Episode 2

Thiago wasn't ugly—he knew that.

But his beauty was never easy, never obvious. He had the kind of face that drew attention two blocks later, when visual memory finally understood what was there: dark eyes that seemed to hold too many secrets, a chiseled jaw, firm eyebrows, and an almost invisible scar on his left eyebrow, which gave him an involuntary charm.

He had 1.86m of silent presence. Broad shoulders, tanned skin from someone who grew up under real sun, and a body defined to the extent that his hectic routine allowed—not from the gym, but from deliveries, running, and exhaustion. He was handsome like someone who never had time to realize he was.

He wore a folded-sleeve white shirt, black dress pants, and newly polished shoes. The simple watch on his wrist contrasted with the Rolexes that passed around him in the elevator. But he was there. On the 32nd floor. Ready or not.

The elevator doors opened, and everything smelled of money. Tempered glass, marble floor, minimalist furniture in shades of gray and white. The silence there was its own language.

A blonde woman, with a tight bun and precise gait, came towards him.

"Are you the new assistant?" she asked, without smiling.

"Yes, I am. Thiago Andrade."

"I'm Clarissa, Dr. Ferraz's executive secretary. For now, you'll report to me. When he wants to talk to you, he'll make it clear."

Thiago nodded, but his stomach was already showing signs of anxiety.

Clarissa handed over a folder. "Here are your schedules, access codes, internal procedures. Dr. Ferraz likes sugar-free coffee, meetings lasting a maximum of 30 minutes, and almost surgical punctuality."

"Almost?"

She smiled, for the first time. "He's surgical. I only said 'almost' so you wouldn't faint from fear."

Before he could answer, a glass door opened at the end of the corridor.

And Gael Ferraz appeared.

Dark gray tailored suit, 1.92m of impeccable posture, unshaven beard, and a look that seemed to cut through time. He walked like someone who had the world at his feet. And, in a way, he did.

He stopped a few steps from Thiago, looking down at him with cold—but attentive—eyes.

"You came," he said, as if surprised.

"I came," Thiago replied, firmly.

"You have courage, at least. Let's see if you have competence."

And without waiting for an answer, he turned and entered his office.

Clarissa gave a look that seemed to say "good luck," but already knew the result.

Thiago took a deep breath. It was just the beginning. But he could already feel that this man was going to be the biggest challenge of his life.

And perhaps… the most dangerous too.

Gael Ferraz didn't hire on impulse.

Since he was 22, when he took control of Ferraz Tech after his father's early death, he learned to make decisions with his head—never with his heart. The corporate world left no room for feelings, doubts, or distractions. And he was good at it. Cold, fast, efficient.

That's why, when he saw Thiago enter the interview room the day before, his first reaction was disdain.

Cheap shirt, thrift store shoes, a hard look. He didn't look like any of the assistants he'd ever had—all molded, domesticated, trained. Thiago seemed… raw. Wild.

And yet, he hired him.

Now, sitting in the Italian leather chair in his office, Gael watched the young man through the mirrored glass wall as he received instructions from Clarissa.

"He's very tall," he muttered to himself, as if that explained something.

Almost his height. But that wasn't what caught his attention.

It was the way Thiago looked at him. Without flattery. Without apparent fear. As if he saw something beyond the CEO facade.

That bothered him.

Gael had been dating Helena for three years. A doctor, beautiful, intelligent, the ideal match for a man like him. They had plans, stability, showy dinners, a comfortable routine. He never had doubts about his sexual orientation—he never needed to. Women had always been his safe, predictable, controllable zone.

But Thiago…

There was something about that young man. It wasn't just beauty—although he was, in fact, strange to look at. Handsome, but in a way that defied standards. The kind of beauty that bothers you because it doesn't beg for approval. It was there, firm, silent, almost arrogant in its own authenticity.

Gael found himself staring at his reflection in the glass again. The way he walked. How he spoke little. How he seemed to carry a weight greater than his age allowed.

And that… attracted.

"You're tired, Gael," he thought. "It's just curiosity. Nothing more."

But the truth is that for the first time in a long time, he felt something he didn't know how to name. And that made him angry. Very.

He got up suddenly and left the room.

As he passed Thiago, he caught a glimpse of the curve of his jaw, his firm eyes, the way he held the folder—as if everything in life depended on it.

Why does he look like that?, he thought. As if he's challenging me without saying a word.

He returned to his desk, opened his notebook, and forced himself to sink into the numbers of the international market. He needed control. He needed order.

But Thiago Andrade had already settled into a part of his mind that didn't accept commands.

And Gael hated losing control.

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