Episode 5

Jonas then approached, forcing a fake smile and theatrically extending his arm.

"Come, my wife..." He said, like a perfect gentleman, glancing sideways at his grandfather. "Let me take you."

Cleia raised a suspicious eyebrow, but Nathaniel nodded.

So she walked behind Jonas without saying a word.

Jonas opened the passenger door with an exaggerated, theatrical gesture.

"Get in, my wife." He repeated, the venom behind the sweet tone as subtle as it was evident.

Cleia got in, adjusting herself on the fine leather seat as if that kind of luxury was just another unimportant detail. Before closing the door, she smiled at Nathaniel.

"Bye, Grandpa!"

The old man waved proudly, watching as if he were watching a seed sprout in concrete.

Margareth, furious, took a step towards her son's car.

"Jonas, I'm going with..."

But Nathaniel, with a simple raise of his hand, interrupted:

"With me, Margareth." His voice admitted no denial: "I'll take you. Let them get to know each other."

The look the old man gave his daughter was a veiled order, and she understood it perfectly.

Inside the car, Cleia buckled her belt calmly. Jonas entered soon after, the silence between them heavy and dense. He looked at her sideways with contempt, but she said nothing.

She just stared out the window, her eyes focused on nothing, but with her mind on everything.

She was married.

To a man who hated her.

But now...

Food guaranteed.

Jonas' driver raised the car's partition with a discreet hum, revealing Jonas' figure, who slowly turned to face Cleia.

His eyes stared at her as if he were observing something unwanted that, by obligation, he had been forced to carry.

"Since you've joined the family.." He said in a low, bitter voice: "I have some demands."

Cleia, still admiring the comfort of the leather seat under her body, looked at him with eyes shining with a mixture of weariness and audacity.

"Which ones?" She asked, as if asking if it would rain tomorrow.

Jonas let out a dry, mocking laugh, crossing his arms with the haughtiness of a king speaking to a commoner.

"I'm going to take you to the C mansion. You'll stay there. I'm not going to live with you. And, above all, you have no right to expose our marriage, or call me husband. No interviews, social media, or public appearances. Our name is bigger than your existence, understand?"

For a second, Cleia was silent. Then her eyes sparkled.

A spontaneous, almost childish smile appeared on her face.

"So I'm going to live alone**?" She asked, her voice full of hope: "You're not going to live with me**?"

The happiness was so blatant that it bordered on insult.

Jonas raised an eyebrow.

Cleia then gave a little jump on the seat and said, almost shouting:

"Thank God**!" She said enthusiastically: "We've barely gotten married and it's already the best gift I've received**!"

The tone was so sincere that the driver in front choked trying to hide his laughter.

Jonas, with a look of pure contempt, narrowed his eyes.

"I'm not going to consummate this marriage. Not even with death."

Cleia shrugged, rotating her wrists carelessly.

"I wasn't going to allow it anyway." She retorted naturally: "What interests me is the food! I'm going to eat well every day!" She said, laughing and rubbing her belly as if she were facing a banquet.

Her gesture was so spontaneous, so genuine, that it caused a shudder of revulsion in Jonas.

The disgust on his face was unmistakable. He watched her as if she were a bacterium infecting the car seat.

Her smile didn't falter, but the atmosphere inside the Rolls Royce dropped like a sudden storm.

The air became heavy. Cold. Almost cutting.

"I would never sleep with a beggar." He spat with disdain. "I'm not that desperate. You latched onto my grandfather's gratitude like a parasite trying to get into the family... Congratulations on that."

Cleia crossed her arms, her legs, and her gaze.

"I don't care about your opinion!" She replied without even hesitating: "What matters is that I'm going to have a good life, I'm going to eat every day, at least I won't have to see you... and I'm going to fill my belly!" She completed, with a cheerful voice.

The driver, hearing this, bit his lips hard to avoid laughing. The atmosphere was getting more and more tense, but the young woman's sincerity was almost comical.

Jonas kicked the front seat hard. The dry thud made Cleia widen her eyes, startled.

"Are you crazy?!" She exclaimed, instinctively recoiling in the seat.

He leaned towards her, his eyes flashing with a cold rage. His face was just inches from hers.

"Remember your place, you beggar." He whispered venomously.

Cleia, unfazed, raised her chin.

"Remember Grandpa.." She said in a low but firm tone: "If I tell him you're mistreating me..."

She didn't even finish the sentence.

The silence that followed was as sharp as a razor.

Jonas turned his face away with an angry snort, punching the leather backrest next to him.

The veins in his neck bulged.

He was trapped in a trap made by his own grandfather - and she was there, laughing inside.

The car then slowed down smoothly.

Through the window, Cleia saw the gates open as if they were facing royalty. A gated community, with an imposing golden letter “C” on the entrance arch, was revealed ahead.

Cleia smelled wet grass, expensive perfume, and opulence. A place where even the air seemed filtered.

She said nothing. She just looked, admiring.

"We're here." Jonas said coldly.

As soon as the car stopped in front of the C mansion, Cleia took off her old sneakers and jumped out, her bare feet touching the smooth, polished floor of the entrance.

Her gaze ran over the high walls of noble stones, the beige marble facade, the tall windows adorned with linen curtains, and the ornamental vases with flowers so symmetrical that they seemed handmade. She followed Jonas to the imposing front door, where two wide steps of white granite gleamed under the afternoon light.

When the door opened, a middle-aged maid, dressed in an impeccable dark blue uniform, approached with her hands interlaced in front of her apron and a professional smile on her face.

"Young master, how good it is..." She began, but stopped abruptly when she spotted Cleia.

Her eyes went up and down, passing over the girl's tattered clothes, her disheveled hair, the still perceptible smell of the street.

With her expression twisting in revulsion, the woman pointed at Cleia with a trembling finger and a voice loaded with disdain:

"Is she my helper?"

The rude way she spoke made a smile appear on Jonas' face.

Seeing Cleia being treated like trash satisfied him.

But Cleia took a step forward, with her eyes narrowed, staring at the woman as if assessing a cockroach that had dared to rise up against her.

"Helper**?" She repeated, with a brief laugh. "I'm the wife of this jackass here**."

Jonas exploded:

"You...!"

But he didn't even have time to complete the sentence.

"You're fired." Cleia said to the maid, with the calm of someone decreeing the change in the weather.

The woman took a step back, blinking in disbelief. She looked from Jonas to Cleia and, seeing no reaction from the boy, decided to react:

"It's not you who pays me. You're the one who should leave. Master's wife**?" She gave a forced, bitter laugh: "Keep dreaming, you brat**."

Cleia crossed her arms, her chin slightly raised, and slowly turned to Jonas.

"Am I wrong? Isn't this house supposed to be my home?"

Jonas stared at her, his eyes as dark as petroleum boiling with fury.

"A momentary favor." He said through his teeth.

"Okay**." She replied without flinching. "Then I'll talk to Grandpa**!"

It was like throwing gasoline on the fire.

Jonas took a step towards her, his presence becoming a threatening shadow.

"Spare me this cheap blackmail or I..." He whispered, with his jaw clenched.

Cleia gave a half-smile, her eyes fixed on his, and interrupted him.

"Or what? You demanded and I accepted. Do you think I'm not going to tell Grandpa if you don't kick this woman out of my house? Yes, because we're married... and this is MY house!"

The last sentence, said firmly, fell like thunder.

The maid, who had been firm before, felt her knees give way a little. The girl's bravado had weight.

Jonas clenched his fists. Inside, he wanted to strangle her. But outside... he knew he couldn't.

He turned to the maid and said coldly:

"Pack your things."

The woman widened her eyes in anger, snorted loudly, and gave Cleia one last deadly look before saying:

"Yes, sir."

She turned on her heels and left, stomping her feet on the marble like a frustrated child.

Cleia didn't even look at her, she just opened the door, entered, and shouted over her shoulder:

"Right. Now you can go. I'll see if I can find something to wear."

Jonas, still standing at the entrance, took out his black credit card, glistening, and threw it in her face as if he were throwing trash.

"Use this and buy decent clothes. And don't forget: not a word about this damn marriage."

Cleia took the card with a mocking expression.

"Okay, okay. You sound like a parrot, man! Now you can go. I'm hungry."

He looked at her with contempt, almost curious as to why she was still alive in the face of so much audacity.

"Didn't you eat at the restaurant?" He asked indifferently.

She rolled her eyes as if the question was the most ridiculous thing in the world.

"That misery?"

She turned her back naturally and crossed the luxurious hall of the mansion. The sound of her bare feet echoed on the marble floor.

Before disappearing, she still said with disdain:

"Don't forget to knock on the door of my house."

Jonas stood still. His eyes followed her until she disappeared into the hallway.

His jaw throbbed.

And in silence, with his heart poisoned by wounded pride, he swore:

"I'm going to make you regret this marriage, you beggar."

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