Friday dawned with a gray sky and the smell of wet earth still in the air, a remnant of the storm that had hit Velaris in the early hours. Patricia Navarre watched the city through the taxi window, her forehead resting against the cold glass. The traffic flowed slowly, and she took advantage of those minutes to try to organize her own thoughts.

At 28, Patricia was considered successful by the city's standards. A graduate in Administration, she worked as a manager in a logistics startup and lived with her boyfriend, Rafael, with whom she had been in a stable relationship for three years. She had a comfortable, peaceful, and predictable life — and that was exactly what she was looking for.

Or at least she thought she was.

That morning, Patricia was on her way to Clinica Vitta+, one of the most prestigious in Velaris. She had scheduled a routine gynecological exam that she had been postponing for months. It was the kind of thing she always put off, as if believing that her body would continue to function perfectly, even without care.

"We're here, ma'am," said the driver, stopping gently in front of the elegant glass facade.

Patricia thanked him, paid the fare, and got out. She ran her hand through her straight hair, adjusting her light blue coat before walking through the revolving door. The interior of the clinic was impeccable: comfortable sofas, soft lighting, background music, and the slightly sweet smell of chamomile tea.

She approached the reception desk and handed over her documents.

"Full name and CPF number, please," asked the receptionist, polite but automatic.

"Patricia Navarre. CPF ending in zero eight."

The woman typed quickly, confirmed the appointment, and handed over a form to sign.

What Patricia didn't realize — and no one there realized — was that there was another patient with an extremely similar name: Patricia Navarro. A coincidence of surname and the failure of an internal system were enough for their data to be confused. A silent, discreet... and fatal error.

Sitting in the waiting room, Patricia replied to some messages on her cell phone. Rafael had left a message earlier:

"Don't forget to confirm lunch with your mother on Sunday. My sister is coming."

She sighed, without replying immediately. Lately, she had felt exhausted. She wasn't sure if it was just work or if the relationship was starting to weigh more than comfort.

"Patricia Navarre?" called the nurse.

She got up, grabbed her bag, and walked through the white corridor, unaware that she was about to become the victim of a medical error that would change the course of her life.

The appointment started normally. First, a quick chat with the doctor, then blood collection, pelvic exams, ultrasound, routine measurements. Everything seemed to be in order.

"Since you signed the complete reproductive health protocol, we'll finish with the intrauterine hormonal response exam," explained the doctor in a white coat, pointing to the examination table. "It's a simple procedure, done in minutes."

Patricia didn't quite understand. Protocols were common. It was a modern clinic, used to high-end patients. She trusted that they knew what they were doing.

"Okay," she replied, lying down on the examination table.

During the procedure, she felt a strange, but bearable discomfort. The doctor acted professionally, and nothing seemed alarming. When leaving, she was instructed to rest for a few minutes in the reception area before being released. She simply nodded and followed the instructions.

On the way home, she slept in the taxi. She was strangely tired.

In the following weeks, Patricia felt her body begin to change. First came the nausea, then excessive sleep, a more sensitive sense of smell. She began to avoid coffee — something unthinkable until then — and felt repulsion for foods she once loved.

Rafael noticed, but treated it as a simple passing discomfort.

"It must be stress," he said, as she curled up on the sofa hugging a pillow. "It will pass."

She tried to believe it.

Until one day, when entering a pharmacy to buy painkillers, her eyes landed on the pregnancy tests. A cold sensation ran down her spine. She bought one, almost on impulse.

In the bathroom at home, trembling hands, short breath, she watched the result appear. Two lines. Clear. Undeniable.

Patricia sat on the toilet lid, in silence. A whirlwind of thoughts took over her mind.

"It's not possible."

"It must be wrong."

"Could it have been... on the day of the clinic?"

She did another test. And another. All positive.

The next morning, she made an appointment with Dr. Mirena, her trusted doctor.

"You're pregnant, Patricia," confirmed the doctor, in a gentle but direct tone. "Almost six weeks. Everything is within normal limits."

"That doesn't make sense. Rafael and I... always use condoms. And I didn't stop taking the pill."

The doctor tilted her head slightly.

"The clinic contacted me yesterday, Patricia. Something happened on the day of your exam. I don't have all the details, but it seems there was a mistake. A procedure that shouldn't have been done. You... may have been the victim of a very serious failure."

"What kind of failure?"

"Apparently, there was confusion between two medical records. They're still investigating, but the laboratory confirmed that a protocol was carried out incorrectly on a patient. What I can tell you for sure is that this embryo is not the result of common sexual intercourse. There was a medical intervention. Probably... an unauthorized implantation."

Patricia's world stopped.

"Are you saying that... I was... inseminated?"

"It's still early to confirm all the details. The clinic should contact you in the next few days with more explanations. But yes," said the doctor, with regret. "This is very serious. And you have every right to sue, if you want."

Patricia felt her stomach turn. A baby. A mistake. A pregnancy that was not the result of love, desire, choice. Just... negligence. Or worse: disregard.

She left the clinic in a state of shock. She walked aimlessly through the busy streets of Velaris. The honking of cars, the sound of hurried footsteps, everything seemed distant.

She didn't know whose baby it was. She didn't know if she wanted to have that baby. She only knew that she was alone, confused... and that nothing, absolutely nothing, would ever be the same.

The feeling of being trapped in a nightmare didn't pass, not even as the days went by. Since the appointment at the clinic, Patricia had lost her appetite, her sleep, and her peace. She tried to act normally at work, answering emails, attending meetings, pretending everything was fine. But inside, she was falling apart.

Every time she placed her hand on her still-imperceptible belly, she felt a mix of fear and anger. This shouldn't be happening. She hadn't chosen to be pregnant — and certainly not like this.

She still didn't have the courage to tell her family. Or her friends. But she knew she couldn't hide it for long. And, above all, she knew she needed to tell Rafael.

It was a cold night when she made the decision. He was in the living room, watching some news program, with his phone in his hand and his feet on the coffee table. They had been silent for days, exchanging words only about the essentials.

"Rafael, we need to talk."

He looked up, as if he knew he was about to hear something unpleasant.

"Did something happen?"

She sat next to him on the sofa, but kept a certain distance. The words came with difficulty.

"I... went to the doctor. Remember that exam I had at Vitta+?"

"I remember. Why?"

She took a deep breath, her heart racing.

"I found out I'm pregnant."

The silence that followed was deafening. Rafael's eyes widened, as if he had heard something completely absurd.

"What do you mean?"

"That's right. I'm pregnant."

"Pregnant by whom, Patricia?"

The question came like a slap. Cold, direct, cruel.

"What do you mean 'by whom'?" she retorted, hurt. "I've been with you for three years."

"And we always use protection," he retorted, sitting up straighter. "You yourself have always been paranoid about it. And now, out of the blue, you come and tell me you're pregnant? It doesn't make sense."

She felt her stomach churn. She expected resistance, but not so much coldness.

"Rafael... there was a mistake at the clinic. They did a procedure I didn't authorize. They're still investigating, but it seems... there was a mix-up with the records. I may have been... inseminated."

"Inseminated?" He laughed, incredulous. "Do you have any idea what you're saying? Are you trying to convince me that you got pregnant unintentionally... because of the clinic?"

"That's not what I'm trying to say," she insisted, feeling tears burning behind her eyes. "I can't explain it yet. I just know I didn't cheat on you. Ever. And I'm as lost as you are."

Rafael stood up, running his hands through his hair.

"This is absurd, Patricia. Unbelievable. It sounds like a flimsy excuse."

"Do you think I would make this up?" she asked, raising her voice for the first time. "What would I make up a pregnancy for? To trap you? I didn't even know this was possible until the doctor told me!"

"Or you're hiding who the real father is," he snapped, bitterly. "Maybe it was someone from work. Some affair. And now you want to blame it on a convenient medical error."

Patricia stood up slowly, feeling her legs wobble.

"I loved you. Even when you distanced yourself. Even when everything between us cooled down. I stayed here, by your side. And the first moment I need you most... all I get is this?"

"I'm not an idiot, Patricia," he replied, heading towards the door. "If you want to continue with this story, fine. But don't expect me here when you come back."

"Rafael..."

He already had his backpack on his back, the key in his hand.

"If you want to look for me again, let it be with a paternity test."

The door slammed shut. Patricia stood in the middle of the room, the silence now absolute. The tears came like a flood, heavy, desperate. She fell to her knees on the rug, hugging her own body, while sobbing in pain.

The night passed slowly, long and cruel.

Alone, in the dark, Patricia understood that from then on she could no longer count on anyone. She was on her own. With a baby on the way. A baby who was not to blame for anything, but who came into the world in the midst of a nameless confusion, the result of an unthinkable mistake.

The silence of the house seemed to mock her. Everything there reminded her of Rafael — the coffee mugs in the kitchen, the jacket hanging on the living room chair, the books he never finished stacked in the corner of the room. Patricia wanted to scream, run, tear every piece of that routine that now seemed like a disguise for an empty life.

She spent the night awake, sitting on the living room floor with her knees bent to her chest. She thought about calling her mother, her best friend, even her own doctor. But she couldn't. She didn't want to be looked at with pity or suspicion. And, above all, she didn't want to repeat that sentence out loud:

"I'm pregnant with a child I don't know who the father is."

The next day, she went to Clinica Vitta+. She entered determined, head held high, but her heart pounding.

"I need to speak with the administrative manager," she said to the receptionist, firmly.

"Madam, the clinic is investigating the case. You have already been informed that you will be contacted..."

"And I'm not going to wait idly by while my life turns into a nightmare. I want answers. Now."

The receptionist hesitated, picked up the phone, and muttered something. A few minutes later, a middle-aged woman appeared, wearing an elegant suit and a trained smile.

"Patricia Navarre, isn't it? Can you come with me?"

She was taken to a private room, cold and decorated with modern paintings that didn't match the tension of the environment.

"Before anything else, we want to apologize. What happened was a serious mistake, and we are already conducting an internal investigation with the fertility sector..."

"I don't want apologies," Patricia interrupted, her voice choked. "I want to know who this baby's father is. And how this was possible. How was I... inseminated... without consent?"

The woman sighed, crossing her hands on the table.

"What we know so far is that there was a mix-up of records. You were confused with another patient with a similar name. That patient had signed the embryo implantation protocol. When your name was called, the system registered the permission as valid."

"But I signed for a routine exam! I didn't want to get pregnant!"

"We know that. And we are about to complete the genetic screening to identify the biological material used."

"And how long will that take?"

"Two to three business days."

Patricia felt a shiver run down her spine. Two or three days seemed like an eternity. She nodded her head and stood up. Before leaving, she still heard the woman say, almost as a warning:

"I can guarantee that you will be contacted soon. Perhaps not just by us."

That last sentence kept hammering in her mind.

Two days later, Patricia was returning from the market with a bag of bread when she noticed that there was a woman waiting for her at the entrance of the building. Blonde, tall, dressed in a black overcoat, high heels, and sunglasses even though the sky was cloudy.

"Patricia Navarre?" she asked with a polite smile.

"Who are you?"

"Can I talk to you for two minutes? It's about... the pregnancy."

Patricia's heart almost stopped. She looked around, as if expecting it to be a trap.

"How do you know?"

The woman took off her glasses. Her eyes were cold, like glass.

"I know. Because you carry something that belongs to someone very important. And I came to give you some advice."

"Advice?"

"Don't look for more answers. Don't go after who the father is. Don't talk to the press, or to lawyers. Have the baby, take care of it... and disappear. If you do that, you will be generously rewarded. You will have financial support, protection, everything you need. As long as... you never tell anyone what happened."

Patricia felt her stomach turn. Everything seemed too surreal. That woman spoke with the calmness of someone who is used to controlling lives. She didn't mention names. She didn't say where she came from. But there was something in her posture that screamed: power.

"Who sent you?"

"It doesn't matter. Just accept our proposal. It's the best for everyone. Including you and the child."

"Is that a threat?"

"It's an agreement. The choice is yours."

The woman placed a thin envelope in Patricia's hands and turned around without waiting for an answer. She got into a black car with dark windows that disappeared into traffic.

Patricia went up to the apartment trembling. The envelope had only a card with a phone number, a bank account, and the first transfer already made: fifty thousand reais.

She stood there, in front of the window, with the envelope in her hands and the city outside spinning like a world to which she no longer belonged.

Now she knew: there were more people involved in this story. Powerful people. People willing to pay for her to disappear.

But Patricia Navarre was not a woman to bend.

She just needed time.

And strength.

Bianca watched the city from the penthouse, the glass of wine suspended between her fingers. The orange sky of Velaris reflected in the building's windows like a shattered mirror. Behind her, an assistant waited silently, as if he didn't even dare to breathe without permission.

"And she refused?" Bianca asked, slowly swirling the wine in her glass.

"Yes, Madam. Patricia Navarre returned the envelope. She said she won't disappear, nor will she accept money."

Bianca bit her lower lip, her gaze fixed on the horizon.

Damn it.

She couldn't let that woman destroy everything.

Using a false name at the clinic had been a calculated risk. But necessary. Enzo never wanted children. Never wanted marriage. Never wanted anything other than to keep Bianca for social convenience. She knew that, but she was willing to use every weapon. And when the chance arose to fertilize his last embryo—the only one Enzo had authorized to freeze, after an old treatment—Bianca acted alone, without consulting him.

She needed a child from him.

With an heir, she would have control. The name. The power. The security.

But the plan had gone wrong.

Very wrong.

The embryo had been mistakenly implanted in another woman. And now, that ordinary woman, without an important surname or fortune, carried what should have been hers.

Bianca emptied the glass in one go. The bitter taste mingled with the taste of failure.

She wouldn't allow Patricia to ruin her plans. She wouldn't allow Enzo to know anything. If it meant lying, manipulating, and silencing, so be it.

She had passed the point of no return.

Patricia spent the day with her soul raw. Every noise startled her. Every phone call put her on alert. She couldn't stop thinking about the mysterious woman, the threat disguised as kindness, the bank account with dirty money.

She put the card in an envelope, sealed it, and went to return it personally at the bank's headquarters.

"I want to close this account. Now," she said firmly.

"Madam, there's a recent high-value transfer. Are you sure...?"

"Absolutely sure."

She left there feeling lighter. But also more alone. She was tired of being treated as an obstacle. As an inconvenience that needed to be erased.

She was a woman. A life. A mother.

And she wouldn't be erased by anyone.

That afternoon, needing to breathe, Patricia decided to walk. She got off the bus a few blocks before home and walked along one of the avenues in the old town center, where cafes and bookstores mingled with buildings of historical architecture. There, the world seemed less cruel.

She entered a small cafe, where the aroma of freshly baked bread floated in the air. She ordered chamomile tea and a sweet roll. She sat near the window, trying to find some peace in the movement of the street.

And that's when she saw him.

Unintentionally, unexpectedly, without even imagining it.

A tall man, in a dark suit and impeccable posture, entered the cafe in a hurry, talking on his cell phone.

"I've already said I won't sign this contract without reviewing clause by clause. It doesn't matter if it's urgent."

His voice was firm. Magnetic. His presence, imposing.

He hung up and took off his sunglasses, revealing gray eyes, deep and cold as the sky before the rain. Patricia recognized him at a glance. She had seen him in some magazine, in some report... but only after a few seconds did her brain connect the dots:

Enzo Ravary.

The name pulsed in her mind with a strange weight, but she didn't know why.

He ordered a black coffee, without sugar, and stood impatiently, checking messages on his cell phone.

For an instant, their eyes met.

And Patricia felt an inexplicable chill.

There was no reason for it. She didn't know him. She had never exchanged a word with him. But there was something about that man that stirred something inside her.

Enzo, in turn, took a second longer than necessary to look away. There was something about that woman—with sad eyes and features marked by a silent strength—that disconcerted him. For a brief moment, he wanted to ask if she was okay.

But he didn't.

He was Enzo Ravary. And feelings were distractions.

He took the coffee, thanked with a nod, and left the place with the same haste with which he entered.

Patricia remained in the cafe for long minutes after Enzo left, with the forgotten cup in front of her and her eyes lost in the void. She was trying to understand why that look had affected her so much. It wasn't just beauty—although it was impossible to deny that he was the kind of man who attracted attention wherever he went. It was something else. A silent magnetism. An energy that pulled her, as if their bodies had already recognized each other.

She shook her head, as if to dispel an inconvenient thought. She grabbed her bag and walked out onto the sidewalk. The sun was beginning to set, tinging the sky with shades of copper and lavender. She needed to go home. She needed to rest. She needed to pretend that her life still made some sense.

Her cell phone vibrated.

She took the device out of her bag without haste. But, seeing the name of the clinic on the screen, her stomach churned.

Vitta+ Clinic

She answered with her heart in her throat.

"Hello?"

"Patricia Navarre? Good afternoon, this is Camila, from the biogenetics sector of Vitta+. The results of the compatibility analysis have been completed. Can you come to the clinic tomorrow morning for a formal meeting?"

"I want to know now," she said, without hesitation.

"Madam, it would be better in person. The content..."

"Tell me now."

There was silence on the other end of the line. When the voice returned, it was lower, more careful.

"The analysis confirms that the embryo implanted in you is the result of the genetic material of a donor registered under the code R-001-E. This code belongs to the patient Enzo Ravary."

The name sounded like thunder in Patricia's mind. She stopped walking. People passed by her, but it was as if the world had been put on hold.

"Can you repeat that?" she whispered.

"The biological father of the fetus is the businessman Enzo Ravary. This was his only viable embryo. The procedure was done with the consent of patient Patricia Navarro. The error happened when the medical records were switched in the system, and... well... you already know the rest."

Patricia hung up without saying anything else. Her fingers trembled.

Enzo Ravary.

The same man she had just seen. The same one who stared at her with that deep and inexplicable look minutes before.

She sat on a bench in the nearby square, feeling the weight of the revelation land on her shoulders like a suffocating cloak.

Now everything made sense.

The mysterious woman, the bribery, the clinic's silence, the rush to hush up the case... it all revolved around a single man.

She was expecting Enzo Ravary's child.

The most powerful heir in Orlandia. A man who didn't even know what he was about to lose.

And his fiancee... knew. Knew all along.

Patricia squeezed her eyes shut, feeling the tears fall without warning. It wasn't just fear. It was the pain of being treated as a mistake. As a burden. As a threat.

But she wouldn't be silenced.

Not after this.

Her world may have turned upside down... but Patricia was standing.

And now, more than ever, she needed to protect herself and the child she was carrying—even if it meant facing an entire empire alone.