Episode 5

Throughout the entire journey, Helen nimbly dodged her irritable boss's gazes and wandering hands, which seemed particularly restless, attempting to touch her long, sculpted legs at every twist and turn while taking advantage of her brief distractions. At a traffic light, she brought the car to a halt, fixed an angry gaze upon him, and with an assertive tone declared,

“Enough, or we'll have an accident!”

“Your skin is so soft,” he remarked.

“And your hands are too long,” she retorted.

She resumed driving and upon arriving at the building, parked the car in its private spot before they ascended to the apartment. Upon opening the door, they were exuberantly greeted by Hercules who nearly knocked them over with his energetic leap.

“Easy Hercules, go get your duck,” the woman exclaimed, at which the dog obediently scampered off in search of his beloved toy.

“How do you know my dog?” he asked in surprise. “Why does my dog obey you?”

“Let's go to bed, it’s late.”

She led him to her bedroom, slowly removed his shoes and then his jacket, and commenced unbuttoning his shirt. For the young woman, making any contact with the skin of the man she loved was an agonizing sacrifice. She held her breath until she felt him encircle her waist and draw her body firmly against his.

“For the last time, who are you?”

On the brink of an answer, it was too late; he silenced her with a fervent kiss. Renato felt his heartbeat race since she first touched him, igniting something within. Though he suspected a ruse, he couldn't pass up the chance to hold her. Her body was an urgent craving he needed to taste. Though still dizzy, he wasn’t so impaired that he couldn't undress the young woman. Gently lowering the zipper of her dress without breaking eye contact from her beautiful gaze that reminded him of someone, he unveiled her, cloaked only in the fine material of her dress. Halting for a moment, he observed her intently, wishing to etch this image of beauty into his mind amidst concentration struggles, until a shimmering dragonfly tattoo perched upon a crescent moon on her right hip caught his eye. Strikingly sexy, it heightened his arousal, compelling him to kiss the delicate inkwork softly, wary of damaging its fragile wings. Now completely at his mercy, she lay naked; with no signal for him to stop, he found only the sweetness of a gentle kiss. That was enough to confirm their shared desire. He laid her onto the bed, disrobed himself, and she watched him with longing, smiling in anticipation of surrendering to her beloved. Renato was tender, caressing every inch of her and savoring her breasts as if they were the finest delicacies. She struggled for breath with every fierce thrust meant to leave its mark, yet he was tender, kissing every part of her and waiting until she was wholly satisfied before allowing himself to finish. For her, it was the fulfillment of years of dreaming to be in his arms, while Renato felt mixed emotions, confusion—he had not simply had sex; he had made love, a novel and frightening prospect. For a fleeting moment, he tried to picture her face, but sleep overcame him and he drifted off, cradling his enigmatic blonde.

Helen spent a sleepless night, aware she made a terrible mistake yet without regrets at having been with her love, even if just for one night. So absorbed in caressing his face, when she suddenly fixed her gaze upon his birthmark.

“It’s just a mole; don’t be afraid,” she whispered softly over his skin before pressing a tender, sweet kiss to his forehead.

Helen, responsible for Hercules’s care whenever Renato traveled or Cora was off-duty and weary of carrying the beast's sheddings, had gradually shifted some personal items into the apartment and shared the chambermaid’s quarters. Thus, she went to her room, showered, dressed more formally, and by nine in the morning, took Hercules out. After their walk, she began preparing breakfast, donned in a blouse and jeans, her hair as always neatly gathered up.

“Helen, what are you doing here?” Renato appeared in the kitchen, searching the place for someone else.

“I'm making breakfast.”

“Where is she?”

“Who?”

“The beautiful woman who brought me home last night.”

“Boss, I…”

“You should go, in case she comes back. I can’t believe you’re at my place this early.”

“I’m sorry, boss, forgive me, I just came to…”

“To nothing… Now leave; you probably scared off my guest.”

Unable to fathom what she heard, Helen meekly apologized, exiting the apartment with her red dress in a bag and leaving behind on the table a meticulously prepared breakfast for two.

Renato waited all day, but the mysterious woman never showed. He racked his brain for some detail of her, and while her face eluded him, the memory of her tattoo was vivid. He grabbed paper and pencil, sketching a shimmering dragonfly, recalling a mole near the navel but failing to attach a face to the figure; as if his mind blocked her identity entirely.

He needed to discover who she was or what knowledge she held about him. That afternoon he decided to revisit the restaurant. He headed straight to the bar and inquired about the previous night's server.

“Hello, Mr. Rinalde. How do you feel?”

“Well, but I need to know something urgently. Who took me home?”

“If I recall correctly, you left with a young lady, possibly your secretary.”

“She wasn’t my secretary.”

“My apologies, sir, but we thought she was Helen.”

“No, Helen doesn’t dress like that.”

“I regret if any trouble was caused.”

“No.” Renato now was desperate to converse with that woman. “May I view the security tapes?”

“Of course, sir, please come this way.”

The waiter conveyed the request to the security guard who allowed Renato to view the footage, yet it was fruitless; he was so drunk he could barely stand, and the woman kept her gaze floorward to stay balanced.

“Damn, you can’t see a thing.”

“I'm sorry, but I really thought it was Helen.”

“Look at that woman; she’s sensational. My secretary dresses like a grandmother. That’s not her.”

“You might be right,” the waiter confessed, though still not completely convinced as the voice matched Helen’s.

Exiting the restaurant, frustration gnawed at Renato—eager to unveil this woman's identity and whether she laid a trap to sleep with him.

In her own apartment, Helen lay on her bed, weeping profusely. Her dream night turned hollow as that damnable man failed to recognize her. She cursed her aversion to shallowness, her comfortable dress style aimed to dodge harassment, similar to her past job. Regret gnawed at her; she should have fled when she had the chance.

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