He invited the cleaning lady to his gala party just to humiliate her, but when she arrived looking like a true diva, he realized he’d made the biggest mistake of his life. Valentina was on her knees painstakingly polishing the icy marble floor when she heard that unmistakable sound, the elegant and authoritative echo of Augusto Belmont’s secretary’s heels echoing down the hallway.
It was barely 7 a.m., but she’d been working for two hours, just like every day for over three years. In the B la Vista mansion, where luxury hung even from the doorknobs, everything had to shine like new. The 42 rooms, the endless hallways, the floor-to-ceiling windows offering majestic views of the city—everything had to be spotless for the constant business visits of the great Augusto Belmont. As she descended the stairs, Valentina saw the owner of it all adjusting his Hermés tie in front of the mirror, holding his phone to his ear, talking about figures that to her were nothing more than smoke and mirrors.
At 45, Augusto was the face of a real estate empire that built skyscrapers like houses of cards. His last name opened doors, instilled respect and fear. Everyone knew who he was, and above all, they knew he liked them to know. “I want all the details ready by Thursday,” he ordered without even looking at her as he passed by. “The party has to be perfect. Only 200 guests, not one more, not one less.” Valentina didn’t look up. She was still focused on a stubborn stain near the dining room.
Probably expensive wine, spilled at some business dinner. She had learned to disappear, to become part of the furniture, to live in silence. It was safer that way. No one asked questions. “Hire more waiters,” he said suddenly, now standing in the doorway of the main hall, observing her with the intensity of someone studying someone else’s painting. His gaze bore into hers. Valentina felt it as if she were tearing at her skin. She stood up slowly, her knees aching and her hands red.
She cleaned herself up on her everyday blue apron. Then Augusto’s voice cut through the air. “Good morning, Valentina. I need to talk to you.” She nodded, her heart already troubled, and began putting away the cleaning supplies. He walked over to the marble fireplace and stared at a painting hanging above it, the work of some European artist whose name Valentina never bothered to learn. “Thursday will be the annual gala,” he said without moving. “As always, you’ll be in charge of the final cleaning before the guests arrive.” “Yes, sir,” she replied, trying to maintain her composure, but then her tone changed.
This year will be different. This year you won’t just clean, you’ll participate. Valentina felt her stomach clench. Participate. How? Augusto turned to her with a crooked, guest-like smile. The words fell like stones. In three years, no one in that house had treated her as anything more than a part of the background. Serving coffee, cleaning windows—I’d never imagined anything like that. “I don’t understand,” she murmured, but he was already pacing around her, hands behind his back like an impatient judge. “It’s simple.
You will dress appropriately and attend the party. You will dine at the head table. You will converse with my guests. You will act as if you were one of them.” Valentina knew instantly there was a catch. Augusto was not a kind man. He never did anything without a purpose, and the kindness in his mouth tasted like poison. May I ask why? Because I want you to learn something. I want you to understand your place in the world. The coldness in his voice confirmed everything. It wasn’t an invitation, it was a sentence.
He wanted her to feel out of place, ridiculous, inferior, and then humiliate her in front of everyone. “I understand,” Valentina said firmly, even though her chest was pounding like a drum. “Perfect, I’ll provide you with a suitable dress. Nothing expensive, of course. I don’t want to embarrass myself in front of my guests,” she added, and then, with an even crueler smile. “Oh! And don’t worry if you don’t know how to behave. I’m sure everyone will understand perfectly where you come from.” The word “origin” slipped from his mouth with a contempt that made her feel as if she’d been spat on, as if she were a pet he was planning to teach to sit and be quiet.
Valentina bit her lip. She wasn’t going to give him the pleasure of seeing her hurt. You can go. And remember, Thursday, 8 o’clock, not a minute late. He left, leaving her alone in that enormous hall, surrounded by luxury that didn’t belong to her. Tears welled up, but she refused to let them fall. Crying wouldn’t change anything. Augusto Belmont thought he knew her. He believed Valentina Silva was simply a desperate employee who had knocked on his door three years ago begging for a job, but he had no idea who she had actually hired.
That same afternoon, while organizing the books in her private library, Valentina found something that changed everything. A simple piece of paper between the pages of a
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