Chapter 1

Thalia had never been welcome in that house. Nor in that family.

The mansion was beautiful, yes. White marble floors, soaring ceilings, crystal chandeliers worth more than her entire life. But it wasn't her home. It never was.

At twenty years old, she had become the shadow of a family that did not consider her blood. She was nothing more than the nuisance who lived in the back wing of the house, the one who had to thank for every plate of food as if it were charity.

"Are you late to the kitchen again?" Irene snapped from across the table, sipping her black coffee with disgust. "Can't you even be on time for the only thing you do well?"

Thalia closed her mouth. She learned years ago that arguing was a waste of time.

Across from her, sitting with her legs crossed and her nails freshly painted red, was Bianca. The legitimate daughter. The perfect one. The princess.

"Leave her alone, Mom," she said with a mocking giggle. "She was probably dreaming of being like me."

Thalia stared at the tablecloth. It wasn't worth it. It never was.

The only reason she lived there was because Irene had married Esteban, Bianca's father, when Thalia was nine years old. An arranged marriage, like everything in that house. All Irene gained was the surname, the status, and the opportunity to hide her bastard daughter behind closed doors.

But Esteban was barely there. And when he was, he pretended not to see. Not to hear. Not to know.

That particular morning, the air in the house felt thicker. Bianca seemed especially amused, and Irene kept receiving messages on her cell phone, which she looked at with a smile that always seemed to Thalia more like that of a usurping serpent than a mother.

After breakfast, Thalia tried to disappear, as always. She went up to her small room in the attic—the only place where she could cry without anyone asking her to cry silently—but before closing the door, she heard Irene's call.

"Thalia! Come down, now."

The tone admitted no delay.

She descended again, with heavy feet. In the main hall, Irene was waiting for her, sitting as if on a throne, and Bianca, who couldn't hide her expectant smile.

"I have news for you," Irene said, patting the sofa beside her, as if expecting Thalia to sit down like an obedient child. But she stood still. By instinct. By defense.

"Irene, if it's to humiliate me again, I don't have time."

"No. Not this time. This time you're going to thank me."

Bianca chuckled softly.

"Thank you for what?"

"Your miserable life is going to change." Irene stood up, walked towards her, and held her face with a cold hand. "Today you were bought, darling."

Thalia blinked. She felt her heart pounding in her temples.

"What…?"

"A marriage. A contract. I sold you. Formally, of course. With a lawyer, paperwork, and everything legal."

"Are you… are you kidding?"

"No. You already have an owner. You're getting married in a week. To a man who knows what he wants. And you… you're going to do what you do best: obey."

Thalia took a step back. The words wouldn't come out. The air turned to fire in her lungs.

"You can't do this to me."

"Of course, I can." Irene crossed her arms. "You're of age, but you have no money, no family, and nowhere to go. Without me, you don't exist. This is the best thing that could happen to you."

"Who is he?" she murmured, trembling.

"Adrian Munoz. 28 years old. Millionaire. Handsome. Cold as an iceberg, but that doesn't matter. He has a daughter, by the way. So you'll also be a stepmother. How nice, right?"

Thalia felt her knees buckle.

Bianca couldn't take it anymore and burst out laughing.

"A maid becoming the lady of a mansion! You're going to be the laughingstock of everyone."

Irene approached again, lowering her voice.

"You have no choice, Thalia. If you say no, you leave this house today. And you won't even have enough to pay for a coffee."

And then she understood.

She was not a daughter. She was not a sister. She was an object. A price in a catalog.

And she had just been sold to the highest bidder.

Chapter 2

Thalia stared at her reflection in the mirror with resignation. The ivory dress hugged her waist with the delicacy of a garment she hadn't chosen. Her mother insisted she had to look "presentable," as if it were a job interview, or worse, an auction. And in reality, she wasn't far from that reality.

In the mansion's huge dressing room, Bianca burst in with her expensive perfume and air of superiority. She leaned against the door, crossing her arms as she looked at her stepsister with barely contained mockery.

"Ready to meet your future husband, little sister?" she asked sarcastically.

Thalia didn't answer. She just turned slowly, lowering her gaze to prevent Bianca from seeing the rage in her eyes.

"He's not my husband. It's just a deal. As if I were an object," she murmured.

"Come on, don't exaggerate. You should be grateful Mom got someone with so much money. You could be living on the street."

"I prefer the street to this prison disguised as a home."

Bianca giggled and shrugged.

"Well, you'll have to get used to it. Mom says if you don't accept, you'll ruin the deal for us. And believe me, that's not something you want to do."

The door slammed shut behind her. Thalia was left alone, with the echo of her thoughts pounding in her chest. She didn't want to get married. She didn't know the man who was about to see her as just another acquisition for his collection.

And yet, there she was.

The main hall of the mansion was spotless. Irene had hired a special cleaning service to make sure everything shone like new. White flowers decorated the corners and a tray of canapes rested on the marble table.

"Please, Thalia, smile," Irene whispered through gritted teeth, as she adjusted her hair for the umpteenth time. "I don't want you to make a scene. This man is our opportunity."

"Our?" Thalia frowned.

"Yours, of course." But her tone betrayed her.

The front door opened and a tall man entered, with a serious face, an impeccable black suit, and an imposing presence that made the entire room feel smaller.

Adrian.

Thalia looked at him directly, trying not to show the discomfort that invaded her. He also observed her, but not with desire or tenderness. His gaze was calculating, as if he were evaluating a business, not a woman.

"Mr. Munoz, it's a pleasure to have you here," Irene greeted, extending her hand as if she were selling a rare jewel.

He nodded his head.

"Thank you for having me."

"This is Thalia," Irene continued, subtly pushing her forward.

"Nice to meet you," Thalia said in a firm voice, although her heart was beating like a runaway drum.

"Likewise," Adrian replied. His tone was cold, almost indifferent. Then he added, "Could we talk alone?"

Irene's eyes widened, but she smiled immediately.

"Of course, of course. I'll be in the kitchen if you need me."

Thalia followed him to the garden terrace. The fresh air was a relief after the suffocating tension inside the house. They stood in silence for a few seconds, observing the landscape without looking at each other.

"I suppose they already told you the plan," he said, at last.

"Something like that. I don't know whether to call it a 'plan' or a 'sale'."

Adrian shifted his gaze to her. He didn't smile. But his eyes showed a spark of interest.

"I didn't choose you for pleasure, if that makes you feel any better. Nor do I expect this to be a fairy tale."

"Don't worry. I don't even like fairy tales."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Then why did you agree?"

Thalia stared at him.

"Do you think I had a choice? My mother wants to get rid of me. She always wanted to. She was just waiting for the best offer."

Adrian nodded slowly.

"You have guts. That can be useful."

"Useful for what?"

"To survive this."

There was a brief silence. He approached the railing, resting his forearms on it wearily.

"I have a daughter. She's three years old. I don't want her to grow up in an environment like this. I want… another image for her. Even if it's false."

"And you think I can give you that?"

"You'll tell me that."

Thalia let out a small, joyless laugh.

"You're direct."

"I don't have time for beating around the bush."

Adrian turned to her. For a second, Thalia saw beyond the cold, calculating millionaire. There was something in his eyes. A wound.

"And your daughter's mother?"

"She died in childbirth."

Thalia lowered her gaze. She didn't dare say "I'm sorry." Some wounds didn't need words.

"And that's why you don't believe in love?"

Adrian tensed up.

"Because love left when I needed it most. Because I had it… and it slipped away. So don't expect romanticism, Thalia. This is a deal. Nothing more."

She nodded.

"Same here. But if I'm going to live with you, I want to make something clear."

"I'm listening."

"I'm not a doll. I'm not a maid. I'm not yours."

He smiled for the first time. A slight smile, more ironic.

"If you say so."

...****************...

The dinner was tense, more so for Irene than for Thalia. She was in shock at Adrian's lack of deference, who made no secret of the fact that the wedding was imminent and that Thalia would be moving in with him in a matter of days.

"So soon?" Irene asked, nervous. "I thought that…"

"I don't see why wait," Adrian interrupted. "Everything is already agreed."

That night, as she went up to her room, Thalia felt for the first time that her life did not belong to her. But she also knew that if she was going to be forced to share a world with that man.

Days later, Thalia was packing her few belongings. Bianca watched her from the doorframe with her arms crossed.

"You know? I thought you were going to cry more."

"I won't give you the pleasure," Thalia replied without looking at her.

"That man doesn't love you, Thalia. He only wants you as an image. A perfect wife to show the world. But sooner or later, you'll end up alone."

Thalia turned to her, with a half-smile.

"I've already lived that. It doesn't scare me."

"And what will you do if you fall in love with him?"

The question hit her hard. Bianca smiled maliciously as she saw the doubt on her face.

"I don't have time to fall in love. I have to survive."

"Good luck with that, little sister."

When the door closed behind Bianca, Thalia felt that the longest and most painful chapter of her life was about to end. But she also knew that another, equally uncertain, was just beginning.

And in the background, in the limousine that awaited her, Adrian watched her from the window, with his daughter asleep in his arms, wondering if a stranger could really fill the void that life had left in his soul.

Chapter 3

The echo of her footsteps on the polished marble was the first thing Thalia noticed upon entering the mansion. It was too silent. Too perfect. As if every object was placed to impress, not to be lived in. Beside her, a friendly-faced employee pointed her to her room, asked if she needed anything. Thalia only shook her head.

There was nothing she could need. Everything that mattered to her had been left behind, even if she didn't know exactly what it was.

Her room was decorated in sober, but elegant tones. A giant window let in the afternoon light and, for a moment, Thalia allowed herself to believe that this place could be a new beginning.

But it wasn't.

Not when you could hear the heels of elegant secretaries leaving Adrian's office every night.

Not when he treated her like a decorative object in front of his employees, introducing her with phrases like "my fiancee" or "the lady of the house" without even looking her in the eye.

Not when little Amelia—Adrian's daughter—watched her with big eyes, full of tenderness, not knowing whether to approach or stay away.

And that night, everything exploded.

Thalia was coming out of the shower, her hair wet and a soft robe around her body. She had spent the day exploring the gardens, talking a little with Amelia—who smiled at her for the first time—and reading in the living room. Adrian hadn't appeared all day.

The door to her room was ajar. She headed towards the master bedroom, the one she officially shared with him even though they rarely coincided. She wanted to ask him something about Amelia, about her class schedule.

She pushed the door without thinking too much.

And she saw him.

The body of a woman, half-naked, riding him. Her lips brushing Adrian's, her high-pitched laughter breaking the silence. Adrian had his eyes closed. He didn't see her come in.

Thalia froze for a second.

Just one.

Then she spun on her heels, closed the door silently, and went downstairs directly to the kitchen.

She poured herself a glass of water. Then another. Then she sat on the counter, taking deep breaths.

The coldness of the glass couldn't quench the fury boiling inside her.

Not out of jealousy. But out of disgust.

Out of disrespect.

Out of hypocrisy.

A few minutes passed. Not many. Then the door opened forcefully.

Adrian.

"What the hell are you doing coming in without knocking?" he snapped, his hair disheveled and his brow furrowed.

Thalia slowly looked up, placing the glass on the table with a small clink.

"Am I forbidden from entering our room?"

"That's not what I said."

"No, of course. What you said was not to knock. Should I ask for permission every time I want to know something about Amelia?"

Adrian frowned.

"This has nothing to do with my daughter."

"Oh, no?" Thalia jumped off the counter smoothly, walking towards him. "Do you think Amelia doesn't notice what's going on in this house? Do you think she doesn't listen, doesn't see?"

He opened his mouth, but Thalia interrupted him with the firmest voice she had ever used.

"Are you going to bring someone different every night? Is that part of the deal too?"

Adrian took a step back. The fury in his eyes began to falter.

"You have no right to judge me."

"You're right. I don't. Because this isn't a marriage. We're nothing. But you brought me here. You asked for this charade. And if we're going to pretend… at least you could pretend to respect me, to respect your daughter."

The mention of Amelia seemed to hurt more than any other word.

"She doesn't understand," he said softly.

"Maybe not now. But she will. And when she does, she's not going to admire you, as the great father you pretend to be. She's going to wonder why her father treated women like disposable objects."

Adrian clenched his fists.

"You have no idea what I've lost. Or about my life."

"And you think that gives you the right to hurt others?"

The silence between them became heavy. The kitchen, so immaculate, so cold, witnessed a brutal truth: they were broken. Each in their own way. And they were forced to live together.

"Are you going to apologize?" Thalia asked after a minute.

"Why? For having a life before you?"

"No. For dragging me into your hell without warning me."

Adrian took a deep breath. He walked towards the door.

"I didn't do it for you. I did it for Amelia."

"Then start thinking about her. Really."

The door closed.

Thalia didn't cry.

She wasn't one of those girls who burst into tears at the first shout. Not anymore. Not after everything she had lived through. Pain had hardened her, made her quiet, cold, strong. But at that moment… in that damn kitchen of white marble and stainless steel, she felt an old wound reopen.

Not because of Adrian.

Because of herself. Because of the girl she had been. Because of the woman she was trying to become.

She clenched her teeth. The glass in her hand trembled slightly. And at that instant, she heard footsteps again.

But it wasn't Adrian.

It was Amelia.

The girl, in pajamas, standing in the doorway of the kitchen, with big, sleepy eyes.

"Thalia?"

Thalia turned immediately and forced a smile.

"Honey… what are you doing awake?"

Amelia didn't answer. She just looked at her. And, as if she could see beyond the smile, she walked to her in silence, stretched out her little arms, and clung to her legs.

Thalia immediately crouched down and hugged her tightly. With a tenderness she thought she had forgotten.

"Are you okay?" asked the little girl, in a low voice.

"Yes," she replied, swallowing the lump in her throat. "Just… I was just thinking."

Amelia said nothing more. She just stayed there, hugging her.

And in the doorway of the kitchen, hidden by the shadows, Adrian watched them.

For the first time in a long time… he felt fear.

Fear that Thalia was entering his life more than he had planned. Fear that that scene, so intimate, so unexpected, would remain etched in his memory as an impossible longing.

The early morning advanced slowly.

Thalia couldn't sleep. She tossed and turned in bed until insomnia forced her to get up. She walked down the hall with her robe tightened around her body, and without thinking, went back down to the kitchen.

And there was Adrian, alone, with a glass of whiskey in his hand, leaning against the counter.

"Can't sleep?" she asked bluntly.

He shook his head.

"Neither can you."

Thalia crossed her arms.

"Aren't you going to apologize?"

"What would you gain from that?"

"Maybe… some respect."

Adrian laughed, without joy.

"Respect doesn't come from words. It comes from actions. And if you're expecting me to become the ideal man overnight, you're going to be disappointed."

"I don't expect anything from you," Thalia replied, looking him straight in the eye. "I just don't want you to treat me as if I don't exist. As if I were just another decoration in this house… or as one more of your women."

Adrian took a step closer. Just one.

His eyes, as dark and cold as the night, locked onto hers with contained rage.

"Do you think you could be just one more?" he murmured, his voice rough. "I can't even give you that."

Thalia frowned.

"What do you mean?"

Adrian looked away, as if he had trouble admitting it. Then, he found her again with his, with a new hardness in his voice.

"I don't feel anything for you. Not even desire. Not even the slightest. You're… an uncomfortable presence, you know? A constant reminder of what my father expects of me. A woman I was sold, as if that were enough for me to… function."

The slap wasn't physical. But it hurt as if it had been.

Thalia swallowed, looking down for a moment. Then she raised her face with a firmness that surprised both of them.

"Then at least make an effort to see me. Not as a woman, nor as a wife. As a person. As someone who lives under your roof. As someone who takes care of your daughter. As someone who breathes the same air."

Adrian watched her without saying anything. Thalia continued.

"I don't want you to pretend anything. I don't want you to touch me. I don't want you to give me what you don't feel. I just want… us to be able to talk. That you don't avoid me as if I disgust you. That you ask me how my day was. That you don't mind if I have dinner at your table."

There was a long silence.

"Are you proposing that we be… friends?" he asked, as if the word tasted like poison to him.

Thalia nodded gently.

"Yes. Because at least friends greet each other. They respect each other. They take care of each other."

Adrian clenched his jaw. He walked to the window and stared at the darkness of the garden.

"I don't know if I can give you that," he murmured.

"Try," she whispered. "Because, believe it or not, I also have a life. And I'm not here to be ignored."

And without adding anything else, Thalia turned around.