**(AMANDA)**

I think this is the first time I’ve asked Gavin so many questions, at least in such a direct manner. I’m afraid of seeming intrusive, but the fear of being in the dark, completely uninformed and at the mercy of consequences I don't understand, gives me a bit more courage. Fortunately, he doesn’t seem offended by any of my questions, answering all of them without hesitation.

After breakfast, I head to my room. My host follows me, his brow furrowed in obvious concern. He leans against the doorway and puts his hands in his pockets as I sit on the bed.

— Don’t you want to talk anymore? — His voice is soft and slightly murmured.

— I don’t think so.

— I... I’m sorry about this situation. I didn’t want to leave you like this.

I pat the space beside me on the mattress, inviting him to join me. Gavin complies. As he settles in, I say:

— You’re not to blame for anything. It was just an accident along the way.

— Even so... I hate knowing that you’re frustrated and I can’t do anything to change it.

_ At the moment, neither you nor I have the power to change this situation. But it’s okay.

— It’s not okay — Gavin places both hands on my face, looking at me intently. — Because you’re not okay.

— Don’t pre...

He interrupts me abruptly, placing his finger on my lips. His eyes are shining.

— I’m going to do whatever I can, Amanda. Whatever is necessary to keep you by my side for as long as possible.

Then his face starts to move closer to mine, very slowly. When our lips finally touch, I feel something intense within me, a jolt of electricity. I can’t stop a moan from escaping my throat, and that sound fuels Gavin further, intensifying the movements of his lips and tongue. As we become entwined, memories of the previous night envelop me.

For a brief moment, I contemplate the idea of physically surrendering to Gavin. What would it be like to have him in that way? I know that the blond man would be gentle, patient, and would do nothing I wasn’t willing to do. He’d probably take a slow but intense pace, creating the best possible atmosphere.

... But I wasn’t ready. I don’t think I ever would be, no matter how much I wanted it, no matter how much I contemplated the idea.

Gavin’s hands are on my waist, his fingers pressing firmly but gently against my lower back. His kiss is now slower, calmer, and more affectionate. When we part, we look at each other, both awestruck.

— There’s one more thing I wanted to know.

He waits for me to speak, his expression unchanged.

— Why do you hate your father?

. . . . . . . . . . . . . .

**(GAVIN)**

When was the last time I had to speak openly about the dreadful relationship between my father and me? As I think about the best way to respond to Amanda, a hazy memory surfaces: during a serious and tense conversation with Donovan, I told him how my father reacted when he learned I would make Brazil my permanent residence. I endured outrageous insults and humiliation, all in public, of course. And I never heard a single word of acknowledgment after Urus’s actions soared.

— Well... — I sigh. Amanda is completely focused on me. — It’s a long, long story.

— I have time to listen.

— I don’t know if I can tell you everything. But I can share the most recent episode.

— That’s fine.

Talking to her this way felt good. Each small piece of the past shared between us made me feel, deep down, that we were moving toward something. Of course, it was too early to imagine that, and the final choice might be Donovan, not me. Still, just the fact that she felt comfortable asking me these things without fear or shame was proof enough that our intimacy was reaching a new level. And I really, really liked that.

As I speak to her, I relive everything: the sensations, the cold of winter, as well as the sight of snowflakes falling slowly outside...

It’s a winter afternoon, but we’re still at the very beginning. Instead of talking to my father, John Roy, in our mansion and watching him stage yet another of his scandals, I had an idea — one that seemed like the best possible at the time. I decided to break the news in a public place, where he couldn’t lose his temper; he was very concerned about his own image and would hate to be seen as a lunatic. Even if he were angry, he couldn’t give his famous rants, no matter how much he wanted to.

We were at a café usually frequented by the elite, the Louvergin. It was necessary to have a place in society to even step into the vast lobby filled with coffee and cookies, as well as to closely observe the blue walls and purple signage that spread throughout the environment. It was basically a place Amanda would despise the moment she walked in, and rightfully so, I admit.

Another thing about the Louvergin was that many of the business partners directly linked to Urus often showed up there. More than being embarrassed in public, my father would die if he made a fool of himself in front of his subordinates and business associates.

Seated at the table, I sipped my espresso and stared at him, waiting for him to finally touch the mocha. After furrowing his brow, bored and quite unhappy to be there with the son he claimed to love, John finally took a sip of his drink. He then assumed that firm, slightly superior posture I always hated, tilting his chin slightly before opening his mouth to say:

— So?

— First... I wanted to thank you for coming.

— After you asked me so politely, my son, how could I say no to you? — The sarcasm is present in every word, and I strain to keep myself from clenching my fists and punching him in the face.

I swallow my anger and continue:

— I won’t waste your time. I’ve been thinking about what you told me about Urus, how focused I need to be to manage the company in the coming years.

— And after my death.

— Yes, yes, after your death as well — I rub the bridge of my nose, trying hard not to show my nervousness. — I’m willing to do whatever is necessary for our company to grow exponentially in the market.

His expression remains the same: bored and completely indifferent to anything I had to say. Well, it was better than the glassy eyes and the thin line of his lips when he was angry.

— As you know, Donovan is in Brazil improving our diplomatic relations. We’re making good progress.

— Yes, apparently your little friend has some worth — the explicit racism in his tone revolts me, but I remain silent. — And what, exactly, does that have to do with me? Did you finally discover that he has far more talent for this than you do?

It was his favorite jab, saying Donovan had much more talent, vision, physique, and determination in the business field. It didn’t even seem like he despised him for his race, or that behind his back, he said things so unimaginable and revolting that I can’t repeat them without feeling a deep shame. It was a true miracle that Donovan continued being my friend, and even more miraculous that he wanted to take on such a high position in the company. At the time, he was responsible for international relations.

— Donovan is very promising, and his actions are formidable — I take a deep breath. — And one of his ideas could be the key factor between our current situation and absolute success.

— Uh-huh...

— So... — My voice begins to falter, the time has finally come to tell him. — Donovan and I decided that it would be very good if Urus’s headquarters were in Rio de Janeiro. And that we would move there.

Silence. Only the murmur of others and the hissing of machines as employees followed their own rhythm.

My father simply takes a sip of his coffee. His voice is completely different from before, a sigh of contempt before he utters:

— What?

I feel sweat on my back and forehead, but I don’t give him the pleasure of seeing me dry up and show my fear. I swallow hard.

— It would be a temporary move, though. We’d stay for a few years, and after we achieve our goal, we’ll return to America.

His eyes are completely focused on mine, I notice his flared nostrils and the lip curled in evident disdain.

— Brazil has enormous potential to open many doors for us, father. We are very close to a real revolution within the company.

— Shut up.

— And as we really need to improve our public relations...

— Shut that damn mouth — his tone is louder now, and some heads turn in our direction. If I could, I would shrink into the chair. — So you just sit there and tell me that you and that... trained monkey you insisted was a great employee want to take everything I’ve built, my empire...

— Father...

— I said shut up! — he bangs his hand on the table, drawing more attention and raising his voice even further. The circus was set. — You’re just a spoiled kid who thinks he’s mature and responsible, but you don’t know a fraction of what it means to be a corporate man. I don’t even know how I managed to produce such a weak and insolent worm like you.

— The decision has already been made. — I say as firmly as I can, but I feel an enormous urge to cry inside. Everyone present is looking at us, and one of the more distant

security guards is watching us carefully.

— What did you say, kid?!

— I’ll be leaving next Friday. We already have a headquarters there, remember? I’m just going to officially hand over the directorship of this corporation and then do what’s necessary.

— You can’t do that!

— I already have, father. Or didn’t you hear me well?

In a small outburst of anger, before I can even try to predict anything, John firmly grabs the collar of my shirt, his hands close to my neck and capable of breaking it at any moment.

— You bastard, you...

— Excuse me, gentlemen, but you need to leave — the security guard who was watching us is now at our table, one hand resting on a holster that I believe contains a taser.

We do nothing, only stare at each other. Abruptly, my father releases my shirt, and I do my best to not look completely embarrassed. The last words he says to me before leaving are:

— If you dare to do this to me, to do this to your mother who has always defended and cared for you despite you not deserving it; don’t ever come back.

I can’t come up with a fitting response. So the older, more hateful, and annoying version of me strides quickly toward the door, leaving me planted in the café. No one stops staring at me, not even the security guard.

Keeping the hatred inside my chest, I open my wallet and leave a generous tip on the table. Then I leave.

I can still see when my father takes the car we came in and peels out as fast as possible, leaving me alone in the snow.

Feeling the cold wind on my face, and watching the luxurious white car speed away in the opposite direction, I feel something deep within me. It’s not anger, fear, or even hatred. It’s determination. A bright flame that says my father will regret that day, that he’ll apologize for that and many other things; similar episodes of humiliation and disdain that have been part of my life since I was born.

Of course, that never came close to happening.

Even when Urus’s actions soared; when we became number one in Latin America, when our revenue tripled in record time and we were even nominated for corporate awards, I didn’t hear a single word. The silence bothered me a lot at first, but today it was received with relief. Silence meant peace. Silence meant living calmly, without wondering when the next time would be that I’d be treated like a beast.

Even when I got engaged, I didn’t receive even a postcard. My mother was reticent, also abstaining from saying anything to me, probably following my father’s orders. I’m sure what killed him inside was seeing that his curse was ineffective, that despite hoping everything would go wrong so he could punish me, things were going smoothly. It was a sick mix of envy and shame. A typical narcissist.

The only person who hated my father more than I did was Donovan, and with every reason in the world. He always made it clear that he only took the vice presidency for two reasons: to help me with something I clearly hated, and to know that the bastard John Roy fumed every time his picture appeared on magazine covers.

And now, this: out of nowhere everything started to crumble, Urus had internal problems that could easily hit the media. And if that happened, we could be dealing with a real threat. I’m sure that when it reached my father’s ears, if it hadn’t already, he would happily run to the nearest post office to send me the biggest written sermon ever known. That being optimistic.

That winter afternoon, after being left behind, I didn’t go home. Even though the money was generally under the control of the old man I still called father, despite everything, I had my own shares and savings, and I managed to stay at an excellent hotel, as well as buy basic necessities (clothes, provisions, etc.) until the day of the trip to Brazil.

Thanks to Donovan, who brilliantly had predicted the worst-case scenario, I also already had a place to stay when I was in Rio de Janeiro. My documents, such as my passport, were already kept with a trusted person, an old colleague of Donovan’s who lived nearby and would hand them over to me on the appointed date.

Throughout the week I stayed at the hotel, I received several voicemails on my phone, filled with threats, insults, and other "loving" words from my father. But then, seeing that nothing was working, he finally gave up.

It was all or nothing. Coming to Brazil was definitely the real change in my life, just like the day I met Donovan.

Amanda is listening intently, caressing my hand. As soon as I finish recounting everything, she embraces me. With my eyes closed and feeling her scent, I find the courage to face the problems head-on. Despite being complicated, it was not impossible. For her, I could take on the main role and solve all those issues.