“Nobody’s telling me to shut up,” the millionaire said, looking arrogantly at the cleaning lady, but her firm, fearless response left everyone silent. The lounge of the El Mirador Hotel was filled with lights, soft music, and well-dressed people, as if everyone was competing to see who had the most expensive suit or the shiniest watch. It was a gala evening organized by a real estate company to celebrate the closing of a multimillion-dollar deal.

Waiters came and went with trays full of drinks, shrimp, and small canapés that looked like they’d come from a fine cooking competition. Most of the guests knew each other, greeting each other with fake smiles, giving fake hugs, and discussing numbers only they understood. Amidst all the people, one stood out: Rodrigo del Valle. He was 33 years old, wearing a navy blue suit that fit like a glove, his hair perfectly slicked back, and a seemingly permanent expression of superiority.

Rodrigo wasn’t the owner of the company, but his last name carried weight. He was the son of Fernando del Valle, one of the city’s most well-known businessmen, and that was enough to make everyone laugh at his jokes and shake his hand as if he were a celebrity. Rodrigo walked around the lounge with a glass of wine in his hand, making sarcastic comments to those around him. He laughed loudly, talked more than he should, and never missed an opportunity to remind everyone that thanks to his family, the hotel business existed; it was in his world, the one where he always had control.

But something caught his attention. In the corner of the room, almost against the wall, a young woman with her hair tied back and a cleaning uniform was carefully mopping. It was as if no one else had seen her, but for him it was like finding a stain on his perfect party. He made a face of annoyance and walked toward her, surrounded by two friends who followed him like shadows. “What is this?” he said loudly, pointing at it as if it were a fairground attraction.

 

We’re either at a luxury event or at the food market. The young woman looked at him for a second without pausing. Her face was sweaty and her hands were slightly shaky from the busy day, but her eyes didn’t show fear, only weariness. “Excuse me, sir,” she replied without changing her tone. “They asked me to clean this up before the event started.” “Well, it’s already started, and here you are, ruining the view,” added one of Rodrigo’s friends, laughing.

Rodrigo didn’t stop; he took another step and stood in front of her, blocking her way. “Look! No offense, but this isn’t the place for you. Don’t you realize you’re in the way?” She calmly, unhurriedly, put down the mop and looked him in the eye. “You know what really gets in the way? People who think they’re important just because they were born in a cradle with someone else’s money. You haven’t really worked a day in your life.”

You’re only here because your dad put a chair in front of you, and everyone plays along. The atmosphere froze, the laughter died down, and those nearby turned around, their eyes wide. Rodrigo blinked as if he didn’t quite understand what had just happened. Camila didn’t even raise her voice, didn’t shout, she said it straight, without a tremble in her pulse. “How dare you?” Rodrigo spat, feeling the blood rush to his head. “No one speaks to me like that.”

No one. Well, you see, someone does. I’m not your employee, nor am I afraid of you. And if what I said hurt you, it’s because you know it’s true. Before he could say anything else, she picked up her mop, turned, and walked down the side hallway that connected to the service area. She didn’t run, she didn’t hide, she just left like someone who’d just finished what she had to do. Rodrigo stood there frowning, clutching his glass so tightly he almost broke it.

The others didn’t know whether to laugh or disappear. One of his friends tried to calm him down with a pat on the shoulder, but he roughly pushed him away. “Do you know her?” Rodrigo asked through gritted teeth. “No, but I think her name is Camila. She’s been working here for about a year,” one of the waiters replied fearfully. Rodrigo didn’t say anything else. He walked to the bar, poured himself another drink, and downed it in one gulp. He wasn’t used to losing, especially in front of other people.

That night, the event continued. The music started playing again and the laughter returned, but Rodrigo wasn’t the same. His pride had been battered by someone who, according to him, wasn’t worth the ground he walked on, and he would be burdened by that for a long time. Camila, meanwhile, arrived at the laundry area and leaned against the wall. She took a deep breath. She was shaking, but not from fear. It was anger. She was tired of seeing how rich people treated others like garbage.

She didn’t care if they fired her. What she said came from her heart, because it wasn’t just about her. It was about all the times someone like Rodrigo humiliated someone like her just to feel more important. She knew who she was, she knew where she came from, and most importantly, she knew she didn’t need anyone to make her feel valuable. Rodrigo stared around the room as if she no longer belonged there. Something inside her had changed. She didn’t know if it was anger, shame, or just a mixture of everything she’d never wanted to feel.

But deep down, no matter how much he denied it, she had won him over that night, and that was unforgivable to him. Rodrigo didn’t sleep that night. He tossed and turned until dawn. His eyes were open, fixed on the ceiling, his jaw clenched and his muscles tense. What had happened at the event wouldn’t leave his mind. Every word, every look, the tone with which that woman told him everything without fear. Rage ate away at him.

He wasn’t used to losing control of a situation, much less in front of so many people. He stood up, walked to the window of his 20th-floor apartment, and poured himself a whiskey as if that would calm the trembling in his hands. All morning, he avoided opening social media. He knew that if someone had recorded the scene, and with so many cell phones around, it was likely already circulating. But more than the fear of being ridiculed, what he felt was a strange mix: humiliation, wounded pride, confusion.

Who the hell was she to talk to him like that? Why hadn’t she just kept quiet like everyone else? At 10 a.m., his cell phone rang. It was Fabián, one of his friends from the event. Rodrigo didn’t answer. Then a text came in. “Hey, bro, everything’s cool. Last night was really bad. I’ve never seen you so out of it. That girl has a real temper.” Rodrigo deleted it without responding. Half an hour later, another friend sent a screenshot of an Instagram story where you could hear Camila telling him he was a spoiled brat.

The text read “The Millionaire and the Maid.” “Soup.” Rodrigo slammed the phone shut and threw it onto the couch. He couldn’t believe that scene was still going around. He couldn’t bear the thought of being mocked, especially for something like this. Instead of going out or distracting himself, he locked himself in his apartment all day. No one spoke to him seriously; they just laughed about it as if it were a funny anecdote. That made him angrier. No one was on his side.

Deep down, Rodrigo was starting to feel like all his friends were just that: empty company for parties and showing off, but when it came to the big picture, all they knew was gossip. That afternoon, he went to look for the hotel’s employee registry. He used one of his father’s contacts to get Camila’s full name: Camila Ramírez Mejía, 27. She had been working for a year in the housekeeping department, working rotating shifts. She had a good track record, with no negative reports.

Rodrigo read her name softly several times, as if by doing so he could take away the power she’d bestowed upon him with her words. He wondered if she’d done it on purpose, if she was seeking fame, attention, or if she was simply fed up. Something about her direct way of speaking made him think she had no interest other than telling him the truth. This stung even more because it wasn’t a fight with common insults. She didn’t yell at him or use vulgar disrespect.

He just said what he thought. That was worse, because he couldn’t attack her without looking like the villain. He’d defended himself with dignity. And that, for someone like him, who lived surrounded by people who only said, “Yes, sir,” was like a punch in the gut. Over the next few days, the situation didn’t improve. Everywhere he went, someone brought up the subject. At a lunch with other businessmen, one of them burst out laughing as he said, “Hey, have you hired that girl from the hotel as your new personal advisor?” Because with that sincerity, Rodrigo didn’t laugh.

He stared at him silently, his eyes filled with fury, but he didn’t respond. He learned to swallow, to stay quiet, but in his mind the scene kept repeating itself as if it were endless. One afternoon, after a boring meeting with his accountant, Rodrigo went to the gym at the club where he had trained for years. As he ran on the treadmill, he felt someone approaching him. It was Mariana, his ex-girlfriend, who also attended the club occasionally. “You’re the one who now fights with the cleaning staff at expensive events,” she said, smiling.

Rodrigo looked at her with disgust. “Don’t start, I’m not starting anything. I’m just saying you’ve been brought down. You needed to be.” Mariana left, leaving him nursing his anger. She had been one of the few people who had ever stood up to him. The difference was that Mariana came from the same social class as him, Camila didn’t. And that made his ego hurt even more, that a woman with no money, no last name, no influential friends would stand up to him like that. It had him baffled.

At night, Rodrigo opened his laptop and searched for Camila’s social media profile. It took him a while to find it. There were only a few photos, all private. The description simply stated one day at a time, no inspirational quotes, no mirror selfies, no provocations, just a photo of him with an older woman. His grandmother, probably in a garden. She looked happy with an honest smile. Rodrigo closed the laptop and leaned back in the armchair, staring into space.

He didn’t understand why he cared so much. Maybe because for the first time someone had treated him like a normal person, without fear, without a filter, and that made him feel less than, even though he didn’t want to admit it. At a work meeting, his father, who still had complete control of the companies, asked him why he was so distracted. “Did something happen to you, or are you with some new crazy woman?” Rodrigo joked. He didn’t answer. He just shook his head, but inside, the word crazy kept swirling around in his head.

Camila wasn’t crazy; she’d told him what no one else dared. And if she was right, and if he really was nothing more than a child, that idea bothered him so much that he preferred to bury it. Eight days after the event, Rodrigo drove by the hotel in his truck. He wasn’t planning on going in, just looking. He parked across the street and stared at the entrance. He saw her come out in her uniform, carrying a simple backpack. She walked quickly, like someone in a hurry to get home.

For a moment, he thought about getting out, about saying something to her, but he didn’t know what. He was going to apologize, to complain, nothing made sense. He gripped the wheel tightly and drove off without her noticing. That night, something changed in him—not much, but it was the beginning, because for the first time in his life, Rodrigo del Valle felt he no longer controlled anything, not people, not his image, not his ego—all for a woman who had nothing, yet had won everything from him.

Camila woke up every day at 5:00 a.m. Her cell phone rang with that shrill alarm she couldn’t even hear anymore, as she almost always woke up two minutes earlier. She sat on the edge of her bed and rubbed her eyes. Her feet were cold, her back ached, and the dark circles under her eyes were prominent, but that was already part of her routine. She put on the work uniform she washed and ironed herself the night before and tied her hair back in a tight ponytail.

She didn’t have time for makeup or hair, just enough time to have a quick black coffee while she put on her sneakers. She lived with her grandmother, Doña Marta, in a small house on the east side of the city. It was a quiet neighborhood, but somewhat run-down. The walls of the houses had damp stains and the sidewalks were broken on several corners. Even so, Camila felt it was hers. She had grown up there since she was a child, surrounded by screams from neighbors, playing in the street, and scoldings from her grandmother.

When she arrived late, her mother had abandoned them when she was 8, and she never heard from her father. Doña Marta was everything to her: mother, father, and best friend. The woman was strong, but her years were weighing on her, her knees hurt, she walked carefully, and sometimes forgot simple things like whether she had taken her medicine or not. Before leaving, Camila always stopped by her grandmother’s room, kissed her on the forehead, and left breakfast ready in the microwave.

He kept a notebook taped to the fridge where he wrote down everything he had to do while she was gone. Which pill to take? Which channel to turn on if he got bored? What time would he be back? He knew that gave him peace of mind. At 6:00 a.m., he was on his way to the hotel by bus. A 40-minute drive with the city waking up, street vendors opening, and people jostling for seats. She stood near the door with her backpack on her lap and headphones in.

Although she didn’t always listen to music, sometimes she just used them so no one would bother her. Upon arriving at the hotel, she would greet everyone with a quick smile and head straight to the service area. She would swap her backpack for the cleaning cart, check which rooms she was assigned, and get started. She was already used to the pace. Beds, bathrooms, vacuuming, replacing towels, cleaning mirrors. Sometimes she had to deal with rude guests or absurd complaints. But Camila learned not to get caught up in it. She knew when to keep quiet and when to set boundaries.

And yes, she had character. Not by choice, but because life had forged her that way. Despite her job being physical, demanding, and often invisible, she didn’t feel less than anyone. In fact, she was proud to be able to keep her house, pay for gas, pay for her grandmother’s medications, and still study at night. She was in her final year of a technical degree in administration. She took online classes on her cell phone with data that sometimes didn’t last her entire month.

Sometimes she fell asleep in front of the video classes, but she tried hard. She didn’t want to be a cleaning lady forever. Not because she was ashamed, but because she knew she could do better. The night of the event with Rodrigo had been tough, not only because of what happened, but because after the confrontation with him, her supervisor scolded her. She told her she couldn’t mess with the clients, that she had to keep a low profile. Camila defended herself as best she could. She explained that she had only defended herself from a direct attack, but the boss didn’t want any trouble.

She gave her one last warning and told her to rest. She wasn’t fired, but she was warned. This upset her for several days. Still, she didn’t regret it. She’d say the same thing again if it happened again. That week was harder than usual. Her grandmother got sick to her stomach, and although it wasn’t serious, she had to take her to the doctor and buy medicine that wasn’t on the insurance list. She spent more than she could afford, and that meant she had to cut back on food and borrow money a couple of times the rest of the time.

She didn’t complain. She never complained. She knew how to stretch her money as far as it would go. One night, while she was washing the dishes, her grandmother looked at her from the armchair, her eyes half-closed. “What’s wrong, my daughter? Nothing, Ague, just tiredness. You’re never just tired.” What happened? Camila sat next to her. She wasn’t going to tell her everything, but she ended up talking about the event, about the rude guy, about how she’d been scolded afterward. Doña Marta listened in silence. “And you said all that to her face.”

Yes, well, you did the right thing, but be careful, daughter. Those people have power and resentment. Let them do what they want. I’m not going to swallow what I don’t deserve. Doña Marta hugged her and stroked her hair. She was the only person Camila allowed herself to let her guard down with. She was tough on everything else. She had to be. In the following days, things calmed down a bit. No one else spoke about the event. Her colleagues at the hotel asked her about what happened, and although she didn’t give many details, she earned respect.

Some silently admired her, others told her she was crazy, but they all knew she had guts. Camila kept working, studying, and taking care of her grandmother. Her life was a constant cycle, but within it all, she found little things that kept her going, like the sunset she saw from the rooftop when she went out to hang clothes, or the calls from her best friend Fabiola, who had moved to Querétaro, but they continued talking as if nothing had changed, or the Sundays with chicken soup and old movies on TV.

She didn’t have luxuries, no time for outings, no room for complaints, but she had something many didn’t. Clarity. She knew who she was, her worth, and most importantly, what she wouldn’t allow. She didn’t think about Rodrigo, at least not all the time. Sometimes his face came to mind, that look of disbelief when she told him everything, but not out of hatred or resentment. It was more like remembering a powerful moment, a scene that had left a lasting mark, nothing more.

What Camila didn’t know was that life was preparing to shake her world up, that the arrogant man she’d faced without fear would cross her path again, but in circumstances she couldn’t have dreamed of. It was 9 p.m. when Rodrigo’s cell phone started ringing off the hook. She was at a bar with some acquaintances, barely on her second drink, when she saw that the number appearing on the screen belonged to one of her father’s bodyguards.

At first, he didn’t pay attention. He let it ring, but then another message came in, and then another. He felt a tickling in his chest like a silent warning. He grabbed his cell phone, got up without saying goodbye, and walked quickly outside. He dialed again. “What happened?” he asked in an annoyed tone. On the other end, the voice was shaky. “Counsel, this is Mr. Fernando and Mrs. Patricia. There’s been an accident. It was on the highway. They’re at San José Hospital.”

But Rodrigo felt the ground move, the noise from the bar, the traffic, everything became a distant hum. What did you say? The car. The car went off the road. It rolled over several times. They, the doctors, say they didn’t survive. I’m so sorry. For a second, he knew if he’d understood correctly. It was as if his body wasn’t reacting. He just stood there with his cell phone glued to his ear and his face expressionless. Then he hung up without saying anything and walked aimlessly.

He didn’t call anyone, he didn’t call anyone, he just walked. An hour later, he arrived at the hospital, he didn’t know how. He stopped at the emergency room entrance, his shirt wrinkled, his eyes red, and a strange feeling in his stomach. A nurse came out to meet him. He looked at her directly. “I’m Rodrigo del Valle, my parents.” She nodded gently, took his arm, and led him down a quiet hallway, away from the patient area. In a small room, two black bags sat on stretchers.

He froze. The nurse said nothing; she just left him there. Rodrigo took a step, then another, and then fell to his knees. He didn’t scream, he didn’t cry, he just covered his face with his hands and stayed that way, as if his body had decided to shut down. He didn’t return home that night. He stayed in a waiting room, motionless, without speaking to anyone. The hours passed slowly; calls and messages came in, but he didn’t respond. Some employees close to his father came to the hospital, more out of protocol than out of real interest.

They spoke in low voices, their faces drawn to each other, but no one really approached him. At dawn, he signed the papers for the transfer to the funeral home. Everything happened quickly, too quickly. The bodies would be laid out that same afternoon in one of the city’s most elegant chapels, as his mother had requested during her lifetime. Rodrigo just nodded, not quite understanding when it had all happened. Upon arriving at the wake, he was greeted by staff in black suits, arranging flowers, chairs, and playing background music.

People began to arrive, many old acquaintances, businessmen, politicians, friends of his parents, all with fake faces, stock phrases, and empty pats on the shoulder. Rodrigo greeted them out of inertia. He didn’t know if he wanted to scream, run, or simply disappear. For the first few hours, no one dared to say anything beyond the usual. We’re so sorry. It was a tragedy. Your parents were admirable people. Rodrigo stopped listening; he just stared at the urn containing his parents’ ashes with a mixture of rage and emptiness that he didn’t know how to process.

In the middle of the afternoon, Mariana appeared. She arrived wearing an elegant black dress, perfect makeup, and carrying a bouquet of white flowers. She approached Rodrigo with a firm step, hugged him briefly, and whispered something in his ear that he barely understood. “I’m here, if you need anything.” Rodrigo didn’t respond; he just nodded. Mariana stayed nearby, observing everything, analyzing every movement. She knew how to navigate that environment; she knew it well. The rest of the day passed like a confusing dream.

People came and went. Some cried out of obligation, others talked about business as if nothing had happened. Rodrigo could barely stand. He hadn’t eaten, he hadn’t slept, and every time someone said to him, “You have to be strong,” he felt like he was being pushed into the void. At the end of the wake, when everyone had left and only the attendants were left closing the room, Rodrigo sat down on one of the pews and stayed there. He couldn’t take it anymore. His world had collapsed, and worst of all, he was alone.

The family home became a cold, vast, echoing place. Rodrigo entered that night and walked the halls like a ghost. The photos of his parents were still on the walls. The living room was tidy as always, but everything felt dead. He sat on the sofa where his mother read in the evenings. It still smelled of her perfume. He opened a bottle of wine and drank it straight from the bottle. He didn’t eat dinner, he didn’t turn on the TV, he didn’t talk to anyone, he didn’t even cry.

It was as if he could no longer feel anything. In the early hours of the morning, he fell asleep on the same couch, the empty bottle in his hand, his eyes dry. The following days were the same. The phone never stopped ringing. People wanted to know what would happen to the companies, the assets, the business. The family lawyer explained that everything was under a trust and that there were details to review. Rodrigo just nodded; he didn’t care about anything; he just wanted his parents back.

On the fourth day, he woke up to the sound of the doorbell. He was slow to react, shuffled up, and opened the door without looking. When he did, he was shocked. There was Camila, her face serious but calm. She was holding a small bouquet of flowers and a bag of sweet bread. “Hello,” Rodrigo said. “Hey,” he said, just looking at her. “I didn’t come to bother you. I just know what it’s like to lose someone, and I know how painful it is when no one stays. So I brought coffee.”

and bread. He looked at her as if he didn’t understand what was happening. It was the last thing he expected. Camila took a step forward. “I’m not going in if you don’t want me to. I just thought maybe it wouldn’t hurt if someone kept you company, even for a little while.” Rodrigo stepped aside silently. She entered slowly. There were no hugs or nice words, just two broken people sharing a moment of silence amidst their grief. Camila put the coffee on the table, poured two cups, and sat down across from him.

She didn’t look at him with pity, she didn’t treat him with forced compassion, she was just there. Rodrigo took the first sip of coffee without saying a word, and for the first time in days, he felt a little less alone. The first Monday after the wake dawned cloudy, as if even the sky understood the emptiness that remained. Rodrigo opened his eyes without wanting to. He didn’t hear his mother’s noise in the kitchen or his father’s footsteps on the phone since early morning.

The house was silent. A heavy, empty silence, the kind that crushes your chest and reminds you that nothing is the same anymore. She got out of bed, her body numb. She had barely slept the night before, and her head was spinning. She went to take a bath reluctantly. She let the hot water run while leaning against the wall. She didn’t cry. She felt as if her tears had dried up the first day she left. When she left, she dressed in the first clothes she found.

He didn’t care how he looked. It was the same old thing. Expensive shirt, ironed pants, designer shoes, but nothing made sense anymore. When he went down to the kitchen, everything was still the same. The same plates arranged, the coffee pot ready, the flowers in the vase as if his parents were about to appear at any moment. But no, it was just him. And that silence, a silence no longer filled with laughter, or fights, or anything, he turned on the coffee pot out of habit, poured a cup, sat down at the table, and stared into space.

The first emails arrived mid-morning. The lawyer had sent him documents, things to review, decisions to make. Rodrigo opened them, but didn’t fully understand them. Legal jargon, figures, transactions. He also received letters from some executives from his father’s companies, almost all in the same tone: cold, polite, without a shred of humanity. We await instructions on the continuation of the month’s financial decisions. We request access to the backup of the main corporate account. What will happen to the general management?

No one asked how he was. No one offered to help. They just wanted answers. Movement, control. He picked up the phone and called his uncle Jaime, his mother’s brother. He didn’t answer; he left a message. Then he dialed Ernesto, one of his father’s closest associates. Still no answer. He tried Mariana, who had been at the wake. It rang several times and then went to voicemail. Rodrigo stared at his phone in disbelief. Everyone had already dropped him so quickly.

That afternoon, he called the lawyer again. “I’m the only one doing this, sir.” There was a brief silence. “Rodrigo, there are people working on your father’s team, but he made most of the decisions. You weren’t officially listed; you only appear as a beneficiary on some trusts. The rest need review. And the partners, the directors, are looking out for their own interests. I’m sorry, but it’s the truth.” Rodrigo hung up without another word, leaned back in the chair, and ran his hands over his face.

It was like waking up from a dream where everything had been false. He always thought he had power, support, loyal people, but no. They were only there as long as his father was in control. Now that he was gone, everyone was scurrying away like rats fleeing the ship. For three more days, he tried to stay on his feet. He attended a meeting with investors where he was barely allowed to speak. They looked at him with false respect. He knew they considered him an ornament, an inexperienced son, a rich kid who had never had to make decisions.

No one took him seriously. He returned home to find more paperwork in the entryway. Legal documents, notifications of properties under review, accounts frozen for inheritance analysis. Everything was so tangled up that he felt like he was going to explode. He didn’t know where to start, or even understand how his parents had managed to manage so much without him having any idea. The only message that truly felt real was a short one. From Camila, it said, “How did you wake up today? Nothing more. No hearts, no nice words, no motivational quotes, just that.” But it was the only message that made him feel like he wasn’t invisible.

He didn’t answer her immediately. He thought about how strange it all was. Just a few weeks ago, that woman had made him look ridiculous in front of half the room, and now she was the only one who dared to ask him something human. He spent the afternoon without eating, just coffee and cigarettes. Rodrigo had never been a smoker, but that week it had become a habit. He lit one whenever he didn’t know what to do with his hands, his thoughts, his loneliness. That night Camila wrote again.

This time she was more direct. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. I’m just letting you know that I’ll stop by tomorrow with bread for your grandmother. She told me she liked the one I brought.” Rodrigo let out a quiet laugh, a short, joyless laugh, but real. For a second, he felt something faint in his chest, something that wasn’t pain, just a presence, someone who wouldn’t go away. The next day, Camila appeared, as she said, but she didn’t come in right away. She knocked on the door. Rodrigo opened it, and she lifted the bag of bread.

“I just came to drop this off and see if your grandmother needs anything.” “She’s asleep,” he replied in a hoarse voice. “And you?” Rodrigo didn’t reply, just stepped aside. Camila came in, walked straight to the kitchen, left the bread on the table, and took out a thermos of coffee. I didn’t bring sugar; it’s bitter, like life. Rodrigo sat down across from her, poured himself a cup, and they drank in silence. “You know what the worst part is?” he said suddenly. “That everyone who claimed to be a part of my life is gone, not a single one of them.”

Camila nodded. “It’s just that they weren’t part of your life, they were part of your dad’s life.” That sentence hit her like a bucket of ice water, but it was true. I thought I was surrounded by people who respected me. They respected you as long as you had support. Now you’re alone, and that hurts.” Rodrigo looked down, then up. “You, why are you here?” Camila looked at him without drama. “Because I know what it feels like to lose everything. And because you, with everything you have or had, had no idea what it’s like to be left without anyone.

Rodrigo gripped the cup tightly. He wanted to say something, but he couldn’t. He just nodded, his eyes filled with tiredness. That night Camila didn’t stay long; she just listened to him. She made him some soup with whatever she found in the cupboard, asked him if he’d slept well, and before leaving, she said something that stuck with him. You don’t have to be strong right now, just don’t disappear. Rodrigo stood alone in the doorway, watching her walk away down the street.

He didn’t know what was happening, or why it mattered so much that she had arrived just now, but amidst everyone’s abandonment, she was the only one who hadn’t remained silent, neither during the fight at the event nor now, and that, unwittingly, was beginning to mean more than he could admit. Rodrigo had been on autopilot for almost two weeks now. He woke up listlessly, walked around the house as if he were floating. He opened emails without reading them properly, ignored calls, and barely ate enough to keep from fainting.

His head was full of noise, but at the same time everything felt silent. An uncomfortable, long, unrelenting silence. He slept on the couch because his room felt confined. Sometimes he left the television on just to avoid feeling alone, even though he wasn’t paying attention to anything. That Tuesday afternoon, the sun was low, but the heat was still strong. Rodrigo had fallen asleep with his shirt unbuttoned, lying in one of the armchairs when he heard a knock on the door.

At first, he thought he’d dreamed it, but the doorbell rang again. He shuffled up, his eyes swollen and his face drawn. He opened the door without asking who it was, with no energy to care. And there she was again, Camila. She didn’t have flowers or bread this time, just a backpack slung over her shoulder and a serious expression. “I’ve come to help you,” she said bluntly. Rodrigo blinked in confusion. “Help me with what?” “With what’s coming your way.”

Someone has to help you get your life in order.” He remained silent. He didn’t know whether to laugh or be annoyed. Who was she to come so confidently? Camila, you don’t need to do this. I know, but I’m going to do it anyway. Rodrigo let her in. Not because he wanted company, but rather because deep down he no longer had the strength to argue with anyone. And she seemed to be the only person who didn’t demand anything of him, or ask him stupid questions. She didn’t talk to make him look good, she didn’t look at him with pity, she just treated him as what he was: a broken man learning to live without what he’d always taken for granted.

Camila sat at the dining room table and took a notebook and pen out of her backpack. “You need to make a list. Everything you need to resolve, from legal matters to personal matters. You can’t keep going like this, waiting for time to sort it out.” Rodrigo sat across from her without saying a word. Sometimes he looked at her as if he didn’t understand where she got so much confidence. She started asking questions. “Do you have access to all of your dad’s accounts?”

No, just the personal ones. Have you spoken to the company’s accountant yet? I haven’t been able to. And the lawyer sent me papers. I haven’t read them all. Perfect. So let’s start there. Camila wrote everything down without asking permission. Rodrigo realized that for some reason it didn’t bother him; on the contrary, he felt like someone was finally showing him a path, one that wasn’t just the chaos in his head. “And what do you know about this?” he suddenly asked curiously.

I’m studying business administration, final year. I’m no expert, but I know how to read bank statements and I know how to clean up a mess. Rodrigo nodded without mocking her. For the first time in a long time. He didn’t feel like he had to feign superiority; on the contrary, he was on the ground, and she knew it, but she didn’t step on him, she just pushed him up. They spent several hours reviewing papers. Camila organized the documents by date, by importance, by urgency. She called banks, requested reports, and inquired about legal advice, all without mentioning Del Valle’s last name.

When she hung up, she wrote everything down in her notebook. Rodrigo, meanwhile, just watched her. At dusk, Camila got up and went straight to the kitchen. “Do you have anything for dinner? I think there’s pasta in the cupboard.” She cooked quietly. Rodrigo watched her move around the kitchen as if it were her own home, but not in a rude way, not brazenly, rather naturally. When she served the dishes, they sat down in silence to eat. There were no toasts or deep conversations, just two people sharing simple food amidst the chaos.

After dinner, Camila stood firmly in front of him. “I’ll come back tomorrow. You’re going to read the lawyer’s contracts. I’ll help you understand them, but you need to be awake, showered, and eager. We’re here.” Rodrigo nodded without thinking much. Camila looked at him, waiting. “Why are you doing this? Because they left you alone, and because, despite everything, you don’t deserve to stay like this.” Rodrigo stood in the doorway watching her leave. He didn’t know how to feel. The only thing he knew for sure was that ever since Camila had first arrived, he felt something could improve.

Not much, not quickly, but something. The next day, she returned punctually with a coffee in hand and more printed papers. Rodrigo was ready, not 100%, but different. He had showered, combed his hair, and even tried to shave, although he cut himself on his neck. Camila noticed, but said nothing, just smiled faintly. They worked until the afternoon. During one of those breaks, while they ate some cookies she had brought in her bag, Rodrigo dared to ask her something more personal.

It’s always been like this. How so? So brave, so direct. Camila shrugged. I had no choice. Since I was a child, I learned that if you don’t speak clearly, life runs over you. And it happened to me once. I’m not going to let it happen again. What happened to you? She hesitated. She lowered her gaze, then met his gaze. My mom left when I was 8. One day she went out to get tortillas and never came back. Literally, my grandmother raised me, and from then on, I learned that if I didn’t stand up for myself, no one would.

Rodrigo didn’t know what to say; he just stared at her in silence. He felt something tighten around his throat. “And your dad? I never met him. I don’t even feel like it.” Camila didn’t say it with sadness; she said it like someone who’d already gotten over it, like someone who’d learned to move on without looking back. After that day, Camila started going almost every day. It wasn’t a routine or an obligation; it just happened. Rodrigo didn’t ask for it, but he expected it.

She didn’t say it, but she made sure to leave her work ready so she had time to help him. And without either of them admitting it, that daily presence began to heal things they didn’t even know were broken. Camila didn’t become his assistant, or his advisor, or his nanny. She was just someone who showed up just when she was most needed. And that’s worth more than anything. Rodrigo woke up one morning with his throat a lump and his chest burning. He had dreamed of his mother.

They were in the kitchen, she was making him eggs and ham. They were talking nonsense and laughing as if time had stood still. But something in the dream felt off. When he tried to hug her, she vanished. Just like that, he woke up drenched in sweat, trembling. It wasn’t the first time he’d dreamed about them, but it was the first time it felt so real. He sat on the edge of the bed and covered his face with his hands. He couldn’t take it anymore.

It was 3 a.m. He walked down the dark hallway of the house, barefoot, not knowing where he was going. When he reached the living room, he sank into the armchair, as if his body no longer responded. There was something inside him that was about to break. He knew it. For days he’d been carrying a dry, formless pain that was slowly crushing him. He didn’t cry, he didn’t speak, he just endured. Until now. He remembered the Sundays they spent together.

His dad watering the plants, his mom watching soap operas with a blanket on her lap. He remembered the fights, the shouting, the recriminations. They were never the perfect family, but they were his family, and now they were gone. And no one prepared him for that. No one tells you how to live when the people who raised you are gone. No one trains you for the silence that remains afterward. He sat there for hours. Sometimes he would get up, pace around, open drawers, looking for who knows what.

Photos, papers, notes, memories. He found a sealed envelope with his name in his mother’s handwriting. He recognized it instantly. Trembling, he opened it. It was a short letter. Rodrigo, if you ever read this, it’s because something happened to us. Don’t be alone. Don’t shut yourself away. You are stronger than you think, even if you never believed it. I’m sorry for everything we did wrong, and thank you for everything you did right, even if we didn’t tell you often.

I love you, Mom. The tears didn’t come immediately. He held the letter in his hand, breathing as if he were gasping for air. Then the tears overcame him. They weren’t soft tears, they were brutal. He cried with rage, with guilt, with exhaustion. He clutched the back of the sofa, gritted his teeth, and punched the cushion. Everything he hadn’t let out those days came out like a flooded river. No one saw him, no one hugged him. He was alone, but finally, he let himself break.

He spent the rest of the night on the floor, lying next to the couch, clutching one of his dad’s old jackets. When dawn broke, his eyes were swollen and his voice cracked. He dragged himself to the kitchen and poured himself some water. Then he sat in silence, watching the light stream in through the window. For the first time in weeks, he felt like something inside him had been released. It wasn’t peace, it was just space, as if he’d opened a wound he could no longer hide.

That same day, Camila arrived unannounced. She was carrying a cardboard box with folders, markers, and a new planner. “I brought you a calendar, so the world doesn’t come crashing down on you,” she said with a faint smile. Rodrigo looked at her from the doorway. His face was dull, but no longer as tense. “I didn’t sleep,” he said. “You can tell.” “What happened?” he hesitated. Then he gestured for her to come in. Camila left the box on the table and sat down on the couch.

Rodrigo stood for a moment. Then he sat down across from her. “I dreamed about my mom. She left me a letter. Did you read it?” Rodrigo nodded. I finally cried. Like a child. Camila said nothing; she just looked at him. “I feel strange, like I can finally breathe, but at the same time empty.” “It’s normal,” she replied. “When something really bad breaks, at first only the echo remains. But that echo is better than the silence you brought.” Rodrigo lowered his gaze.

Her fingers played with the edge of the letter now on the table. I’m scared of what’s next. I have no idea what to do with my life, not with the companies, not with myself. You don’t need to be clear about that right now either. Just take one day at a time. They sat in silence for a while. Camila took out a marker and began writing dates in her planner. Small things: reviewing papers, making a call, reading a contract. Rodrigo watched her as if he were seeing a bit of her soul.

There was something about her that gave him calm, not total peace, but calm. And that was already a lot. Why don’t you give up? she asked suddenly. Because I refuse to live feeling less than. And because there are people who need me. My grandmother, you. Rodrigo looked up in surprise. I do, even if you don’t want to admit it, you’re holding on with what I can give you. And that’s okay, no one can do everything alone. Rodrigo laughed, for the first time in days.

A short, honest laugh. I don’t understand how we went from shouting at each other in a room full of rich people to this. Camila laughed too, but her eyes glittered. Life is strange. It knocks you down, and right there, where you least expect it, it puts the people who are worth it. After tidying up her papers a little more, she got ready to leave. Rodrigo walked her to the door, but before she could leave, he stopped her. Camila, thank you. She looked at him. Don’t thank me, just don’t give up.

Rodrigo closed the door after she left and stood there for a moment without moving. Something had changed in him. He didn’t know what exactly, but it was as if a wall inside had collapsed. His pain was no longer something hidden, no longer a knot in his stomach; it was an open wound, yes, but visible. And when things are seen, they can be healed. That night, he didn’t sleep on the couch; he went up to his room, made the bed, put the photos of his parents away on the nightstand, and got under the covers.

He closed his eyes in fear, but without resisting sleep. And for the first time since everything had fallen apart, he rested a little. Rodrigo arrived at the lawyer’s office with his stomach in knots. He had put off several appointments because he didn’t want to deal with all that legal stuff, which seemed to be in another language, but that morning he got dressed, took a deep breath, and decided to face it. Camila had motivated him, of course, but he was also fed up with not understanding what was happening around him.

He felt like someone driving a car with no brakes, not knowing whether a curve or a wall was coming. The office building was in one of those expensive areas, where all the windows are mirrored and the floors sound different. Rodrigo went past the reception desk, was ushered in, and had to wait in a room where everything smelled of new wood and air conditioning. After 10 minutes, he was ushered in. Mr. Adame was a man in his 60s with thin glasses and a serious face.

His hands were well-groomed, his jacket perfectly ironed, and he had the kind of voice that never utters a word more than necessary. They greeted each other with a handshake and sat down face to face. “Rodrigo, it’s great that you’re finally here,” the lawyer said, reviewing some papers. “I’m ready. Tell me everything straight.” Adame nodded and arranged the documents in front of him. He opened a thick folder and began to speak. “Your father left everything in a trust. You are the primary beneficiary, but not the administrator.”

He didn’t consider you ready to take control. Everything is in the hands of three partners. One of them resigned after your father’s death. The other two are just starting to move pieces. Rodrigo remained silent. He’d heard that before, but now it came with more detail, more weight. What does that mean? That legally you can’t make decisions without them. You can request reports, you can give your opinion, but you can’t give orders. And besides, the lawyer paused. Rodrigo tensed.

Also, there’s a detail we hadn’t mentioned. Your father had been in a financial crisis for over a year. His investments didn’t pan out as he expected. He fell into heavy debt, sold properties, used savings, took out loans, and many of these transactions weren’t entirely clear. What are you saying? That the Valley empire is no longer an empire; it’s about to collapse. The properties are mortgaged, the accounts are frozen, the companies owe salaries, taxes, and insurance. Rodrigo abruptly stood up from his chair.

That can’t be right. My father didn’t tell me anything. He never told me it was wrong because he was protecting you, or maybe because he didn’t want you to know. Only he and his personal accountant handled it. And now that accountant is missing. No one has found him. Rodrigo felt his chest tighten. He paced the office like a caged lion. The lawyer watched him without interrupting. So, I have nothing. You have a name. You have the chance to do something, but you have to move now.

If you do nothing, everything will be seized in six months. Rodrigo slumped in his chair. What he had just heard was a harder blow than anything he had heard so far. It wasn’t just about papers, about business, it was about everything he had believed himself to be, everything he had once arrogantly defended. It turned out his father had hidden a ruin dressed in gold from him, and now he was the heir to that ruin. What do I do? he asked himself more than the lawyer.

You have to take the lead, talk to the partners, see which properties can be saved, which businesses are worth fighting for, which employees you can bring back, and above all, you need to really work. Those words hit him right in the ego. Work. He’d never really done it, never needed to. Until now, he left the office with his head down, his eyes red, papers in a folder that felt heavier than a rock. He sat in the car in the parking lot for almost half an hour.

He didn’t start the engine; he was just breathing heavily, staring out the windshield as if he didn’t know where he was. Camila called him just as he was about to explode, answering in a broken voice. “Are you okay? No, nothing’s okay. Where are you?” “In the car, outside the office. I’ll see you at your house.” Rodrigo didn’t say yes, but she understood she had to go. When she arrived, she found him in the same place. He hadn’t moved. They went upstairs in silence. They sat in the living room.

He placed the folder on the table and pushed it toward her. “Le, read everything. I want you to know what I am.” Camila took out the papers and began to read. Each page was heavier than the last. Rodrigo watched her as if he were waiting for her to mock him, to judge him, to reject him. And then he asked after a few minutes, “What do you think, Camila?” He looked up. “I think you already knew, but you hadn’t accepted it. What? That all you had was a pretty lie.”

But that doesn’t mean you are. Rodrigo laughed sarcastically. “So what now? Are you going to tell me this is a life lesson? No, I’m not here to lecture you. I’m just telling you you have two paths. Keep sinking or start fighting.” Rodrigo remained silent. For the first time, he didn’t have a ready response. He didn’t know what to say or how to act. He felt like a child lost in the middle of the desert. And somehow, Camila got up, went to the kitchen, brought two glasses of water, and sat down across from him again.

So you teach yourself, you learn, you ask questions, you make mistakes, but you don’t just wait around. Rodrigo lowered his gaze, his hands shaking. I’m scared. Camila didn’t look at him with pity, she just placed a hand on his shoulder. That’s the most humane thing you’ve said since I met you. They didn’t speak again that night. Camila spent a while reviewing documents, taking notes, making calculations. Rodrigo watched her in silence, wondering how someone with so little knowledge could have so much control, so much strength, so much clarity.

When she left, he went up to his room, took off his clothes, and looked at himself in the mirror. He was no longer the guy from the elegant event, no longer the son of the great businessman. He was just himself, afraid, in debt, with the world on his shoulders, but also with the first spark of truth, because now he knew what he was standing on. And although it was broken ground, it was his. Rodrigo woke up with his stomach churning. He had dreamed he was walking down a hallway with no doors, no windows.

No exit, just an eternal, dark, and silent hallway. When he opened his eyes, he struggled to remember where he was. It took him a few seconds to locate his own room. His hair was disheveled, his face dull, and his throat dry. He sat up in bed, rubbed his face with both hands, and looked toward the window. The city was still out there, just as noisy, just as fast, and he was still on pause. That day he didn’t go down to breakfast, or shower, or change.

He sat up in bed staring at the wall as if waiting for something to snap him out of it, but nothing happened, only the ticking clock. At some point, his cell phone rang. It was Camila. He didn’t answer. He didn’t have the strength to even pretend. Over the next few hours, everything became a blur. Rodrigo paced from bed to couch, from couch to kitchen, from kitchen back to bed. He didn’t open emails, didn’t answer calls, didn’t read papers. Deep down, he felt like there was no point anymore.

What was the point of trying to save anything if everything had been broken before? The house, the name, the company, his image—everything was a farce that had already crumbled. He was no longer the powerful heir, the successful son, or the respected young man. Now he was just another guy, one who didn’t know how to do anything. In the afternoon, he checked his bank account. There were 22,000 pesos left, an amount that would sound like enough to anyone, but to him, it was as if he’d been left with a few coins.

The credit cards were already blocked. The cars registered in his father’s name were now under legal review. The house was still in his possession, but the lawyer had warned him that if he didn’t resolve the trust issues, he could end up losing it as well. Sitting in front of the computer, he opened the email from the accountant of one of the companies. There was the real financial status of the construction company. Debts, labor lawsuits, overdue payments, a bomb about to explode. Rodrigo slammed the laptop shut.

His hands were sweating. He felt dizzy, as if all the oxygen had been lost. He didn’t eat dinner that night. He stayed on the living room floor, lying on his back, staring at the ceiling. He thought about his father, how he had always seen him as a giant, a man who knew everything, who controlled everything, who never made mistakes, but now he saw him as someone just as human, just as confused. Maybe his father didn’t know how to tell him they were losing everything.

Maybe he thought he could fix it without Rodrigo finding out, or maybe he was just scared. And now he was there, carrying that same burden, but not knowing where to start. At 11 p.m., Camila knocked on the door. Rodrigo didn’t move. He let her knock three more times. Then he heard her say his name loudly, but without shouting. Finally, he got up and opened it. She looked at him, frowning. “Why aren’t you answering?” She didn’t want to talk to anyone.

Since when? Since I realized I have nothing anymore. Camila entered without asking permission. She walked to the living room. She saw the closed laptop, the scattered papers, Rodrigo’s face staring at him. “And what do you expect? For someone to come rescue you.” Rodrigo didn’t respond. He slumped onto the couch. “I’m no good at this. I don’t know how to do anything. I never learned. So learn. Don’t you understand? Of course I understand,” she said, raising her voice for the first time. “Do you think life gave me time to learn before I needed it?”

What did they teach me to care for a sick person? To work from the age of 15, to study through sleepless nights. Rodrigo looked at her for the first time. He truly saw her, not just as the woman who helped him, he saw her as someone who had fought every day of her life, someone who had made it on her own, and that hurt. “I don’t even know where to start,” he repeated, his voice breaking. “Start from the bottom,” Camila said. “From where you should have always started, without privileges, without excuses.”

A tense silence fell. Rodrigo was breathing heavily. “So what? Do I get to hand out flyers, wash cars? Are you going to work?” she replied, without sarcasm, “anywhere, but working, seeing how things are earned, seeing what you’ve never wanted to see.” Rodrigo closed his eyes, his head spinning. All his pride was on the floor, but inside him, a small part was beginning to understand. He couldn’t keep waiting for someone to solve his life.

Camila sat down next to him. “I can help you, but I can’t do everything for you. Either you stop or you stay here watching everything slip away.” Rodrigo swallowed, stood up slowly, and went to get some water. When he came back, he looked at her with a different expression, not one of courage, but it wasn’t the same as before. Now he was determined. Do you know anyone who needs help? Yes. There’s an opening for reception at the hotel where I work. Night shift. They pay little, but they pay.

Do you want it? Rodrigo hesitated for a few seconds, then nodded. Yes. Then get ready. You’re going to enter through the back door in uniform, with no one treating you differently. Okay. And you’re going to hold out because the people there aren’t going to applaud you. I’m going to hold out. Camila looked at him for a long time, then took out her cell phone. She typed a message and showed it to him. I already signed you up for the interview. It’s tomorrow at 6. Don’t be late, and please take a shower. Rodrigo smiled for the first time that day.

A real smile, small, but full of something new, something they were just beginning to do. Thanks, Camila, don’t thank me yet. You’re going to hate me when you start. Rodrigo was left alone after she left, walking around the house, going up to his room, taking out simple clothes, and packing his backpack. For the first time in a long time, he felt like he had a purpose, even if it was a small one. That night he slept a few hours, but deeply, and when the sun began to rise, he was already on his feet, ready to start from the bottom, like everyone else.

Rodrigo arrived at the hotel with his backpack slung over his shoulder, his hair damp from the quick shower he took that morning, and an expression that mixed nervousness with embarrassment. He wasn’t wearing a suit, an expensive watch, or designer glasses, just a simple white shirt, unbranded black pants, and shoes he’d bought quickly the day before because his usual ones weren’t good enough for walking far. It was strange seeing him like that. He felt like everyone was looking at him, not because they recognized him, but because his mind was still accustomed to being the one with the big last name.

Every person who passed by him, every receptionist on the phone, every employee in a clean uniform with a focused gaze reminded him that he was now on the other side. He wasn’t a client, he wasn’t a guest, he was part of the staff, and that weighed heavily. He asked at reception for the personnel manager. They told him to go up to the second floor, to the administrative area. He took the stairs. He didn’t want to use the elevator. Something inside him felt he wasn’t worthy of it yet. When he arrived at the designated office, he was greeted by a woman in her fifties with a serious face and perfectly polished nails.

Rodrigo del Valle. Yes, good morning. She looked him up and down, not with disdain, but with caution. Camila told me about you. She told me you were looking for a job, which, honestly, surprised me. Rodrigo swallowed. I know I don’t look like the typical profile, but I’m willing to learn. I hope so. She said as she let him in. This hotel isn’t a rehab center for the fallen rich. People here really work. Rodrigo nodded without defending himself. He had it clear.

He sat across from her, answered basic questions, handed over a copy of his ID and a few papers Camila helped him prepare. He was assigned the night shift, as she’d told him. He’d start that week in the reception area, covering the entrance, taking calls, and managing guest arrivals and departures. Before leaving, the woman looked him straight in the eye. “You’re going to start with the basics. No special treatment. And if you can’t stand it, no problem.”

But don’t come back. Rodrigo lowered his head. I’m going to hold on. He descended from the second floor, his shoulders heavy. His heart was pounding, but it wasn’t fear. It was a mix of anxiety and swallowed pride. He was about to start from where he never imagined. From where, to be honest, he always thought he’d never have to be, and yet, there he was. When he walked out the side door of the hotel, Camila was waiting for him, leaning against a column. She had seen him from afar.

She was wearing her gray uniform with the hotel logo, carrying a folder under her arm, and her hair tied back as usual. Seeing him, she raised an eyebrow. Then, Rodrigo stopped in front of her. He grimaced in a mixture of relief and exhaustion. “I start this Thursday, 10 p.m. to 6 a.m. shift. And you know how to smile.” Rodrigo let out a low laugh. “I don’t think I ever knew, but I’m willing to learn.” Camila nodded, satisfied. “Good, because your last name’s no good there. No one’s going to lay down a red carpet for you.”

You’ll be standing there, cold, answering the phone, dealing with drunk guests, recording botched reservations, and all of that while still in uniform and not giving a “you’re-doing-me-a-favor” look. Rodrigo listened to her as if he were receiving a necessary lecture. She wasn’t saying this to humiliate him; she was saying it to prepare him, because she knew what was coming and didn’t want him to give up right away. And if I make mistakes, you’re going to make them. We all make them. But the important thing is that you don’t act offended when someone points them out to you.

Go. Camila turned around and started walking. Rodrigo caught up with her. “Why are you doing this? Why are you helping me?” She didn’t stop, but responded as they walked together along the sidewalk. “Because someone helped me when I needed it. He didn’t give me anything, but he gave me the opportunity to show what I was made of. Now it’s your turn.” Rodrigo lowered his gaze. He had never felt so indebted to someone and at the same time so grateful. That night he prepared everything, washed the uniform they gave him, filed his nails, cut his hair, printed a sheet with the night shift schedules, and stuck it on his closet door.

He began studying the basic reception processes online, how to check in, how to handle reservations, what to say on the phone. He jotted down phrases in a notebook. “Good evening. How may I help you? Of course. Give me a moment. Thank you for your stay. Please come again.” He repeated them under his breath, feeling ridiculous, but he didn’t stop. When Thursday arrived, Rodrigo was more nervous than ever. He arrived half an hour early. He entered through the back door of the hotel, where employees checked in with a card.

He greeted the guards with a brief good night. No one recognized him. No one even looked at him twice. He was just one of them. And that felt strange, but at the same time right. Waiting for him at reception was Enrique, a man in his forties, dark-skinned, tall, with large hands and a deep voice. They gave him the full uniform: jacket, shirt, tie, and badge. Rodrigo put it on in the bathroom. When he looked in the mirror, he saw himself strange, as if he were in costume, but he also saw himself different, human.

For the first few hours, Enrique calmly explained everything to him: how to turn on the system, how to answer calls, how to handle complaints, how to act if someone made a fuss. Rodrigo took notes, nodded, and asked questions. Whenever he made a mistake, Enrique told him bluntly, “No, not like that,” without any filter, but without mockery. At 2:00 a.m., a guest arrived upset because his room wasn’t ready. Rodrigo tried to calm him down, but he stumbled over his words. Enrique had to intervene. The guy left grumbling.

Rodrigo felt his face heat up. It’s okay, Enrique told him. You’re going to screw up a lot, but the important thing is that you don’t run away. Rodrigo took a deep breath. I’m not going to run away. The rest of the night passed between calls, check-ins, and learning. He finished his shift with his feet aching, his eyes red, but with his head held high. When he left, Camila was waiting for him on the sidewalk. He approached without saying anything. She glanced at him. You survived.

Rodrigo nodded. Yes. And I think I liked it. Camila smiled faintly. Fine, then, go to sleep, there’s more tomorrow. And without another word, they walked down the street, side by side, like two different people, like two lives that had unwittingly intertwined. Rodrigo’s first night as a receptionist wasn’t a disaster, but it was a shock. He knew it barely two hours into his shift. Everything he thought he’d ever known about the job changed in a matter of minutes.

This wasn’t just sitting with a laptop and coffee in hand, making calls to close deals. It was solving problems, serving customers, dealing with fatigue, people’s bad moods, and his own insecurities. But despite everything, at the end of that first shift, he didn’t just walk away. He left tired, yes, but with a feeling he hadn’t felt in a long time. He had made something with his own hands, and that was repeated every night. The second shift was worse.

He made a mistake when registering a room. He assigned the executive suite to a couple who had booked a basic room, and when the royal guest arrived, wearing a tie and boasting, he caused a scene right in front of the reception desk. Rodrigo tried to resolve the situation, but got stuck. Enrique had to intervene and calm the guest down, but before leaving, the guy uttered a phrase that stuck in Rodrigo’s head. Who hired this idiot? It was a bitter pill to swallow.

Rodrigo didn’t respond, but swallowed so hard it hurt. Enrique didn’t say anything for a few minutes. When everything calmed down, he lightly punched him on the shoulder. “If you let that knock you down, you’ve already lost.” Rodrigo nodded. He didn’t say anything, but inside he was burning. The following days were a constant test of patience. He learned to fill out reports, print receipts, speak on the phone with that friendly tone he wasn’t good at, and greet people with a smile, even if he was tired inside.

It was difficult, of course. He slept during the day, fitfully, and sometimes not even that. His body ached, his mind clouded, but something strange was happening. Every time he made a mistake, instead of throwing himself into drama, he took a breath and corrected it. And every night he left shift, he felt less lost. Camila followed him closely. She didn’t treat him like a child or a client. She treated him like a colleague. They crossed paths in the hotel hallways during shift changes.

Sometimes they just greeted each other with a glance. Other times, with short phrases. Everything was fine. Yes, more or less. Did you sleep at all? He tried. On one of those early mornings, Rodrigo was sitting at the reception desk, reviewing the records when he heard a familiar voice. Mariana, his ex, tall, elegant, with her expensive perfume filling the lobby. She was accompanied by two men, all laughing as if they had just left a private party. He saw him, stopped, looked at him in surprise, smiled, but not in a friendly way.

Rodrigo, he froze. “You work here?” He didn’t know what to say, he just nodded. One of the men burst out laughing. “What? Now you like to experience things from the bottom.” Mariana faked a quiet laugh, but didn’t move. “Wow, I never thought I’d see you behind the counter.” Life changes, Rodrigo said without raising his voice. “Yes, it improves some, it settles others.” Rodrigo didn’t reply. He handed them the key without looking at their faces. Suite 305. Rest easy.

When they left, he stood still, his heart in his throat. He didn’t know whether to run, scream, or laugh. Enrique watched him from the other chair. “Do you know that one?” Yes. She was someone important. Did it hurt a little? Well, no way. You’re a receptionist here, not a victim. Rodrigo took a deep breath for the first time. He didn’t sink; he just thought, “This doesn’t define me; it’s just part of the journey.” That morning, when he got off shift, Camila was waiting for him, two coffees in her hand.

She looked at him with a perfectly fine expression, and he just nodded. “Did you have a visitor?” Rodrigo laughed tiredly. “Yes, from the past. Camila gave him his coffee, so he can stay there.” Rodrigo looked at her. She walked without fear, without hurry, with that quiet strength he admired more and more. He didn’t say it, but in that moment he thought, “Thank you for showing up when everything fell apart for me.” Over the next few weeks, Rodrigo became a part of the reality. He was no longer the new kid, the junior, or the weirdo.

It was simply Rodrigo, the one who worked the night shifts, the one who made mistakes and then corrected them, the one who greeted the maids and ate with the cooks in the employee cafeteria. Some knew who he was, others didn’t, but everyone treated him the same. One afternoon, after sleeping for a few hours, Rodrigo went to his father’s room. He hadn’t touched it since his death. He opened the closet. Everything was the same. Ironed shirts, suits lined up, ties sorted by color. He sat on the edge of the bed and took out a shoebox.

Inside, he found an old watch, one of those that don’t have a brand name, but do have a history. He picked it up, wiped it with his T-shirt, and put it on. He didn’t need anything else. That night, he arrived at work with a changed face, still tired, still confused by many things, but with his head held higher. Enrique noticed. What happened to you? Nothing, everything just feels less heavy now. That’s good because tomorrow you’ll also cover the closing of the register. Rodrigo smiled. Whatever it is, here I am. And yes, there he was, in the place he never thought he’d occupy, living a life he never imagined.

But finally, feeling that every step, however small, was his own. That night, Rodrigo arrived at the hotel as usual, his uniform clean, his badge hanging around his neck, and his body still half asleep. The sun had barely set when he was already up, drinking a black coffee without sugar, combing his hair in front of the employee bathroom mirror, and walking toward reception, his head clearer than it had been in weeks. Enrique no longer explained everything to him like he had in the beginning.

Now he let him take care of half the tasks and only intervened when necessary. Rodrigo felt less clumsy, more confident, although he still got caught short with the hotel system or with guests who spoke too quickly. At 11 p.m., just as he was finishing checking in a group of tourists from Guadalajara, he saw a group he never expected to see again come through the main door. It was Andrés, his longtime friend, the typical guy who had a more expensive car every month, who appeared in social media, and who had accompanied him to parties, trips, events, and drunken binges.

He walked in laughing with three other people, two men and a woman. They were dressed in that style that screams, “I have money!” without needing to be said. Linen shirts, expensive watches, laughter that was irrelevant. Rodrigo froze for a second. Andrés saw it too. He stopped dead in his tracks and let out a stifled laugh. “It can’t be, Rodrigo.” The group looked at him curiously. One of them asked, “Do you know him?” “Of course I do,” Andrés said, approaching the counter. “He’s my friend.” Well, he was.

What’s up, bro? Did they catch you as punishment or something? Rodrigo didn’t respond. He kept his eyes on the system screen. Enrique, who was standing next to him, looked at him out of the corner of his eye, attentive. “Do you need to check in?” Rodrigo asked in a neutral tone. “Now you’re talking like that, so formal? Where’s that guy who spent 10,000 pesos on a single dinner?” Rodrigo took a deep breath and remained calm. Andrés laughed even louder. “Oh, don’t be like that. I’m just kidding, dude.”

But how strange to see you here, so normal. What happened? The magic is over. One of the men sneered under his breath. The woman just watched. “In the name of Jorge Salgado,” Andrés finally said, as if it were a favor to say it. Rodrigo searched the system, found the reservation, confirmed the details, gave them the keys, and explained the hotel’s breakfast and service hours. 7th floor, rooms 712 and 713. Enjoy your stay. Andrés hasn’t left yet.

He stayed a moment longer. I can’t get used to it, bro. It’s weird seeing you like this. You know how everyone’s saying Camila saved your life these days? Crazy, huh? That girl, the one with the mop. What a story. Rodrigo looked at him for the first time. You’re done. Andrés looked at him with a mocking expression. Were you offended? Oh, I get it. It’s true. Rodrigo lowered his voice, but not his intensity. I’m not here to put up with your jokes. If you don’t like the service, you can go to another hotel, but here the employees are respected, all of them.

Enrique rose slightly from his chair as if to make a statement. Andrés noticed. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to fight. I’m just surprised to see you so humble. It’s a shame it wasn’t sooner. Maybe it would have been nicer.” Rodrigo didn’t respond. Andrés turned around with his group, still chuckling, and disappeared into the elevator. When they left, Enrique looked at him. “Do you want me to report him? No, he can’t hurt me anymore.” Rodrigo sat down. His hands were sweaty.

He felt his heart pounding in his chest, but at the same time he was proud of the fact that he hadn’t lowered himself. Before, he would have reacted, yelled at him, confronted him with harsh words, but not now. He had learned something even more powerful: to maintain his dignity. The rest of the shift passed slowly. Every time someone entered the lobby, Rodrigo glanced up out of inertia, hoping it wasn’t another face from his past. Not because he was afraid, but because he no longer wanted to see the world he left behind.

He didn’t want to remember being that empty guy. At 3 in the morning, while sorting some bills, Camila texted him, “Camila, I heard Andrés is at the hotel.” Rodrigo, “Yeah, he came to make fun of me for a while. Camila, and you let him live?” Rodrigo, yes, but only because I don’t care what he says anymore. Camila, fine. That’s growing up.” Rodrigo put his cell phone back in the drawer. He smiled. Not a big smile, but sincere. At 6 o’clock sharp, his shift ended. Enrique said goodbye with a pat on the back.

You did well, kid. Today you showed you’re not the same anymore. Rodrigo went down to the locker room, took off his uniform, and put on his simple clothes. He left through the same back door as every day. As he stepped out, the fresh morning air hit his face, and he felt something new, as if after so much, he was finally living life with his feet on the ground. Not like Rodrigo del Valle, the millionaire, but like Rodrigo, the man who’s making it from scratch.

Rodrigo no longer walked through the hotel corridors with his head down, nor did he adjust his uniform every two minutes as if it were in his way. He wore it neatly, clean, ironed, with his shoes shining, even if they were of a simple brand. He greeted everyone he met: the cooks, the cleaning ladies, the security guards, the guests. He no longer felt out of place; now he felt part of something, not big, not impressive, but real.

It had been a little over a month since he started working at the front desk. And although he still made mistakes, he wasn’t as frustrated as he used to be. He learned to laugh at himself when something went wrong, to ask for help without feeling inferior, and to listen attentively. He had learned that serving wasn’t synonymous with humiliation and that there is more dignity in honest work than in any name hanging around your neck. One Friday morning, as he finished checking reservations for the morning shift, Camila appeared through the back door.

It wasn’t her turn. She’d just gone to bring him coffee. A thoughtful gesture. Rodrigo saw her arrive and smiled at her without saying anything. She left the coffee on the counter, took two donuts out of a bag, and sat down in one of the chairs across from him. “How are you doing?” “I don’t feel so stupid anymore,” he replied. And they laughed. “And my ego still bothers me, but it doesn’t rule me anymore.” Camila took a bite of the donut. “Today they asked me if you and I are dating,” she said without looking at him directly.

Rodrigo raised his eyebrows. “And what did you say? No, we’re just rebuilding. You do your thing, I’ll do mine.” Rodrigo looked at her seriously for a second, then lowered his gaze to his coffee. “Thank you for not running away when I was at my lowest point. I’m not one to run away, although sometimes I feel like it.” They fell silent. It was one of those comfortable silences, the kind that doesn’t feel awkward or heavy, just calm. Rodrigo no longer thought about the past with the same anger.

He was no longer haunted by the image of his parents in their coffins, nor by the mockery of his former friends. Now, every day was a new mission, something to accomplish, something to learn. He was saving. He had made a small plan with Camila to get out of the most pressing debts. He still didn’t know what he wanted to do with his life long-term, but it no longer distressed him as much. For now, all he wanted was to keep moving forward, even if it was slow. One afternoon, after sleeping for three hours, he went to visit his parents’ grave.

He hadn’t returned since the funeral. He brought simple flowers, cleaned the gravestone with a wipe, and sat down on the grass in front of them. “I don’t know if you’re seeing me,” he said softly, “But I’m trying to do things right, even if it takes me a while, even if I make mistakes. I’m no longer waiting for the world to be handed to me on a plate. And even though sometimes it hurts not to have you here, I’m beginning to understand many things I didn’t want to see before.” He talked for a while, telling them he was working, that he had a partner who taught him more than any university, that he was beginning to feel proud of himself, even though there was still a long way to go.

As he left the cemetery, he felt lighter, as if a stone had been lifted from his chest. Another night, at the hotel, Enrique called him to the cellar with a strange excuse. When Rodrigo arrived, he found everyone from the night shift, the guards, a cook, two of the cleaning ladies, and Enrique himself with a birthday cake on top of a box. “You have two days left, but you won’t be coming that day,” Enrique said. “So we brought it forward.” Rodrigo froze.

“How do you know my birthday, Camila?” they all said at the same time. She appeared behind them wearing a ridiculous paper hat and holding a candle. Don’t blow it out, it’s fake, but it makes for a good photo. Rodrigo smiled like he hadn’t since he was a child. He took the photo. They cut the cake with a kitchen knife, used paper cups, and ate everything in 15 minutes because work never stops. But for him, it was the best party he’d ever had in his life, without luxuries, without gifts, just with people who had seen him at his worst and still decided to be there.

That same night, when his shift ended, Camila accompanied him to take the bus. They sat on the sidewalk waiting for the first one at 6 a.m. “You don’t look anything like the Rodrigo from that event,” she said, looking at the empty street. “I don’t recognize him either,” he replied. “So what are you going to do now? I don’t know, but I’m not afraid of not knowing anymore. It’s a big step. And what are you going to do when you finish your degree?”

Camila thought about it for a moment. I want to open a business. Nothing big, something of my own. Maybe a coffee shop or a stationery store in the neighborhood, something where my grandmother can sit without her legs hurting. Rodrigo looked at her with a smile that seemed tired, but real. You’re going to do well. You’re strong. You’re clear. Camila shrugged. I’m stubborn. That helps too. The truck arrived. They got in and sat together in the back. Rodrigo leaned against the window and closed his eyes for a moment.

He felt sleepy, but also at peace. That Rodrigo, who once believed himself master of the world, now traveled on public transportation with a backpack on his lap and a notebook of accounting notes. And although everything in his life had changed, inside he felt like he was just beginning to discover who he was, and that made him feel more alive than ever. Rodrigo thought he’d seen the worst, that the hardest part was over, but no. The past still had unfinished business, and one of them came disguised as a fake smile and expensive perfume.

Mariana, no one had seen her in weeks. After that awkward encounter at the hotel, she had disappeared. Rodrigo thought she had returned to her world of elegant dinners, private meetings, and photos in social magazines, but no. Mariana never left without reason; she just moved silently, like someone planning something ahead of time. And when she reappeared, it was just as Rodrigo was beginning to regain control of his life. It all started with a strange email. Rodrigo opened it one afternoon while checking his inbox at an internet café near his home.

The title read: “Urgent signature request, pending documentation, Grupo del Valle.” It was for an account she didn’t recognize, but the name at the end of the attachment did. Mariana G de la M opened the file carefully. They were transfer documents, legal details about one of the last companies in her family’s name. The smallest construction company, but also the only one with unseized assets. Mariana was formally requesting that Rodrigo sign to facilitate the restructuring process, in the exact words she used.

Rodrigo frowned. He didn’t quite understand what was going on, but his instinct told him something wasn’t right. That same night, he showed the documents to Camila. She read them slowly, her eyebrows furrowed, pen in hand, making marks and notes in the margins. “This is a trap,” she said bluntly. “Are you sure?” “Yes.” It’s written so that you inadvertently sign away your rights, and once you sign, you lose all legal power over that company.

Rodrigo pressed his lips together. “What if she did it with other companies?” I don’t know, but if this is ever signed, you’re out of the woodwork. You’re left with nothing. Rodrigo took a deep breath. He felt a pang in his stomach. He knew Mariana was ambitious. She always had been, but he hadn’t imagined she could go this far. Camila glared at him. “Don’t sign anything. Not a single piece of paper. And get a lawyer who will actually defend you. Not one of those you inherited.” Rodrigo nodded.

He felt frustrated. He’d begun rebuilding from scratch, but his past kept pushing back, wanting to snatch away what little he had left. Mariana wasn’t just looking to take over a company; she wanted to bring him down, to take away every last shred of the valley’s name. Days later, Mariana appeared again. This time in person. Rodrigo had just left the hotel after his night shift. He was walking toward the subway when he saw her in front of his car, parked on the corner. She was waiting for him with dark glasses, red lipstick, and the same attitude as always, as if the world belonged to her.

“Hi, Rodrigo,” he said, taking off his glasses. “What are you doing here? I came to talk to you privately. I have nothing to talk to you about. Of course, there’s always something. After all, we were a big deal.” No, Rodrigo didn’t answer. Mariana took a step closer. “I saw you didn’t sign the papers. What a shame. You would have saved yourself a lot of trouble. Why are you doing this? Because you’re not ready for this anymore. You never were. Your father knew it. I know it. You’re just playing at being poor, working, earning a living, but sooner or later you’re going to get tired.”

And when that happens, I’ll have everything in order. You hate me so much. I don’t hate you, Rodrigo, but this is business, and in business, the one who moves first wins. Rodrigo looked at her with suppressed rage. Well, this time I won’t stay silent; I’m not the same anymore. Mariana smiled as if she didn’t believe a word she said. We’ll see. She got into her car and drove off, leaving a cloud of perfume behind. Rodrigo stood on the sidewalk, his heart pounding.

She had to do something. She couldn’t let Mariana get away with this. That same afternoon, she found a new lawyer, one who had no ties to her family or her father’s associates. He was young, direct, and outspoken. His name was Emilio, and from day one, he told her how it was. If you don’t move now, Mariana will swallow up everything left. But there are ways to stop her. I need evidence, emails, recordings, documents, everything you have.

Rodrigo began searching. He went through old emails, WhatsApp conversations, papers stored in the boxes in his father’s office. He found notes, appointments, signed documents that Mariana had arranged without his knowledge while he was still in mourning. Little by little, he pieced together the puzzle. Camila helped him every evening after work. They would sit in the kitchen surrounded by papers, cups of coffee, and to-do lists. She had a good memory, understood the contracts better than he did, and highlighted the important points for him with a highlighter.

“This is important,” he said, emphasizing. “Mariana mentions an investor here who isn’t listed anywhere. That’s suspicious. Do you think she might have been laundering money?” I don’t know, but it wouldn’t be unusual. Rodrigo didn’t know whether to feel outraged or simply foolish for not having seen it before. Mariana had used him, manipulated him when he was weakest, and now she wanted to trample on what remained of his family name. But he wasn’t alone anymore. Now he had someone to fight with, someone to resist.

A couple of weeks later, Emilio filed a legal notice to freeze Mariana’s business dealings. It wasn’t a complete victory, but it was a pause, a respite. Rodrigo received the news on his cell phone while he was on shift. When he read it, he felt something was finally going right. He glanced at Camila, who was just passing through the lobby carrying a box. “We did it,” he said, holding up his cell phone. She looked at him and smiled. “It’s just the first step.”

Don’t let your guard down. That night, as he finished his shift, Rodrigo understood something. Mariana was his test, his last obstacle from the past. And although she could still hurt him, she was no longer invincible, because now he wasn’t alone either. Rodrigo wasn’t the same as before, that was clear. He was no longer naive or trusting, nor did he let others make decisions for him. But despite all the change, he still had a crack. The need to believe that there were still people from his past with good intentions, and Mariana knew exactly how to slip through that crack.

After weeks without seeing each other, Mariana wrote him on WhatsApp, not with sarcasm or superiority. The message was simple, short, and almost friendly. We can talk. It’s not a fight, I swear. Rodrigo hesitated, deleted it, but 10 minutes later he reread it and, against his own instinct, replied, “Why? To explain everything to you and so you’ll stop thinking I’m the villain in your story.” Rodrigo didn’t believe a single word, but a part of him wanted to understand. He wanted to think that maybe it had all been a misunderstanding.

They agreed to meet at a downtown cafe, a neutral public place. He arrived, his body tense, his cell phone recording in his pocket. Just in case, Camila didn’t know he was going to that meeting. Rodrigo decided not to tell her. He felt he had to handle it himself. Mariana arrived on time, wearing a simple dress, a bit unusual for her, and her hair loose. She greeted him without any intention of hugging and ordered a coffee without sugar, as if they were two friends who hadn’t seen each other in a while.

Rodrigo remained serious. I don’t want to beat around the bush, Mariana. Neither do I. Look. I’m not going to lie to you, I did make contacts, I did use my relationships, and I did try to get my hands on some of what was left, but it wasn’t out of revenge. So why? Because I saw that you were lost, Rodrigo. You were being eaten alive. No one was helping you. Everyone moved away from you. I moved forward, I moved, but I did it so that others wouldn’t eat you. Rodrigo looked at her, trying to read her face.

“And you took the opportunity away from me? No, I just put it on hold. My plan was to take control while you got organized. Then we’d see how we could handle it together.” Rodrigo didn’t respond. He didn’t believe her, but he didn’t interrupt her either. “You and I come from the same world, Rodrigo. You know how it works? If you don’t get ahead of yourself, they’ll step on your toes. And you, honestly, were in a different place. I was grieving,” he responded tersely, and I respected him, but I couldn’t sit back and watch everything your parents built, everything my dad built, go to waste.

Because you knew. You knew he was broke. Mariana looked at him silently. She didn’t deny it. Yes, I knew before you did. Rodrigo felt a blow to his stomach. And you never told me. It wasn’t my place. And keeping it all for yourself was. Mariana was silent for a few seconds, then sighed. Look, I came to tell you this. There’s still time to fix this. I have the paperwork. If you sign certain transfers, I can guarantee you a share of the profits. It’s not ideal, but it’s something.

You’re already working, you’re already getting ahead, you don’t need to get involved in this world again. Rodrigo stared at her. “Do you want me to step aside? I want you to stop fighting a war that’s not going to bring you anything good. And you win. We both win.” Rodrigo stood up without touching his coffee. Mariana looked at him as calmly as ever, as if she still had everything under control. “I’m not going to sign anything. And if you come near my things again without permission, I’m going to report you.”

This isn’t personal anymore, it’s legal. Don’t be naive. You know the courts are full of people like me. Maybe, but I’m finally surrounded by people who aren’t for sale. He left without saying goodbye. He walked through the downtown streets, his heart racing. He didn’t know if he was angry, disappointed, or just sad. He had trusted Mariana for years. They had known each other since they were young, and now everything she represented was a threat. That night, he sat down with Emilio, the new lawyer, and told him everything.

From the message to the entire conversation. He had recorded the audio on his cell phone and placed it on the table. Emilio listened with his headphones on. When he finished, he took them off and let out a dry laugh. This woman is dangerous. She uses words with precision. She doesn’t commit any illegal acts, but she walks the line. Can we do something? Yes, we can stop any trespass with a warrant, but you need to be willing to go all the way. Are you? Rodrigo didn’t hesitate.

Yes. Camila arrived home that night and found him with papers scattered on the table, taking notes. What happened? Rodrigo looked at her tiredly. I went to see her. Camila didn’t ask who. She knew immediately. Why didn’t you tell me? Because I thought I could handle it and I didn’t want to drag you down. Camila dropped her backpack on the floor. You’re not dragging me down. I’m here because I want to. I’m not doing you a favor. Rodrigo looked down. It was worse than I thought.

He offered me a portion of what was left in exchange for stepping aside. Camila sat across from him, looking at him without drama. “So what are you going to do? Fight.” She nodded. Then she leaned closer and took his hand in a way she’d rarely done before. “So don’t do it alone.” Rodrigo closed his eyes for a second. He felt the warmth of that hand that had held him since everything fell apart. And for the first time in a long time, he understood that it wasn’t just about recovering what he lost.

It was about showing that he was no longer manipulable, that his dignity was worth more than any business. He didn’t sleep that night. He stayed up reading every contract, every clause, every small line. He was no longer the Rodrigo who signed without knowing. Now he read, he asked questions, he confirmed. Mariana had played her cards, but he also had his own, and he didn’t intend to lose. Rodrigo no longer slept well. He went to bed with his head full of numbers, dates, strategies, legal appointments. His room had become a kind of makeshift office, papers everywhere, a notebook with notes next to the bed.

and his laptop always on. He’d decided to confront Mariana with everything he had, but he knew it wasn’t enough to want to do it; he had to do it right. And every time he felt lost amidst so many documents, there was one person who managed to bring him back down to earth: Camila. She had gone from being a simple help to becoming something much more important. She was the only one who spoke to him directly, the one who didn’t treat him like a failed project, but rather as someone with potential.

And although Rodrigo was the one legally supposed to defend the legacy his parents left him, it was Camila who ended up taking the reins when things got ugly. It all started one morning when Rodrigo was summoned to the office of one of his father’s former partners. It was supposed to be an informative meeting, nothing formal, but when he arrived, he found Mariana sitting in the back, smiling with a look of composure. He felt a chill. There were three other people at the table, all connected to the company’s latest financial operations.

“Thank you for coming, Rodrigo,” said one of the partners in a kind but cold voice. “We just wanted to present you with a transition proposal. The idea is that you can emerge peacefully from all of this with what’s coming to you and without any further complications.” Rodrigo looked at Mariana, who didn’t flinch. “And why is she here? Mariana has been advising us,” another responded. He understands better than anyone how the company has operated in recent months. Rodrigo didn’t respond; he just took a deep breath and listened to the proposal.

They were basically telling him to sign a document renouncing any active participation in what remained of the Valle group. In exchange, he would receive an amount of money that would sound attractive to anyone, but he knew what signing meant. It meant saying goodbye to everything his family had built. It meant giving Mariana the final say. “I need time,” Rodrigo said seriously. “Sure, we understand, but don’t take too long. These opportunities don’t last forever.” He left that office with his heart in his throat.

He walked down several streets before taking out his cell phone and calling Camila. She answered on the second ring, “Are you okay? They offered to buy me everything, literally with a bow. What did you say? That I was going to think about it? Are you going to think about it, Camila? I’m on my way,” she said and hung up. Less than an hour later, she was sitting across from him in a small café, a notebook in her hands, and a look of annoyance. Rodrigo tried to explain everything calmly, but she didn’t let him get on with it for long.

“Listen to me, Rodrigo, this has gone too far. You can’t keep going into these meetings alone. They’re surrounding you, pushing you to give up. And the worst part is that you’re still hesitating. I’m not hesitating. So why didn’t you say no at the time?” Rodrigo had no answer. “Look,” she said, opening her notebook. “I’ve already organized the papers. I know where the gaps are, the irregularities, the sloppy movements. I know what Mariana has done with documents that don’t have your signature, but that do bear your name.”

If you want this not to end badly, you have to let her really help you, not just from the sidelines. Give me access, let me in to review everything she moved. Rodrigo remained silent. It wasn’t easy to let go of control, but at that moment he understood that he couldn’t continue with pride if he wanted to win. Do it. From that day on, Camila became his strength. She no longer just helped him; she took control of the strategy. He spent hours reviewing clauses, sending emails to notaries.

Contacting former employees of the company who could confirm that Mariana had signed documents under false pretenses. He used his administrative experience, his studies, but above all, his logic. He didn’t need a degree to recognize the tricks. “Here it is,” he told her one night while they were having dinner together in the kitchen. “Look, this signature isn’t yours, but it looks similar, and it was used to guarantee a loan in the name of a company where you were listed.” Rodrigo looked at her with wide eyes. That’s forgery, not imitation.

That’s why it’s so hard to prove. But if we get the history of who printed that document and which account it was sent from, we can prove that Mariana manipulated everything. And how do you know all this? Camila shrugged. I worked for three years in reception, but before that I was an administrative assistant. I learned by watching smart guys in suits do whatever they wanted with other people’s signatures. Rodrigo smiled. Admired. You’re incredible. No, I’m just tired of seeing those at the top step on those at the bottom without any guilt.

Where do I fit in? You’re learning not to be one of them. For weeks, Camila organized her entire legal file. She created a digital folder, a physical one, and even a backup on a USB flash drive that she kept in a small box with her name on it. Rodrigo watched her work and felt a mixture of pride, guilt, and affection. He had never seen anyone so determined, so clear, so strong. On the day of the hearing, she went with him. She didn’t go in because she wasn’t a lawyer or a legal party in the case, but she sat outside with her notebook in her hand, ready for anything.

Rodrigo entered with Emilio, the lawyer. Mariana also arrived, dressed as always, impeccable, with a face of absolute confidence. During the hearing, Rodrigo presented evidence of irregularities, documents, emails, suspicious bank transactions. Mariana remained calm, but for the first time, discomfort was noticeable in her eyes. She didn’t say it out loud, but she understood that something was getting out of hand. When it was all over, Rodrigo walked out into the hallway, exhausted. Camila stopped when she saw him. “How did it go?”

I don’t know. The referee called for time, but I felt like I finally spoke with the right voice. With that, you did more than before. I couldn’t have done it without you. Camila looked at him with those serene eyes she already knew. Don’t say that. You did it. I just passed you the ball. You were the one who scored. Rodrigo hugged her without another word. Long, strong, like someone who knows they finally have someone to lean on without fear. And in that hug, without needing pretty words or promises, Rodrigo understood that sometimes true strength isn’t in shouting, but in letting yourself be helped.

Camila and Rodrigo left the courthouse just after 6 p.m. The sun was beating down on them, and the traffic was starting to get heavy on the downtown streets. It had been a long, busy day, filled with tension, cold stares, lawyers with folders under their arms, and words that were hard to process. But when they finally walked away from the building, there was nothing but silence between them. A calm silence, with no need to fill it with forced phrases. They walked together as if they had been doing so all their lives.

They stopped at a corner store. Camila bought two waters and some peanuts. Rodrigo took some coins out of his pocket without saying anything. He paid. Then they continued walking toward the subway station. It was there, on the stairs, that Camila broke the silence. “Do you realize everything that’s happened?” Rodrigo looked at her, unsure if she meant it or was sarcastic. “Yes, sometimes I find it hard to believe. I saw you a few months ago standing in the hotel lobby with the face of a lost child, and today I saw you fighting for what’s yours without trembling.”

I saw you defend yourself. Rodrigo looked down, but smiled. You pushed me. I didn’t push you. I accompanied you. It’s different. They got on the car. There weren’t many people. They sat together. Rodrigo leaned his head against the window. Camila opened the peanuts and offered them to him. They ate without speaking for a while. Then he looked at her. I have to tell you something, and I don’t know if it’s the right time. Camila wiped her fingers with a napkin she took from her purse. Say it. I don’t know if I want all that back anymore.

The companies, the family name, the supposed legacy. I mean, I’m doing it because I know Mariana went too far and because I don’t want what my parents left behind to end up in unclean hands. But if you ask me what I really want, it’s this, this peace, this real life. Camila listened without moving. I think you already knew. You just needed to experience it to be sure. And I also want to tell you that you matter to me. I don’t know how or since when, but every time something falls apart, you’re there, not pushing or pulling me, just being there.

And that’s changing me more than you can imagine. Camila didn’t say anything right away. She looked at him. Then she leaned against the seat post in front of them and took a deep breath. I’ve felt it too, but I’m scared because everything in your life has been change. Because I come from a very different world, and because I don’t want you to wake up one day and feel like this was just a weird phase. And if it isn’t, and if it is.

Rodrigo reached out and took her hand. He held it loosely, without pressure. I don’t want something perfect. I want something sincere. And with you, everything feels that way. The subway kept moving. People got on and off. They stayed there in their bubble with the background noise and their hands intertwined. That night Camila didn’t go home. She went up to his apartment with Rodrigo for the first time since it all began. The place was still modest, with recycled furniture and hanging light bulbs.

But there was something new. Photos of her parents in simple frames, a plant in the windowsill, and a calendar with work schedules and lawyer appointments. The chaos was gone. Now there was order. Even if it was basic, it was theirs. Camila left her backpack on the couch. Rodrigo made coffee. Even though it was almost 10:00. They sat on the living room floor with cups in hand, no TV, no music, just them. Did you imagine this?

She asked, staring at the ceiling. Not in my dreams. Me neither. Sometimes I think we’re like two pieces that shouldn’t fit together, but they do, weirdly, but well. Rodrigo laughed softly. And if we ever don’t fit together, I want to have the maturity not to blame you for it. Camila looked at him sideways. Are you making a deal? I’m saying that if this is going to work, it has to be real, with everything: the good days and the bad, with my clumsiness, with your temper, with my yelling, with your screaming.

Camila leaned closer and rested her head on his shoulder. I’m here, Rodrigo. I don’t know for how long, but I’m here today. Rodrigo didn’t respond. There was no need for that. They stayed like that for a while, embracing while the city continued to spin outside. Days later, something changed between them without them realizing it. It was no longer just about helping or supporting each other; now they were making plans. Camila began to talk more about her business idea. Rodrigo listened, took notes, even ran calculations. He helped her find rental spaces, review costs, and design the name.

Café. 0 zero, she called it, because, as she said, it was the place where everything started again. “You started from scratch,” he told her one afternoon. “So did I. So this business, if it ever happens, will be just that, ground zero for both of us.” Rodrigo hugged her, said nothing, but in his eyes there was something that made her doubtless. He was in love, not in a corny or desperate way, but in that way that gives you peace, the kind that is built on everyday life.

On those days when everything goes wrong, but you have someone to eat soup with. Camila was no longer the employee who confronted him at the hotel, and he was no longer the arrogant millionaire who thought he was invincible. Now they were two people who, without planning it, were healing each other, and that, amidst the chaos, was the most real thing they’d had in a long time. Things finally seemed to be aligning. After so many setbacks, Rodrigo and Camila had found a routine that worked—not perfect, but sincere.

In the mornings, he reviewed legal issues with Emilio, the lawyer, or handled paperwork at banks and offices. At night, he continued to work shifts at the hotel when he could, more out of gratitude than necessity. Camila, for her part, was completely focused on making coffee. They had already secured the small location, on a corner in the neighborhood, but with a good view and lots of potential. She was already talking with suppliers, ordering cups, choosing colors for the walls, and Rodrigo was there watching everything, helping, excited as if it were his own.

But just as the air began to feel lighter, the storm returned, this time with more force. One morning, Emilio urgently called him. Rodrigo was arranging some of his father’s old boxes when the phone rang. His lawyer’s tone wasn’t the same as always. “I need to see you today. It’s about Mariana.” Rodrigo felt a knot in his stomach. “What happened? We discovered something, and it’s not good, but it can change everything. I’m at the office. Come here.”

Not even 30 minutes passed. Rodrigo arrived with sweat on his forehead. Emilio was already waiting for him with an open folder on his desk. We found this among the files Mariana presented as part of her defense. She hid it among irrelevant papers, but one of my interns accidentally reviewed it. Rodrigo took the document. It was a private contract dated a month before his father’s death. The strange thing wasn’t the date, it was the signature—his father’s signature, but not his actual signature.

This is a forgery. And not Mariana’s, there’s another name here. And this changes everything. Rodrigo read carefully. The name hit him like a bucket of ice water. Andrés Rivera, his lifelong friend. It can’t be, Rodrigo. This isn’t a mistake. Andrés forged your father’s signature to make a stock sale to a third party using a shell company as an intermediary. Mariana knew it. That’s why she didn’t want you to see these papers. She covered it all up.

Rodrigo froze. Why would he do that? Because Andrés already had a deal with Mariana. They didn’t just want the company. They wanted to launder money using your assets as a front. Rodrigo gripped the document tightly. I can use this in court more than that. This changes everything. This isn’t just fraud, this is a criminal offense. That same afternoon, Rodrigo went to court to deliver the document with Emilio. A new investigation was immediately opened. The judge suspended any further action Mariana and Andrés had regarding the companies.

The accounts were frozen, the records secured, and suddenly, that entire monster that seemed invincible began to wobble. Rodrigo didn’t know whether to scream, cry, or laugh. His hands were shaking, but not from fear, rage, surprise, all at once. That night, he told Camila everything. They were in the café, sitting on two folding chairs eating Milanese sandwiches. He took the paper out of his backpack and placed it in front of her. Camila read it calmly.

Andrés, yes. All this time I thought he was just an idiot, but it was more. He was part of the plan from the beginning. And Mariana knew it. Camila looked at him silently. And now, now I’m going to report both of you. It’s not just for the company anymore, it’s for dignity. Camila nodded. Do it, but take care of your heart. Rodrigo looked at her with shining eyes. You took care of me all this time. Yes, but now it’s your turn. For the next few days, Rodrigo lived something as close to a movie as he could have possibly imagined.

Press, lawyers, emails, statements. Mariana was called to testify. Andrés tried to disappear, but was located thanks to a bank alert. The case began to take shape. The media found out. For the first time, it wasn’t Rodrigo who was making the magazines for his scandals. Now it was Mariana, now it was Andrés. Now they were the ones being singled out. A week later, Rodrigo left the prosecutor’s office, his face tired, but at peace. Emilio caught up with him on the sidewalk. I can’t promise you this will end quickly, but I can tell you something.

You did the right thing. Rodrigo took a deep breath. And if I lose him, it’s all the same. At least you’ll know you lost him fighting fair. That night Rodrigo arrived at the café and found Camila painting one of the walls. She had stains on her clothes, her face was sweaty, and her hair was tied back in a bun that was falling to one side, but when she saw him, she smiled as if nothing else existed. “How did it go?” Rodrigo didn’t answer; he walked up to her and hugged her long, silently.

That’s a good thing or a bad thing. It’s a… I’m tired, but happy. So, sit down, I’ll almost open the box of new cups. Rodrigo sat on the floor, leaning against the freshly painted wall. Do you realize what? That this place has become our history. Camila looked at him from the stairs. So let it be a good start. And there, amidst the brushes, cardboard boxes, and the smell of paint, Rodrigo understood the final twist: that the true legacy he was building had nothing to do with inheritances or multi-million-dollar businesses; it had to do with what he was doing now, with his hands, with his time, with the people he chose to have around him. And for the first time, after all, Rodrigo didn’t want to return to the past; he just wanted to move forward.