Chapter 5
The back seat of the police car smelled of old vinyl, sweat, and despair.
The hard, cold plastic beneath my body bore no resemblance to the softness of the leather seats in the luxury car in which I had arrived at that mansion just a short while ago.
Through the metal grille separating me from the officers in the front seats, I watched the lights of S?o Paulo flash by as a shapeless blur.
The red and blue of the flashing lights reflected off the window glass, casting a glow on my face and further blurring my vision, already clouded by tears.
With every jolt of the vehicle on the potholed streets, my ribs ached as if they had been crushed.
I looked down at my hands in my lap. Dona Eleonora’s blood had dried into a dark, repulsive crust on my skin, caked beneath my fingernails, staining my clothes and my wedding ring—the same ring Eduardo had slipped onto my finger on the beach as he promised to protect me forever.
“Take her away.”
His words echoed in my mind in an endless cycle of torture. The man who, that very morning, had kissed every inch of my body and sworn that no one would ever hurt me, had turned his back on me. My Prince Charming had opened the castle gates so the guards could drag me down to the dungeons.
When the police car finally came to an abrupt stop in front of the police station, the initial shock gave way to paralyzing terror.
I was yanked by the arm out of the car. The damp, cold air of the S?o Paulo night hit me, but the camera flashes and the shouts of the journalists already crowding the doorway were the real punch in the gut. The scandal had already leaked.
“Hide your face!” the police officer growled, hurriedly pushing me through the glass doors of the police station, while the microphones nearly hit my face.
The interior of the police station was an oppressive chaos. Phones rang incessantly, voices mingled in a harsh buzz, and the smell of stale coffee and mold permeated the air. I was led down narrow hallways until I was shoved into a tiny room. There was only a scratched metal table and two chairs.
Detective Carvalho entered shortly afterward, slamming the door shut with a heavy thud that sealed my fate. He tossed a brown folder onto the table and sat down across from me, his small eyes fixed on me like those of a predator analyzing wounded prey.
“All right, Mrs. Vasconcelos. Let’s stop wasting time,” he began in a harsh voice, breaking the deathly silence. “I want you to tell me exactly what happened at the top of that staircase.”
“I already told you at my house,” my voice was nothing more than a hoarse whisper, my throat aching from thirst and unceasing tears. “I was in the library. I wasn’t with her. I heard a huge noise, and when I went downstairs, she was already dead.”
Carvalho let out a short, humorless laugh, leaning over the table.
“The library is at the end of the hallway, Mrs. Vasconcelos. The floors in the house are made of soundproofed marble and covered with thick carpets. You must have very keen hearing to hear a slip from that far away.”
“It was the sound of the fall! The sound of her body hitting the floor!” I tried to explain, my hands shaking uncontrollably with desperation.
“Don’t lie to me!” Carvalho slammed his palm against the metal table; the sharp clang made me jerk in my chair.
“We have witness statements! The housekeeper, Lurdes, was categorical. She stated in no uncertain terms that Dona Eleonora called you upstairs because she intended to force you out of the family. She said the two of you hated each other. Do you deny that?”
“She hated me,” I admitted, feeling the tears well up again, burning my cheeks. “She never accepted me. But I never raised a hand against her! I would never do anything to hurt Eduardo’s mother!”
“Give me a break,” he sneered, opening the brown briefcase and pulling out a notepad.
“A humble girl who went straight from the rural Northeast to a mansion in Morumbi. The wedding of her dreams. Endless money. But there was a thorn in her side, wasn’t there?
The mother-in-law who threatened to expose her and take away everything you’d worked so hard to achieve. ”
“No! It wasn’t about money! I love Eduardo! You don’t understand!”
“What I do understand is that you were found right on top of the victim. Alone. Covered in blood. And your own husband—the man you say you love so much—didn’t hesitate to turn you in to the police. If you’re so innocent, why did he turn his back on you in front of everyone?”
That question tore me apart inside. It was the fatal blow that shattered what remained of my sanity.
I opened my mouth to answer, to defend Eduardo, to say that he was just in shock, that he would come get me…
but the words wouldn’t come out. Only an agonizing sob tore through my chest. I collapsed, slumping over the cold table, crying until I had no breath left, crushed by the weight of a perfect trap that I hadn’t even seen being set.
The pressure continued for hours. Carvalho wouldn’t let me breathe.
He rephrased the same questions, twisted my words, tried to confuse me, and shouted the accusations in my face in an attempt to extract a confession for a crime I knew nothing about.
I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown, my vision darkening at the edges, when the door latch finally turned.
The iron door swung open with a drawn-out creak.
I raised my head slowly, my eyes swollen and sore.
Eduardo was standing in the doorway. Beside him stood a man in a suit and tie, with graying hair and a stern expression, holding a leather briefcase.
The sight of my husband sent my pulse racing. I sprang up from the chair in a rush, a glimmer of hope emerging from the darkness.
“Eduardo!” I called, my voice trembling, taking a step toward him. “You came…”
But I stopped. The air in the room plummeted to freezing temperatures.
Eduardo didn’t open his arms. He didn’t run toward me to offer comfort, wipe away the blood drying on my skin, or tell me everything would be all right.
His posture was as rigid as granite. His impeccably shaved face was an impenetrable mask.
The brown eyes that had adored me that morning now regarded me with the coldness of a stranger sizing up an enemy.
“Detective Carvalho.” Eduardo’s voice cut through the room, deep and devoid of emotion. He didn’t even look me in the eye as he spoke. “This is Henrique Ferraz, my company’s chief legal counsel. He’ll handle the paperwork. I’m taking her home.”
“Mr. Vasconcelos, the investigation is still…” the investigator tried to argue, standing up.
“She hasn’t been formally charged, and there’s no pretrial detention order.
I won’t allow my family’s name to keep circling this police station like fodder for the press,” Eduardo interrupted, his tone unyielding—the same one he used to destroy rival corporations.
“Ferraz will handle the paperwork. I’m taking her with me now. ”
I took another faltering step toward him, instinctively reaching out to touch the fabric of the jacket he was wearing.
“My love… the truth will come out, I swear on everything…”
Eduardo stepped back before my fingertips even touched him. The movement was subtle, but the silent revulsion contained in that gesture was like a knife plunged into the center of my chest.
He finally lowered his eyes to meet mine. The coldness in his gaze was lethal.
“Don’t call me that,” he muttered, his voice so low and harsh that only I could hear it. “Save your explanations for the lawyers, Maria Rita. Walk away. In silence.”
He turned his back and walked out into the hallway lit by fluorescent lights.
I stood still for a second, the shock numbing me. I was guided out of the room by the lawyer, following Eduardo’s firm, long strides to the back exit of the police station, away from the journalists.
When I got into the passenger seat of his car, the silence that settled over the armored cabin was thick, heavy, and deadly.
The streets of S?o Paulo whizzed by outside, but the cold inside the vehicle was unbearable.
Eduardo drove with both hands firmly on the steering wheel, his jaw clenched, his eyes fixed on the road, ignoring my presence, my silent tears, and my despair.
In that gloomy car, sitting next to the man who had sworn to love me in joy and in sorrow, I knew—with the keen intuition of someone who had always had to survive the worst—that the real punishment had not yet begun.
And that the destination to which he was taking me would no longer be my salvation, but my ultimate ruin.