“Camila…” A voice cut through the rain, sharp enough to make her flinch. She looked up, heart racing, rain streaming down her face, blurring tears she could no longer distinguish—pain or anger. Under the dim yellow streetlight, a figure rushed toward her. “…Diego?” Her voice trembled. Her brother—the one she hadn’t seen in months, kept away by Álvaro’s quiet manipulations. Diego said nothing at first. He slipped off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders, gentle despite the storm. But when he saw the mark on her cheek, something in him hardened—not shock, but a controlled, cold anger. “Who did this to you?” he asked. Camila stayed silent. She didn’t need to answer. His gaze lifted toward the house—lights glowing, curtains shifting, shadows moving behind glass. He already knew. He had always known. “Come on,” he said firmly. “You’re leaving with me.” She hesitated, glancing at the door—the place she once called home, now a cage. “I have nothing,” she whispered. Diego’s jaw tightened. “You have yourself. And that’s enough.”

Inside, Álvaro watched from the window, arms crossed, more annoyed than concerned. “She’ll regret this. She has nowhere to go,” he muttered. His mother laughed dryly behind him. “Leave her. She’ll be back tomorrow—begging.” But she didn’t return. The next morning, the house felt wrong—too quiet, too still. No Camila. No breakfast. No coffee. Álvaro frowned, grabbing his phone. Nothing. “It’ll pass,” he muttered. Then, at 10 a.m., his assistant called. “Mr. Álvaro… there’s an urgent meeting. Called by Mr. Diego Serrano.” Something shifted. At the office, silence followed him, eyes lingering too long. In the boardroom, Diego sat at the head of the table, calm, unmoved. “Sit down,” he said, sliding a folder forward. “Your reality.”