me. And you taught me that some things are worth more than money. Like truth, like justice, like love. Sebastián, I didn’t come to ask you to come back as an employee. I came to propose building a society.

 What? Pacífico Construction has a massive budget for social housing. Your cooperative has vision and talent. Let’s work together as equals. Partners. Renata Parpadeo. Are you offering a contract? I’m offering a partnership. Your cooperative designs all our social projects. 5050 in profits. Complete creative autonomy. That’s generous.

 It’s not generosity, it’s smart business, and it’s a way to fix a broken system. Renata walked to the table, sat down processing, and we finally asked, “What are we?” Sebastián knelt before her. We are whatever we decide to be. If you want just a business partnership, I accept. If you want friendship, I accept. If you want more, what is more? More is dinners together.

 What matters most is that Luciana can call you Mom if she wants. What matters most is that we build something that isn’t a building, it’s life. Tears streamed down Renata’s face. I’m scared. Me too. The last time I trusted someone, they destroyed me. I know. And I can’t promise I’ll never hurt you. I can only promise I’ll try not to, and if I do, I’ll fight to fix it.

 Renata gently touched her face. You said you loved me. In the hostel, every word was true, even knowing all the baggage I carry, especially because of that, because that baggage made you who you are, and who you are is extraordinary. Renata laughed through her tears. You’re impossible. That’s it. Yes. Maybe.

 Give me time to think about it, both society and everything else. You have all the time you need. She stood up and walked to the door. Sebastian called Renata. He turned around. “Thank you for fighting when you didn’t have to, for believing when no one else did.” “Don’t thank me. You saved me first; it just took me a while to realize it.” He left, leaving her with the resolve that she would change everything.

 But for the first time in weeks, Sebastián felt hopeful. Because Renata hadn’t said no, she’d said maybe, and maybe that was enough for now. Six months later, the spring sun bathed the vacant lot in Puente Alto. Renata held the ceremonial shovel, smiling at the cameras. “Project Renata,” the mayor announced. “150 sustainable homes.”

 A model for the future of social construction in Chile. Renata had protested the name. Sebastián insisted, “Your design, your vision, your name.” Now, surrounded by press, authorities, and residents who would soon live here, Renata allowed her pride to blossom. Sebastián was by her side, always by her side these last few months. Luciana between them, holding both their hands.

“Can I break dirt too?” the little girl asked. “Of course.” Renata handed her the small shovel they had brought especially for her. Luciana dug the shovel in with all her six-year-old strength. The crowd applauded. “I did it, Renata. I did it.” “Yes, you did, little one.” Renata hugged her.

 Above Luciana’s head, Sebastián caught Renata’s eye. Something happened between them. Something warm and promising. Six months. So much had changed. Flashback to June. Renata signing the partnership agreement. Her hands trembling slightly. “Are you sure?” Sebastián asked. “No, but I’m going to do it anyway.” The agreement was simple.

 Just Architecture would design all of Pacífico Construction’s social housing projects for five years. 5050 in profit. Complete creative autonomy. This changes everything, said one of the cooperative’s architects. That’s the idea, replied Renata. The first design meeting was tense. Sebastián’s team was used to total control, Renata’s cooperative used to being ignored, but they found rhythm, mutual respect, and a shared purpose.

 By August, the first project was underway. The Puente Alto housing project. Flashback to July, dinner at Sebastián’s house. Renata had agreed to move back into the guest apartment. Temporarily, she insisted, until I get my own place. Temporarily became indefinite. Luciana was euphoric.

 Her therapist reported a dramatic improvement. The nightmares almost disappeared. “Do you know why?” the therapist asked Sebastián. “Why?” Because Luciana finally has what she needed. No, a surrogate mother, a complete family, consistent love. That night, after Luciana went to sleep, Sebastián found Renata on the terrace. “What are you thinking?” “That six months ago she was sleeping in a cheap hostel.”

 Now I’m here. It’s surreal. Do you want to leave? No, that’s what scares me. I don’t want to leave. Sebastián sat down next to her. Then don’t leave. What are we, Sebastián? We live together, but in separate rooms. We raised Luciana together, but we’re not officially a couple. It’s a strange limbo. Do you want it to be official? Renata looked at him.

 “Do you want to?” I asked first. She laughed. “Yes, I do, but I’m afraid of ruining it.” “Me too, but I think it’s worth the risk.” They finally kissed. Six months of tension dissolving in that kiss. When they parted, Renata whispered, “Go slowly with me, please, as slowly as you need.” Flashback to September. Ernesto Pizarro’s trial. Renata testified.

 Eight other architects also came forward, finding courage after Sebastián’s press conference. Pizarro was sentenced to 12 years in prison and ordered to make restitution to all the victims. It wouldn’t bring back stolen years, destroyed careers, or ruined lives, but it was justice. It was something. Maritza also faced trial, testified against Pizarro, and fully cooperated.

 She received three years of probation and community service. She had to return all the embezzled money. Her career in corporate finance was over. Sebastián saw her one last time after the sentencing. “What will you do now?” “Start over. Maybe teach accounting at a community college. Something simple.” “Maritza, no.”

 She raised her hand. “I don’t need an apology speech. I did what I did. I’ll pay the price. End of story.” She paused. “But I hope you’re happy. You deserve happiness with her. You do too. Someday, when I’ve atoned enough.” She left. Sebastian never saw her again. Back to the present, opening ceremony ending.

 The press wanted interviews. Renata handled it with a grace that surprised Sebastián. Six months ago, she avoided cameras. Now she faced them with her head held high because her name was cleared—more than cleared, restored. A specialized magazine named her architect of the year. Her design for Puente Alto was studied at universities. Three more companies wanted to commission her fair architecture.

 Renata Salazar didn’t just survive, she thrived. “Cans?” Sebastián asked when they were finally free. Exhausted, but happy, Luciana tugged on Renata’s hand. “Can we go this way?” Dad promised. “Dad promises a lot of things,” Renata said, looking at Sebastián with amusement. “And Dad keeps his promises,” he replied. They went to Luciana’s favorite ice cream shop.

 Sitting on the terrace, spring unfolding all around, Luciana devoured chocolate ice cream. Renata ate strawberry. Sebastián watched the two women in his life. “Renata,” Luciana said suddenly. “Can I ask you a question? I can always call you Mom.” Renata’s ice cream stopped halfway to her mouth. She looked at Sebastián, panic in her eyes. He nodded slightly. “Your choice, Renata.”

 She put down her ice cream and knelt beside Luciana’s chair. “Are you sure? Because ‘Mom’ is a big, important word.” “I’m sure. You already have a beautiful name, Renata, but I also want to call you ‘Mom.’ Is that okay?” Tears streamed down Renata’s face. “That’s more than okay. It would be an honor.”

 Luciana hugged her, staining Renata’s blouse with chocolate. “I love you, Mom.” “I love you too, sweetheart.” Sebastián gazed at his own heart, too full for words. His family was finally complete, not in a traditional way, not in the way society expected, but real, true, won through struggle, sacrifice, and unwavering love. That night, after Luciana had fallen asleep, Sebastián and Renata sat in his study.

 “There’s something I want to ask you,” Sebastián said. “It sounds serious, it is. Sort of.” Renata waited. “We’ve been officially a couple for six months, but we’ve known each other for nine. Luciana calls you Mom. We live together. Sebastián, where are you going with this?” He took a small box out of his pocket. Renata stopped breathing.

 “I’m not asking for an answer right now,” she said quickly. “I just want you to know that this is real for me, that when I look to the future, I see you in it—you and Luciana, and maybe eventually more children if you want.” She opened the box. A simple, elegant ring, a modest diamond.

 Someday, when you’re ready, I want to marry you, but there’s no rush. I just wanted you to know. Renata took the box with trembling hands. “Are you proposing to me without actually proposing?” “Exactly, it’s a practice proposal. A dress rehearsal.” She laughed through her tears. “You’re ridiculous.” “Is that it?” “No, it’s not. I don’t know. Let me think. Take all the time you need. A month, six months, a year. I’ll be waiting.”

Renata looked at the ring, then at Sebastián. What happened to the calculating SEO who never took risks? He met a woman searching through trash. She taught him that some risks are worth it. I didn’t teach you anything. You chose to take the risk because you showed me how they kissed. Deep, promising.

 When they parted, Renata whispered, “Ask me again in six months.” “And what will you say?” “I don’t know yet, but I want to find out.” “That’s enough for me.” Six months later, on the land where Renata’s project now had its first buildings nearing completion, Sebastián asked her again, this time on his knees, this time with Luciana holding flowers, this time in front of the 150 families who would soon live in the homes Renata designed.

 Renata Salazar, will you marry me? She looked around at sustainable buildings gleaming in the sun, at smiling families, at Luciana bouncing with excitement, at Sebastián kneeling, vulnerable, hopeful. “Yes,” she said, “a thousand times yes.” The applause was thunderous, but Renata only heard the beating of her heart. Finally, finally at peace, finally home—not in a place, but in person, with family, in love that survived garbage, betrayal, pain, and fear, and emerged stronger.

 As sustainable architecture, they built something designed to last—not perfect, but real—and that was all they needed. What did you think of Sebastián and Renata’s story? Leave your comments below on a scale of 0 to 10. How would you rate this story? Subscribe to the channel and turn on notifications so you don’t miss any of our stories. M.