Gabriel’s home in Lomas de Chapultepec looked unreal—three levels, manicured gardens, polished marble floors. He treated her with professional respect from day one. The salary tripled her combined income.
“It’s excessive,” she protested.
“It’s fair,” he replied.
They kept things strictly professional—at least in theory.
Weeks passed. She streamlined his operations, anticipated his needs, impressed his board. One day he told her, “You’re here because you’re brilliant.”
No one had ever said that to her before.
He invited her to corporate events in Polanco—strictly as his assistant. Rumors inevitably followed.
One evening she confronted him.
“I don’t want people assuming I’m here because you rescued me.”
He looked at her steadily.
“I hired you because you’re exceptional. Their assumptions are not your burden.”
Then he added quietly, “I admire you.”
Not desire.
Admire.
And somehow that meant more.
Two months later, Helena received news: she had been accepted into an international exchange program with a partial scholarship. One year abroad.
She told him.
“When do you leave?” he asked.
“Three months.”
He smiled, even as something flickered in his eyes.