It was as if the air in the auditorium had suddenly solidified. Ten rows back, in the center section, he saw an unmistakable profile. A woman with olive skin, wearing a simple but elegant red dress, her dark hair falling in soft waves. Time seemed to fold in on itself. Aurora Baloa. The name exploded in his memory like a lightning strike. It had been eighteen years since he’d seen her—since the young domestic worker who cleaned his penthouse had abruptly resigned without a word of goodbye.
Eduardo straightened, trying to convince himself it was a stress-induced hallucination. But no. It was her. The same tilt of the head, the same serenity in her posture. However, what truly stopped Eduardo’s heart wasn’t seeing Aurora—it was seeing the person beside her.