The millionaire arrived drunk at 4 a.m. The doorman who helped him never imagined she would fall in love with him. The glass of the revolving door almost knocked him to the ground. Lucia looked up from her paperwork and her heart stopped. The man staggering in the marble lobby was wearing a suit that cost more than six months’ salary. 

His hair was disheveled, his tie was hanging off, and he could barely stand. He crashed into the reception desk. “Sorry,” his voice sounded slurred. “Sorry, I just…” Lucia had already picked up the phone to call security when she saw his empty, completely broken eyes. She put the phone down. “Sir, are you alright?” He tried to focus on her and failed. The pain was alive in the pain. “Of course I am.” 

Lucía recognized his face now. Leonardo Ibarra. The owner of the penthouse. In three years working the night shift, she’d never seen him like this. Never seen him up close. Could he walk? Yes. No, maybe, he collapsed. Lucía jumped from the desk just in time to prevent his head from hitting the marble floor. His weight almost knocked her over too. 

He smelled of expensive whiskey and desperation. Okay, I’ve got him. I didn’t have him. He was much heavier than he looked, but Lucía had carried her mother up the stairs when the elevator broke down. She’d carried bags of cement on construction jobs when she was 16. She could do this. She dragged him toward the elevator. Mr. Ibarra, I need your help. 

He made an effort. His legs barely cooperated. Lucía pressed the penthouse button with her elbow, bracing her entire weight against the elevator wall. The doors closed. “Thank you.” The word came out broken. “Nobody, nobody does this.” Lucía didn’t respond. She was violating like five different protocols. 

If anyone checked the security cameras, she’d be fired immediately. The elevator ascended silently, save for his heavy breathing. When the doors opened on the top floor, Lucia pushed him forward. There was only one door. Of course, the penthouse occupied the entire floor. His key. Leonardo fumbled awkwardly in his pockets, pulled out a key ring, and immediately dropped it. 

Lucía picked it up and tried three keys before finding the right one. The door opened into the darkness. Lucía helped him inside. The apartment smelled musty, as if no one actually lived there. There was expensive furniture, but no photographs, no clutter, no life. Where’s his room? Anywhere. This is fine. 

She led him to a huge sofa near the windows. Lucia laid him down there more gently than he probably deserved. He sank into the cushions as if he could finally stop pretending he was okay. He should go. He’d already done too much, but his feet wouldn’t move. Leonardo’s eyes were closed. 

In the dim light filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows, he looked younger, less like the tech mogul the newspapers adored, more like someone drowning. He shouldn’t be here. Lucía spoke softly, more to herself than to him. No one should. He opened one eye. But thank you, really, there was something about the way she said it. As if thank you were a foreign word she’d just learned, Lucía found a folded blanket on a chair and placed it over him. 

Drink water when you wake up. He left before she could answer, before she could change her mind. In the elevator going down, Lucía let out the breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding. Her hands were trembling. She had just risked the only decent job she’d ever had for a drunk stranger, for someone who probably wouldn’t even remember her face tomorrow. 

When she got back to her desk, she typed 407 AM into the logbook, all calm, as if the last 20 minutes had never happened. Her phone vibrated. A message from her brother Javier. You already deposited the tuition. The deadline is Friday. Lucía stared at the screen until the letters blurred. 

Three years working here, three years saving every penny, three years building a stable life, a whole decade cleaning offices, waiting tables, doing anything that paid since her father died, and she had just risked it all for a man who didn’t even know her name. The clock read 4:23 a.m. She still had almost two hours left in her shift. 

Lucía went back to her paperwork, but the words were meaningless. She kept seeing those empty eyes, that loneliness she recognized because she saw it in the mirror every morning when she got home. Three nights later it happened again. This time Lucía heard it before she saw it. The dull thud of someone hitting the outside wall. She closed her eyes. No, the revolving door opened. 

Leonardo Ibarra staggered inside, even more disheveled than the first time. Hola smiled as if she’d just found an old friend. “Are you Mr. Ibarra?” “Leonardo.” “I’m Leonardo.” He took a step and leaned dangerously close. “What’s your name? Let’s go to the elevator.” “That’s not a name.” Lucía grabbed his arm before he fell. She wasn’t surprised anymore by how much he weighed. 

This time she knew how to distribute the weight. Lucia, Lucia, she repeated as if she were memorizing something important. Lucia saves me again. I’m not saving him, I’m just taking him home. It’s the same thing. In the elevator, Leonardo leaned against the wall and looked at her with something close to curiosity. Why don’t you call security? You should 

Probably, but you don’t. Lucia didn’t have a good answer for that. Or maybe she had too many, and none of them made sense. The doors opened. This time Leonardo reached into his pocket and pulled out his key on the first try. Progress. Can you? He held the key out to her. My hands don’t work well. Lucia unlocked the door. He walked straight to the sofa as if it were a set routine. 

You know where everything is? he slumped down. You’re good at this. I shouldn’t be good at this. Leonardo closed his eyes, but smiled. Me neither. Lucia found the blanket where she’d left it last time. No one had moved it. No one had folded it again, as if the apartment had been waiting for this exact moment 

When she pulled the blanket over him, Leonardo caught her hand. “Can I ask you something?” Her heart beat faster than it should. “It depends. Why don’t you see me like everyone else?” Lucía gently withdrew her hand. “I don’t know. Maybe because everyone else only sees the penthouse.” Her eyes widened. For the first time since she’d met him, they seemed completely focused. 

“And what do you see?” Lucía was already at the door. “I see someone who needs to drink water and sleep.” She closed the door before he could answer, before he could admit the truth. He saw someone as broken as she was, only he had millions and she barely had enough to make ends meet. In the elevator, Lucía checked her phone. Another message from Javier 

The photo of a credit card with the balance maxed out. I had to use the words for the books. I’m sorry. She pressed her forehead against the cold elevator wall. This had to stop. Leonardo Ibarra wasn’t her responsibility. Her family was, her job was. But when she got to her desk and updated the log, 4:34 am, all quiet, she knew it was a lie 

Nothing was calm, and the next time he stumbled through that door, she would do exactly the same thing. Thursday. Of course it was Thursday. Lucía already had the master key ready when Leonardo walked through the doors at 3:47 a.m. Four days since the last time. She’d been counting without meaning to. “Hey, Lucía,” he could barely get her name out. “I knew you’d be here.” “I’m always here, Mr. Ibarra.” 

Leonardo, I told you. Leonardo guided him to the elevator with movements that felt practiced, muscles that remembered exactly how to support his weight, how to anticipate when he was going to wobble. Ten years since his father died. Ten years of body-crushing jobs, cleaning offices in the wee hours, waiting tables in restaurants where customers touched him more than they should, carrying boxes in warehouses where no one asked if he was eighteen. 

He had worked so hard to get here, to get the degree he could never finish in school, to accumulate impeccable references, to earn the navy blue uniform he now risked every time he pressed the penthouse button. “Are you mad at me?” Leonardo asked as the doors closed 

“You don’t sound angry.” “I’m tired.” He laughed a bitter sound. Me too. In his apartment, Leonardo went to the sofa instinctively. Lucia noticed the empty whiskey bottle on the table. It hadn’t been there last time. Thursday. He followed her gaze. Thursdays are hard, Pump. Why? Because I got divorced on a Thursday. 

Two years ago. He slumped down. We signed the papers on a Thursday morning, and by evening she was with someone else. Lucia didn’t know what to say to that, so she reached for the blanket. You drink on Sundays too. Sundays were family dinners. Before my family decided I wasn’t worth the effort, I closed my eyes 

Do you see a pattern? There was something in his voice that made Lucia stop. I see someone hurting themselves on purpose. Clever. He smiled humorlessly. That’s exactly what it is. The next time was Sunday. 4:12 a.m. Leonardo arrived so drunk he tripped over his own feet in the lobby. Lucia, my nightly savior, upstairs. 

Did you know you’re the only person who accidentally touches something on me? Her stomach tightened strangely. I’m doing my job. He didn’t stare at her as she helped him. This isn’t your job. This is… I don’t know what this is. In the elevator, the silence was heavy. Lucia could feel his gaze on her. “Do you have family?” he asked 

“Yes, they’re waiting for you. My shift ends at 6, then I take two buses to Itapalapa. My mother will be awake. She’s always awake until I get there.” “Istapalapa.” Leonardo seemed to be processing. That’s far. “Two hours in good traffic, and you do this six nights a week.” Five. I need the money. The words came out drier than he intended. 

Leonardo remained silent the rest of the way. Two weeks later, something changed. Leonardo arrived at 2:30 a.m. early, and although he had been drinking, he wasn’t wasted. “Hi.” Lucia looked up from her paperwork. “Mr. Ibarra, can I stay here?” She gestured to the chair in front of his desk. “I don’t want to be alone up there.” 

Every instinct told him to say no, to keep to the boundaries, to remember the cameras. Okay. He sat for a long moment. Neither of them spoke. Lucia went back to her inventory of keys. Leonardo stared at the floor-to-ceiling windows as if he’d never seen them before. This building is beautiful at night. His voice sounded almost sober. I’ve never sat here to look at it. 

Why did he buy the penthouse if he doesn’t like it? Because it was what he was supposed to want. He laughed softly. The guy who built a tech company from scratch. Of course he needs the penthouse, the expensive car, the beautiful wife. And none of those things made him happy. The company did 

At first, before the focus shifted from the idea to the money, Lucía put down her pen. What was the idea? For the first time, she saw something real in his eyes. Genuine enthusiasm, to make financial transactions accessible to everyone, not just people like me, but people like—she stopped—people who work five shifts a week and take two buses home. Her heart had made something complicated. That’s a good idea. 

It was until my partner Tomás decided there was more money to be made in partnering with big banks. Now we’re just another corporate product. Why did you let it change? Leonardo looked at her as if she had just asked the question he asked himself every night. Because Tomás put up 40% of the initial capital when no one else believed in me. 

Because he has 40% of the shares and a seat on the board. Because when my wife left me, I stopped fighting for the things that mattered. That sounds like an excuse. The words came out before Lucía could stop them, but Leonardo smiled broadly. He paused. You must think I’m pathetic 

Lucía remembered that line from the chapter breakdown. This was the moment. “I think you’re suffering. There’s a difference.” Leonardo remained completely still, as if no one had said anything like that to him in years. Maybe no one ever had. “How do you do that? Make me see through all my money, my mess, my everything?” Lucía shrugged, uncomfortable with the intensity of his gaze. 

Maybe because I’ve seen enough in my life to recognize it in others. How, what? Like working since you were 16 because your father had a heart attack and your family needed to eat. Like cleaning up drunk vomit in restaurants to pay for the GED you should have finished in school. Like watching your mother cry because she can’t afford her arthritis medication. She stopped. 

She had said too much. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have. No. Leonardo leaned forward. Don’t apologize. That’s real. That’s it, thank you for being honest. They talked until 5:30 about everything, about nothing. Leonardo asked about his brother Javier, about his engineering degree at UNAM, about the dreams Lucía had put aside 

“I always wanted a coffee shop.” She laughed at herself. “Does that sound silly?” “Why does it sound silly?” “Because there’s only one coffee shop in Mexico City. What makes mine special? What would make it special?” Lucía thought about it. It would be a place where people who work night shifts could come, where waitresses and security guards and office cleaners could sit without feeling judged. Good coffee. Fair prices. Respect. 

That doesn’t sound silly, it sounds necessary. The way she said it made something stir in her chest. At 5:45, Leonardo got up to leave. I should let you finish your shift. Okay. Lucía stopped. Thank you for this, for not just listening. It wasn’t anything, it was everything. In the elevator going up, Leonardo took out his key 

Lucia waited for him to leave, but he held the key out to her. Take this. What? My key for next time. You shouldn’t have to use the master key. If they check the records. I can’t accept that. Please. His voice softened. You’ve already risked enough for me. At least let me make this easier. The key gleamed between them. 

A line they shouldn’t cross, a boundary they shouldn’t break. Lucia took it only until you get better. And if I don’t get better, you will. She didn’t know if she believed it, but the way he held her gaze suggested she wanted to believe it too. The elevator doors opened. Leonardo stepped into his apartment. This time he didn’t stagger 

Lucía went downstairs with her key in her pocket, feeling like she’d just taken a step into something she couldn’t return from. Her phone vibrated. Javier, I passed the exam. Thanks for everything, sis. She closed her eyes. This was what she worked for by now, not late-night conversations with broken men living in penthouses. 

But when she updated the log, 5:47 a.m., all quiet, her hand went to her pocket where Leonardo’s key was waiting. Nothing about this was quiet, and somewhere upstairs she knew he wasn’t sleeping either. Three weeks. Three weeks since Leonardo had given her his key and Lucía had stopped feeling guilty about using it. 

Now he arrived between 1 and 2 AM, sober or almost sober, and sat in the chair in front of his desk as if he had every right. Maybe he did. He paid enough in maintenance fees to buy his right to anything in this building. “How was dinner with your mom?” Leonardo had two coffees. This time he passed her one. Lucía took it even though she shouldn’t have 

The cameras were capturing everything. Good, he’s better. The new medications are helping. I’m glad. She took a sip. It was from her favorite coffee shop three blocks away. He’d paid attention when she’d casually mentioned the place a week ago. You don’t have to bring me coffee. I know. I want to. That’s how it was. 

Now small gestures that meant too much, conversations that lasted for hours, an intimacy Lucia didn’t know how to name. Tell me about Javier. Leonardo shifted in his chair. How are his classes going? He has finals in two weeks. He’s stressed. Engineering is hard. Everything is hard when you know someone is sacrificing their life so you can have yours. 

Leonardo looked at her over his cup. He knows how lucky he is to stop you. Sometimes I wonder if he knows or if he just feels guilty. Probably both. He paused. Do you ever regret it? About what? Choosing him over your coffee. Your dreams. Lucia thought carefully about her answer. You can’t regret keeping your family alive 

But I do wonder who I’d be if I’d had the chance to choose. You can still choose, can’t you? When you’re 26 and have zero savings. 27 in April. Leonardo smiled. You mentioned him last week. Of course I remembered him. I remembered everything he said. It was terrifying and exciting at the same time. Your turn. Lucia changed the subject. Tell me about Tomás. 

Leonardo’s smile vanished. What do you want to know? Why are you letting him take the company you built? It’s not that simple, make it simple. Leonardo sighed, staring at his coffee as if it held answers. When I started, I had the idea, but not the money. Every investor turned me down. They said I was too young, too idealistic. Tomás was the only one who believed 

How much did he put in? 40% of the initial capital in exchange for 40% of the shares and a seat on the board of directors. That’s a lot of power. It was, but without it there wouldn’t be a company. Leonardo tightened his interest rate and it worked for three years. We shared the same vision. Then I met Barbara. The name landed between them like shattered glass. Your ex-wife. My ex-wife. 

It sounded like a curse. I met her at a networking event. She was beautiful, elegant, knew exactly what to say. She made me feel like I’d finally arrived, you know? Like I was enough. When did you realize she wasn’t real? Leonardo laughed bitterly. You want the short version? I found her with Tomás in our bed. 

The long version. She’d been using me for three years while plotting her exit. Lucía felt a chill in her stomach. Tomás and Bárbara. Yes. Turns out they knew each other before I did. She approached me because he suggested it. A way to maintain control over me, over the company. That’s sick. Yes 

Leonardo rubbed his face. I divorced her, but I can’t divorce Tomás. He has the shares, he has the connections on the board, and now he’s using my problems as an excuse to buy my share for less than it’s worth. What problems? She looked at him directly. Thursdays at 4 a.m., Sundays. The bottle on my table, everything you’ve seen. Lucía leaned forward. 

Then stop giving him ammunition. It’s easier said than done. I know. I’ve done hard things my whole life. You know why? Because no one else was going to do them for me. You’re not me. I have no less to lose. That stopped him. Leonardo studied her with an intensity that made her skin tingle. Less to lose 

You work 60 hours a week to support your family. You risk your job by coming to my apartment. You’ve built a stable life from scratch, with no money, no help, no privilege—I was going to say, without giving up. The silence stretched out. Lucia could hear her own heart pounding. “Are you seeing a therapist?” She changed the subject abruptly. 

You mentioned it last week. “Yes, twice a week. It helps, more than I expected.” Leonardo smiled slightly. “My therapist says I use alcohol to punish myself for the failed marriage, for losing control of my company, for being stupid enough to trust the wrong people. And you stop drinking on the days you come here.” 

His gaze intensified. “Yes. Why?” “Because I don’t want you to see me like this. I want to be present with you.” The air between them changed. It became thicker, heavy. Lucia forced herself to back away. “It’s late, it’s 3 a.m. You still have a 3-hour shift. You know what I mean?” Leonardo stood up slowly 

He stood there for a moment, so close that Lucía could smell his cologne. Something expensive but subtle. “Am I scaring you?” “You’re not lying. This scares me.” She gestured between them at whatever this was. “And if it’s nothing, it’s nothing.” Her voice came out softer than she intended. “And that’s the problem.” Leonardo reached out as if to touch her cheek, then let it fall. “I should go.” 

Yes, but neither of them moved. The elevator rang. They both jumped. A resident from the 12th floor came out, looked at them curiously, and left. The magic was broken. Good night, Lucia. Good night. Leonardo stepped into the elevator. The doors began to close. At the last second, he made eye contact with her. Tomorrow 

It wasn’t a question. Maybe you’ll be here. I’m always here. The doors closed. Lucia let out the breath she’d been holding. Her phone vibrated. A message from her mother. Are you okay, honey? You look different lately. Lucia didn’t reply. She didn’t know how to explain that she felt different, like something inside her that had been dormant for 10 years was waking up. And she didn’t know if that was wonderful or terrifying. Probably both. 

She updated the log. 3:47 AM. All quiet. The biggest lie she’d written so far. Upstairs in the penouse, Leonardo stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking out at the city. He couldn’t sleep. Not when he could still feel the ghost of almost touching her 

He pulled out his phone, opened the app where he’d been saving locations of commercial spaces for rent. Colonia Roma, small, perfect for a café. He closed the app before doing something stupid, but the idea was already planted, and Leonardo had always been good at turning ideas into reality. Lucía knew something was wrong before Leonardo even got out of the taxi. 2 a.m. Tuesday. 

He never came in on Tuesdays, and the way he moved—stiff, careful—wasn’t from alcohol. The doors opened. His white shirt was stained with blood. Oh my God. Lucía jumped up from her desk. What happened? Board meeting. His laugh sounded broken. She got physical. He had a cut above his left eyebrow. His lip was split. Bloody knuckles. 

“Did you call the police?” No, he looked at her with eyes that were too bright. He just wanted to come here with you. Lucía’s heart was beating erratically. Come on, there’s a first-aid kit in the break room. She led him down the hall behind the main desk, to the small room where the night staff kept their things 

A table, two chairs, a cabinet with first-aid supplies. Leonardo sat down heavily. Now that they were under the fluorescent light, Lucía could see it was worse than she thought. “Take off your shirt.” “Excuse me. I need to see if there are any more injuries.” “Take it off.” He obeyed with slow movements. There was a dark bruise spreading across his ribs. Lucía took out the first-aid kit with hands that were only trembling slightly. 

She had cleaned blood before: when Javier fell off his bike at age 9, when her mother cut herself cooking, when she hurt herself doing construction work, but this felt different. It was Tomás. He filed a motion to buy my stock. 50 cents on the dollar. Leonardo winced as she cleaned the cut above his eyebrow. I told him to go to hell. 

He reminded me that he has the board’s support, that my drinking makes me a risk. And then he hit you? I hit him first. Despite everything, Lucía almost smiled. Good. Leonardo looked at her in surprise. Good. Someone had to do it. He applied pressure to the cut with gauze. Stay still, Lucía. What? Thank you for not for simply her voice broke and then she was crying 

Not silent tears, but full-blown sobs that shook his entire body. Lucia dropped the gauze. Hey, listen, are you okay? You’re not okay. Nothing is okay. The words came out in ragged breaths. I’m losing everything. The company, my dignity, my mind. You’re not losing anything that matters. 

How can you say that? Lucia knelt in front of him, forcing him to look at her. Because I’ve seen who you are. Not the millionaire, not the founder of the company, just you. And that person is worth fighting for. Leonardo stared at her as if she had just said something in a foreign language. You’re the only real thing in my life. The air left Lucia’s lungs. 

Leonardo, I mean it. Every meeting, every dinner, every conversation, it’s all lies. Everyone wants something, except you. You’re just here. I have to be. It’s my job. Lie. He leaned forward. It stopped being your job weeks ago. Lucia knew she should back off 

I should remember the cameras, the protocol, everything I could lose, but Leonardo had blood on his lip and tears on his cheeks, and he looked at her as if she were the only thing holding him together. This is a bad idea. I know. I could lose my job. I know. We live in different worlds. I don’t care. His lips were inches away. You should care. But you don’t. 

Her voice was barely a whisper. Do you care? Yes, I should. For a thousand reasons, I should care. But when Leonardo closed the distance and kissed her, all those reasons vanished. His mouth tasted of blood and despair. Lucia responded with a hunger she didn’t know she had. 

Her hands found her hair, her neck, her bruised chest. He made a low sound in her throat and pulled her closer. Everything Lucia had been holding in for three months spilled out. Every midnight conversation, every accidental brush, every look that lingered too long. Leonardo stood up, taking her with him, pressing her against the wall. His hands were everywhere 

Her waist, her back, her face. Wait. Lucia pulled away, breathing heavily. Wait. What’s wrong? Is this real, or do you just need something to hold on to after a terrible night? Leonardo recoiled as if she’d slapped him. Do you really think you’re just a distraction? I don’t know. You tell me. He cupped her face in his hands, forcing her to meet his gaze 

I’ve wanted to kiss you since the first night you helped me without asking questions. I’ve thought about you every second since then. This isn’t a distraction. You’re the only thing that makes sense. Lucia felt something break in her chest. I’m going to ruin this. I’m going to ruin you. Then ruin me. They kissed again. 

Slower, this time deeper, as if they had all the time in the world, instead of just a few hours before her shift ended. When they finally broke apart, reality settled in hard. I can’t lose this job. Lucia’s voice came out shaky. My family depends on me. I know. If anyone finds out, then we won’t let anyone find out. 

Leonardo held her steady. We can be careful. Careful. Lucia laughed humorlessly. This building has cameras everywhere. Not in the staff break room. I checked. You checked. Last week. Just in case. Despite everything, Lucia felt warmth expand in her chest. This is crazy. Completely 

We should stop now. Probably, but Leonardo smiled, and it was the first genuine smile she’d seen in weeks. But I’m not going to do it unless you want me to. Lucía thought of her mother, of Javier, of the stability she’d built so carefully, of everything she could lose. 

Then she thought of Leonardo looking at her as if she were something precious. Of 3 a.m. conversations that made her feel seen for the first time in years, of the way her chest felt light when he smiled. I’m an idiot. Is that a yes? It’s a yes, she took a deep breath. But there are rules in public. I’m the doorman. You’re the resident. No dinners, no dates, nothing traceable 

And in private, in private, I don’t know. Let’s find out. Leonardo kissed her again, softly and sweetly. I can stay until your shift is over. Someone might come in. I’ll take the risk. He stayed. They sat on the floor of the small break room, back to back, while Lucia finished cleaning her wounds. They spoke in hushed tones about everything and nothing 

At 5:30, Leonardo left, kissing her forehead at the door. Tomorrow, maybe, definitely. When he left, Lucía was left alone with her racing heart and trembling hands. She had just crossed a line she couldn’t uncross. She updated the log. 5:32 a.m. All quiet. 

Up in the penthouse, Leonardo stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He had a black eye, a split lip, bruised ribs, and he felt better than he had in two years. He pulled out his phone and looked up therapists who specialized in addiction. If he was going to do this, if he was going to be with Lucía, he needed to be better. 

Not for Tomás, not for the company, for her and for himself. Finally, six weeks, six weeks of coded messages from Leonardo picking her up after her shift in places where no one would recognize him. Of stolen kisses in the break room when the building slept. Six weeks of feeling more alive than she had in years. 

Lucía should have known it couldn’t last. Miss Paredes. The secretary’s voice sounded strained over the phone. Mrs. Fuentes needs to see you in her office. Now. Lucía’s stomach sank. Now. My shift ends in an hour. Now. The building manager’s office was on the third floor. Lucía had never been there 

The night staff rarely interacted with management. Mrs. Fuentes was a woman in her fifties with perfectly coiffed hair and a telltale expression. “Have a seat.” Lucia sat down. Her hands were ice cold. “Is there a problem? You tell me.” Fuentes turned her laptop so Lucia could see the screen. Security video. Lucia at her desk. 

Leonardo sitting across from her, laughing. Their hands almost touching. Another shot. The elevator. Leonardo with his hand on her waist. Just a second, but there was another. The hallway near the break room. Leonardo following her, the door closing behind them 

How long have you been having a relationship with Mr. Ibarra? Lucia’s voice came out weaker than she wanted. I don’t know what you’re talking about. Don’t insult me. Fuentes slammed the laptop shut. We have three months’ worth of evidence. Conversations lasting hours, inappropriate physical contact, unaccounted-for time in private areas of the building. He’s a resident. I’m doing my job. 

Your job does not include personal entertainment. Fuentes’ eyes were cold. Torre Esmeralda has a strict zero-tolerance policy for fraternizing between staff and residents for reasons of responsibility, professionalism, and the protection of both parties. Lucia felt the world tilting down. Ms. Fuentes, please, I need this job. 

I should have thought of that before. My family is suspended, effective immediately. Investigation pending. You have 10 minutes to clean your locker. The words hit like punches. Suspended. Hopefully, it will only be a suspension. If I find evidence that she used her position for personal gain or that Mr. Ibarra used his influence inappropriately, it will be immediate termination, no references. Lucia got up, her legs barely supporting her. I understand 

At his locker, his hands trembled so much he could barely turn the combination. Ten minutes to pack three years of his life. His phone vibrated. Leonardo, shall we have lunch after your shift? He couldn’t answer. He couldn’t breathe. Another message. Lucia, are you okay? She turned off her phone. 

Leonardo knew something was wrong when he arrived at Torre Esmeralda at 1 a.m. and Lucia wasn’t at the desk. A woman he’d never seen before was in her place. Where’s Lucia? Sorry, Lucia Paredes, the night porter. The woman looked at him suspiciously. She doesn’t work here anymore. The world stopped. What do you mean she doesn’t work here anymore? Exactly that, sir. Leonardo pulled out his phone: five unanswered calls, ten unread messages. He went straight up to the third floor 

He didn’t care that it was 2 a.m. He pounded on the administration office door until Fuentes appeared, furious. “Mr. Ibarra, it’s 2 a.m. Where’s Lucia? That’s none of your business. She was fired because of me, wasn’t she? Because of the cameras.” Fuentes’ eyes narrowed. “Miss Paredes was suspended for violating the fraternization policy.” 

“Her personal relationships with residents are inappropriate, and I started it all. She was just doing her job. Mr. Ibarra, I suggest you drop this before you make things worse.” Make them worse. “She was fired because she broke the rules.” Fuentes crossed his arms, and frankly, his intervention here only confirms that there was an inappropriate relationship that requires disciplinary action 

Leonardo realized too late. In trying to help, he had doomed Lucía. He spent the next hour calling her. Nothing. He went to her apartment in Itapalapa, but no one answered. She had blocked him. In her small apartment in Itapalapa, Lucía stared at the ceiling. Her mother sat on the edge of her bed 

Tell me, what happened? I lost my job. Why? Lucía closed her eyes. Because she was stupid, someone knocked on the door. Lucía tensed, but her mother went to open it. The woman there was beautiful in a way that cost money: perfect hair, designer clothes, flawless makeup. Lucía Paredes, who’s asking? Bárbara Ochoa, Leonardo Ibarra’s ex-wife. 

She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Can we talk?” Lucia’s stomach churned. “How did he find my address? Tomás, Leonardo’s partner, has been watching. He noticed the change in Leonardo, investigated, informed me, and came in uninvited. Tomás and I have a history. He knows I care about what happens to my ex-husband.” 

Her mother frowned, but stepped back. Barbara sat on the worn sofa, as if it were a throne. “This is a cozy place. What do you want?” “To help you.” She took an envelope from her purse. “200,000 pesos. All yours. Just stay away from Leonardo.” Lucia froze. “No, you’re not even going to think about it.” Barbara laughed 

That’s months’ salary, a year’s tuition for your brother. How do you know about my brother? I know all about you. Your dead father, your sick mother, your debts, your lost job. He leaned forward. You’re a sad story, Lucia. And Leonardo collects sad stories when he’s broken. Go away, hear me out first. 

Barbara’s voice hardened. I know Leonardo better than anyone. When he’s down, he looks for projects, things to fix, people to save. And do you know what happens when he’s better? Lucia didn’t want to ask, but the words came out on their own. What? He remembers who he is. He remembers your place. You’re the dear help. A pretty distraction. 

The moment he’s sober and steady, he’ll see how ridiculous this whole situation is. Leonardo, isn’t that right? No. Barbara stood up. I was married to him for three years. I watched him build an empire. I watched him discard people when they were no longer useful to him 

You’re an experiment, a way for him to feel noble while he fixes himself up. You don’t know him. I know him better than you do. She left the envelope on the table. This is the most you’ll get out of this situation. Take the money now while you can still walk away with something, because when he’s done with you, there will be nothing. Barbara left, leaving the envelope like an unexploded bomb. Lucia’s mother spoke softly. It’s true. 

About you and that man. Yes. Do you love him? Lucia hadn’t said that word, not even to herself. I don’t know. He loves you. He says he does. Her mother sat down heavily. Love doesn’t pay the bills, honey. Lucia looked at the envelope. 200,000 pesos. Javier’s tuition. Her mother’s medication. Rent for a few months while she looked for another job. Her phone vibrated 

Another message from Leonardo, number 27. She didn’t open it. That night Javier came home and found Lucía at the kitchen table with the unopened envelope. What’s that? An option. For what? Lucía looked at him. Her brother, 21 years old. All the potential in the world, because she had sacrificed hers. Do you think I’m selfish? Javier sat down across from her. 

I think you’ve forgotten how to be. I lost my job. I know. Mom told me. She paused. She also told me about the rich man. He’s not just a rich man. So what is he? Lucia had no answer. Her phone vibrated again. This time it was a voicemail. She couldn’t help herself. She listened to it. Leonardo’s voice sounded desperate 

Lucia, please, just talk to me. I’m sorry, I’m sorry for everything. I messed this up. Let me fix it, please. Javier watched her face. Do you love him? I can’t afford it. That wasn’t my question. The tears finally fell. I don’t know, but I’m afraid that if I do, I’ll lose more than I already have. The envelope was there. 

The easy answer, the safe option. Lucia didn’t touch it. But she didn’t answer her phone either. Four days since Barbara visited her apartment. Four days since Lucia had heard Leonardo’s voice. The envelope still lay unopened on the kitchen table, like a snake waiting for the right moment to bite. Lucia stared at her phone 

32 missed calls, 47 messages, all from the same number I’d blocked that morning. I couldn’t keep listening to him begging me to talk to him when every word reminded me of everything I’d lost. My daughter, her mother, came into the kitchen and got to my prescription bill. Lucía took the slip. 3,500 pesos. Due in a week. I’ll pay it. 

With what money? I’ll find something. Her mother looked at the envelope. There’s money in there. It’s not my money. It could be. Lucía closed her eyes. Three job interviews this week, all rejected. No references from Torre Esmeralda, no one wanted to take a chance. Javier came in with his backpack. I need to deposit for tuition before Friday or I lose my spot. I know. It’s 12,000 pesos, Lucía 

I know. The silence stretched out, heavy as concrete. Her phone vibrated. Unknown number. Lucía ignored it for a second. Then something made her answer. Hello, Lucía Paredes, a professional female voice. El Faro Restaurant. We received your application. We can offer you the night waitress shift. 6 nights, 10 pm to 5 am. 120 pesos per hour 

Plus tips. 120 pesos an hour. Less than half of what I made at Torre Esmeralda. I’ll take it. Excellent. You can start tomorrow. Yes. When she hung up, her mother had tears in her eyes. No, not back to restaurants. It’s work. It took you 10 years to get out of that world, and it’ll take me another 10 to build something again. Lucía forced herself to sound louder than she felt she should. 

But I will. Javier slammed his fist on the table. This is ridiculous. That rich man ruined your life. He should at least pay for it. I don’t owe him anything. He owes you everything. Lucía looked at her locked phone. She wondered if Leonardo was still trying to call, if he’d given up, if he’d moved on like Bárbara said he would. Two days 

Two days since he last tried to contact her. Two days of complete silence. Maybe Barbara was right. Maybe Leonardo had already found his next project. The thought hurt more than it should. That night, Lucia lay awake staring at the ceiling. 

In two weeks, she had gone from having a stable job to waiting tables, from feeling seen to feeling invisible again. And Leonardo hadn’t been in touch for 48 hours. She picked up her phone, unlocked his number for a moment—no new messages, nothing since Monday, as if he had given up, as if she didn’t matter. Barbara’s voice echoed in her head. 

You’re a project, a distraction. Lucia opened her voice recording app. Her hands were shaking, but her voice came out steady. Leonardo, don’t try to contact me again. I can’t lose everything for someone who lives in a different world. We both knew this was temporary. I hope you find what you’re looking for. Goodbye 

She sent the voicemail before she could back out. Then she blocked the number again. Done. Finished. She allowed herself to cry for exactly 5 minutes. Then she washed her face and started getting her waitress uniform ready for tomorrow. Life went on. It always did. As Lucía sent that message, Leonardo was sitting in a conference room on the 40th floor of a corporate building. He’d been awake for 36 hours. 

His phone had been off since Monday morning when they went into negotiations—company policy, zero distractions during critical legal proceedings. Mr. Ibarra. His lawyer shoved papers toward him. Sign here and here. Leonardo signed. Three days of brutal meetings, three days of standing up to Tomás and his bought-off board, three days of fighting for the company he had built and won 

Effective immediately, Tomás Ruiz no longer has voting rights on the board of directors. His shares remain, but without operating power. The lawyer smiled. We did it. Leonardo should feel triumphant. Instead, he just wanted out of there. Can I leave? It’s your company, Mr. Ibarra. You can do whatever you want. He turned on his phone in the elevator. 40 notifications exploded on the screen. 

Missed calls from his therapist, his assistant, unknown numbers. None from Lucía, a voicemail from a number he didn’t recognize. He opened it. Lucía’s voice filled his ears like shattered glass. Leonardo, don’t try to contact me again. The elevator reached the lobby, but Leonardo didn’t move. He listened to the message three times. Each word was a stab. 

We both knew this was temporary. No, it wasn’t temporary. Not for him. Not for her. He immediately called straight to voicemail. Blocked, he ran to his car. The driver barely had time to open the door. Emerald Tower. Now the afternoon traffic turned 30 minutes into an hour. Leonardo dialed Lucia’s number every 2 minutes. Blocked, blocked, blocked 

When he arrived at the building, the same older woman was at the desk. “Where is Lucía Paredes?” “I already told you, sir, she no longer works here.” “Since when?” “She was fired on Monday.” Leonardo felt the ground disappear beneath his feet. “Fired for inappropriate fraternization with residents.” The woman looked at him meaningfully. “The policy is clear.” 

On Monday, four days ago, while he was in meetings with his phone off, Lucía lost her job and he had no idea. “I need your address. I can’t give you personal staff information.” Leonardo took out his wallet. “I have money and I have professional ethics.” The woman returned to her screen. “Good evening, Mr. Ibarra.” 

Leonardo climbed up to his penthouse, dizzy. He slumped down on the couch where it had all started. Lucía had lost her job on Monday. She had tried to contact him, and he had disappeared for three days without explanation. Exactly what Bárbara would have wanted. He picked up his phone and called the only number that might help 

Private investigator, I need an address. Three hours later, Leonardo had Lucía’s address in Itapalapa and a plan that was probably terrible, but he had to try. He had to make her understand that he hadn’t abandoned her, that he had been fighting for her future, for both of their futures, even if she didn’t want one. In her apartment, Lucía put on her waitress uniform for the first time in seven years. 

The cheap black fabric reminded her of every job she had left behind. Her mother watched her from the doorway. It’s not too late to take the money. If it is, it’s out of pride, out of dignity. Lucía looked at herself in the mirror. If I take that money, Bárbara wins. Leonardo becomes what she said he was, and I become someone who sells out. 

Sometimes selling out is surviving, and sometimes surviving is remembering who you are. Javier appeared with his laptop. I found a scholarship program. If I apply before Friday, it could cover half of the tuition. Seriously. Yes. It’s not perfect, but it’s something. Lucía hugged him tightly. Apply 

We’ll make the rest work. When she left for her first shift at the lighthouse, the envelope was still on the table, unopened, untouched. A reminder that she had chosen the hard way, as always. But this time, the hard way felt like the only way she could live with herself, even if it meant losing Leonardo forever. 

Lucia had been on her feet for three hours when the restaurant manager called her. Table seven needs more water. I’m coming. Her feet already ached. The cheap uniform itched. A customer had accidentally touched her waist twice, seven years ago. She had worked seven years to escape this. Three weeks to go back. When she got home at 6 a.m., she found her mother awake in the living room. There’s someone waiting for you outside. Lucia’s heart stopped. 

Who? Go yourself. Leonardo was sitting on the building’s steps, his suit wrinkled, his hair disheveled, his eyes red. He stood up when he saw her. Lucia, you shouldn’t be here. I know. I asked you not to contact me. I know. He took a step toward her, but I need you to listen for five minutes. 

If you want me to leave after that, I’ll leave and never come back. Every instinct told her to run, to get up the stairs and close the door. But her feet didn’t move. Five minutes. Leonardo let out a breath as if he’d been holding it 

On Monday, when you were fired, I was in meetings with lawyers with the board fighting Tomás. The words came out fast. My phone was off because of company policy. Three whole days. I didn’t know what had happened to you. And that’s supposed to make it okay. No, none of this is okay. His voice cracked. I was a coward. I let you take all the risk while I sorted out my life. 

You lost your job because I was selfish, because I kept coming to you when I should have handled my problems properly. Lucía felt something loosen in her chest. Why are you here, Leonardo? Because I love you. The words fell between them like stones. You don’t know me well enough to love me. I know you better than anyone. He moved closer. I know you’ve been working since you were 16, that you sacrificed your dreams for your family, that you’re stronger than anyone I’ve ever known, that you see me for who I am, not for what I have 

That’s not enough. I know. Leonardo pulled an envelope from his pocket. That’s why I came with this. Lucía stepped back. If it’s money, it’s not money, it’s a business proposal. He looked directly at her. Can I explain? Against her better judgment. She nodded. Leonardo opened the envelope and took out papers. 

I got a lease for a commercial space in the Roma neighborhood. Small, perfect for a coffee shop. 5 years with an option to buy. Lucía’s heart pounded painfully. What? I’m offering 800,000 pesos as an initial investment for construction, equipment, and initial inventory. You create the business plan. 

I provide the capital as a silent partner. You pay me from the profits in 10 years at 5% interest. Leonardo, the lease is separate. If the business is successful and you want to buy the space afterward, we negotiate that then. This isn’t charity; it’s a real investment with real terms. He paused. And if you never want to see me again, the offer still stands. You deserve that dream whether we’re together or not 

Lucía couldn’t breathe. Why would you do this? Because I spent two years drowning, and you taught me how to breathe again. Her voice softened. Because you saved me when no one else bothered to try. Let me do this for you. I can’t accept this. Why not? Because the words got stuck. Because I’m scared. Leonardo waited. 

I’m scared this is real and I’ll mess it up. I’m scared it’s not real and I’ll lose more than I already have. I’m scared Barbara is right and you’re a project to yourself. Come here. What? Please, just come here. Lucía took three steps. Leonardo took her hands. Listen to me, I’m a mess. I’ll probably screw this up in 100 ways, but you’re not a project 

You’re the first person in years who’s made me want to be better. Not for my company, not for my money, for me. We live in different worlds, so let’s build a new one. He clasped her hands. Not in my world, not in yours, something that’s ours. The building door opened. Lucia’s mother came out with two cups of coffee. 

Enough drama. She put them on the stairs. You two sit down. Talk like adults. Leonardo looked at Lucia in surprise. She almost smiled. I told you, my mother is always up. They sat down. The coffee was too hot and too sweet. Perfect. Lucia’s mother crossed her arms. Young man, do you love my daughter? Yes, ma’am 

Do you respect her? With everything I have. Can you promise me that you’ll never make her feel less because of where we come from? Leonardo looked at Lucia. She makes me want to be half as strong as she is. How could I see her as less? Mrs. Paredes studied his face for a long moment. My daughter, I’ve watched you work yourself to exhaustion for 10 years. For me, for Javier, never for yourself 

Her eyes softened. This man looks at you the way your father looked at me. If he’s willing to cross the city and admit his mistakes, maybe you should let him. Mom, I’m not saying it’s easy, I’m saying you deserve something that makes you happy. For once, you’re happy with him. Lucia looked at Leonardo, tired, vulnerable, waiting. When I’m with him, I forget to protect myself. 

So, protect each other. Her mother came back in. And come in, it’s cold. They stayed on the stairs. The sun was beginning to rise over Iztapalapa. I can’t promise you this will work. Lucía’s voice came out small. I’m not asking for promises. I’m asking for a chance. What if I hurt you again? Then you hurt me. Leonardo smiled sadly. It’s worth the risk. 

Lucía thought about Bárbara’s envelope, the easy option, selling out for security. Then she thought about the 4 a.m. conversations, feeling seen, the possibility of building something of her own. I need time to think, to make a real business plan, to take all the time you need. 

And if I decide I can’t do this, the relationship, then I’ll support you as a friend and investor only. I really, really, he paused, but I hope you don’t decide that. Lucía picked up the lease papers. They were real, legal, professional. 3 months 

Give me three months to develop a proper plan, to find my balance, to feel secure. And during those three months, you work on yourself, on your therapy, on getting your company back on track. Prove to me that you can be okay without me. Leonardo nodded slowly. And after three months, if we both still want this, we’ll really give it a go. Nothing secret, nothing hidden. 

I can call you once a week, on Thursdays. A small smile appeared on her face. Thursdays were my worst day. I know. Let’s make them the best. Leonardo stood up, lingering there wanting to touch her, but not daring. Thank you for giving me a chance. Don’t thank me yet. I could completely ruin this. Impossible. 

When he left, Lucía was left with the papers in her hands and something like hope in her chest. Javier came out in his pajamas. Then I’m going to open a café, and the rich man will wait for me while I figure out if I can be the master of my own life before sharing it with someone else. Javier smiled 

That sounds either very wise or very stupid. Lucía looked at the papers again. Time will tell. Three months. Three months to build something of her own. Three months to see if Leonardo could be the man he claimed to be. Three months to find out if she was brave enough to believe in something beyond survival. 

For the first time in 10 years, Lucía allowed herself to daydream, and it felt terrifying and perfect at the same time. Twelve months later, Lucía checked the tables one last time before closing. Café Paredes had been packed all night. A mix of students working late, night staff on their breaks, and regulars who had made the place their second home. 

Exactly what she had dreamed of. Boss, I’ve finished the register. Her employee Ana appeared with the report. Excellent night, 20% more than last Wednesday. Perfect, go home, I’ll close up. Sure. It’s late. Lucía looked at the clock. 3:47 AM. I’m sure. When Ana left, Lucía allowed herself a moment of stillness 

The cream-colored walls she had chosen, the wooden tables she had restored herself, the menu designed for people who worked while others slept, 8 months since opening, 3 consecutive months of profit. Leonardo’s loan was on its second on-time payment. Her phone vibrated. A message. Are you still there? She smiled. Closing now. I’m on my way. Lucía finished cleaning the coffee machines. 

Just as someone knocked on the glass door, Leonardo was outside with two bags from the bakery that opened at 4 a.m. Lucía unlocked the door. You didn’t have to come. I wanted to. He came in and kissed her cheek gently. Also, I got conchas. I know you love conchas. After long shifts. They sat at the table by the window, the same table where they sat every Thursday morning when Leonardo came for his coffee. How was your night? he asked busyly. Good 

A couple got engaged at the corner table. Seriously. He said this place made them feel at home. Lucia bit her shell. I almost cried. Did you build anything special? We built it. I wouldn’t be here without your investment. I put in money. You put in everything else. It was an argument they’d had 100 times. Lucia let it go this time. How was your day? Leonardo laughed. 

Tomas tried to introduce another motion. The board voted against it unanimously. I think he finally understood he lost. How do you feel about it? Relieved, tired, ready to focus on things that matter. He looked at her in a way that still made her stomach churn. They had waited three months as promised 

Lucía developing her business plan. Leonardo consolidating his sobriety and his company. Phone calls on Thursdays that lasted for hours. When they finally met again in person, they were both stronger, more confident, ready. Now they had been officially dating for 5 months. Nothing hidden, nothing secret 

Their worlds were still different, but they had found ways to build bridges. My mom asks, “When are you coming over for dinner again?” Leonardo smiled. Sunday. If you’re not too tired. I’m never too tired for your attempt at making tamales. They were good tamales. They were adorably disastrous. Your mom said they were decent. 

My mom is being nice because she likes you. Leonardo’s expression softened. How is she? Are the new treatments helping? Much better. She can walk without pain most days. Lucía paused. Thank you for connecting her with that specialist. You don’t have to thank me. Yes, I do. Leonardo took her hand on the table. Your family is my family. 

Now if I can help, I want to. Lucía intertwined her fingers with his. It had taken months to let him help without it feeling like charity, to understand that couples support each other. Javier graduated last week. I know. I went to the ceremony, remember? But you don’t know he got a job at a big tech firm. 

Nice salary. Seriously, that’s amazing. He called me crying. He said he could finally start paying me back for everything I sacrificed. And what did you tell him to pay me back by being happy? Her voice cracked a little. To build the life I wanted him to have. Leonardo squeezed her hand. He will. You’re a good sister. I tried to be enough 

You were more than enough. The sun was beginning to rise over the Roma neighborhood. Lucía looked at Leonardo in the early light, clean, sober, present, always tired. But the good kind of tired, the good kind, the kind who comes from working hard on things that matter, not from running away from things that hurt. 

Lucía got up and began stacking the chairs. Help me finish closing up. Leonardo got up and they worked together in comfortable silence. He knew where everything was going now. He had spent enough early mornings here. When they finished, Lucía turned off the lights. Only the light from the windows remained. “All done,” Leonardo asked. “She almost stood up in the middle of her coffee.” 

Her dream, her reality. Leonardo watched her patiently. He knew that sometimes she needed these moments. What are you thinking about? About a year ago, when you came home drunk at 4 a.m. and I didn’t even know your name. Do you regret helping me? Lucía looked directly at him. I regret that it cost me my job. I regret the pain we went through. But I’ll never regret meeting you. 

I came looking for you because I was broken, and I helped you because I recognized that feeling. And now Lucía crossed the space between them. Now neither of us is broken, we’re just building. Leonardo put his arms around her. I love you. I know. He smiled against her chest. I love you too. It had taken them months to say those words, to believe them, to trust that they were real 

“Shall we go to your place or mine?” he asked. “Yours is closer, and I’m exhausted.” “The penthouse.” “Then your penthouse, which now has photographs and plants and real life in it.” “Thanks to you, thanks to us.” They went out into the empty street. Leonardo had his arm around her shoulders. 

Lucia leaned on him, letting him take some of her weight, not because she was broken, but because she was tired and because now she had someone to share the burden with. When they arrived at the penthouse, Lucia sank down onto the sofa—the same sofa where Leonardo had slept his worst nights. He sat beside her and pulled her onto his lap. Rough night. The best kind of rough. Lucia closed her eyes 

The class that means something is working. The coffee. Everything. Leonardo kissed her hair. Sleep. I’ve got you. Do you have meetings tomorrow? Nothing I can’t reschedule. Don’t do that. I’m an adult. I can take a taxi home. I know, but I want you to stay. Lucia snuggled closer to him. Outside, the city was waking up. Inside, for the first time in years, they could both rest. Not because their problems had disappeared. 

Lucia still worked 60 hours a week. Leonardo still had tough days. The coffee shop still had loan payments. Life was still complicated, but they faced it together. And that made all the difference. Leonardo, mm, thank you for not giving up on me. Thank you for giving me a reason not to give up on myself 

They fell asleep as the sun illuminated the penthouse. Two people who had met at their worst and chosen each other at their best. It wasn’t perfect, but it was real. And real was enough. What did you think of Lucia and Leonardo’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. Yeah.