Chapter 1
Normality. That's what I needed to maintain.
But how do you maintain normality when your skin still tingles from his touch?
When every time you breathe deep, you catch a trace of his scent still clinging to you?
I left the Bandeirantes Palace in the early hours feeling like I'd made the biggest mistake of my life. Not because I regretted it, but because I didn't know how to undo it.
I had slept with the state governor.
My boss.
The man whose public image was practically untouchable.
And worse, the man who had lost his wife and son tragically, whose grief had become a defining symbol of his first term.
If this got out…
No. I couldn't think about that.
It took three cups of coffee before I could leave my apartment that morning. I wore an impeccable outfit—black pencil skirt, white silk blouse, high heels—as if my armor could protect me from what had happened the night before.
I arrived at the office early. Earlier than him. The silence of the Palace gave me time to breathe before the inevitable.
And then, shortly after nine, Fernando Serra walked in.
I should have looked away. Should have pretended nothing happened.
But it was impossible.
He wore a dark suit, loosened tie, a guarded expression. But his eyes… his eyes found me the instant he stepped through the door.
There was no hesitation. No attempt to look away.
He looked at me the way a man looks at a woman he's already seen naked.
My body reacted before my mind could. My muscles locked, a shiver ran up my spine. The air felt thin.
I looked away first.
“Good morning, Governor.”
Formality was the only thing I could hold onto.
“Glória.”
My breath caught.
His husky voice still carried the roughness of early morning.
I tried to focus on the papers on the desk, on the packed schedule, on anything other than the way he moved through the office, occupying the space as if it were his by right—because it was.
“Meeting with the Security Department at nine-thirty,” I informed him, keeping my tone neutral. “Then lunch with energy sector executives to discuss the concession.”
He just nodded, picking up the cup of coffee I'd left for him on the desk.
My gaze fell to his hands.
The same hands that had held my waist, that had squeezed my breasts, that had slid between my legs the night before.
I swallowed hard.
I couldn't think about that.
The problem was, I was already thinking about it.
The silence between us dragged on. He took a sip of coffee, still standing. I remained seated, forcing myself to focus on the computer screen.
“Do you want to talk about yesterday?”
The question was direct.
The back of my neck burned.
I raised my eyes slowly, meeting his.
“There's nothing to talk about.”
He arched an eyebrow.
“No?”
“It happened. That's all.”
Fernando studied me for a moment, then gave a small smile, a crooked smile, loaded with something that felt… dangerous.
“If that's how you want to handle this…”
I held my breath.
He was accepting my decision. Or at least pretending to.
And yet, when he passed behind my chair on his way to the conference room, his hand lightly grazed the curve of my shoulder.
It wasn't an obvious touch. It wasn't something anyone would notice.
But my body noticed.
My skin caught fire.
And in that moment, I knew that pretending nothing had happened wasn't going to be as easy as I'd imagined.
The day continued as if we were the same people as before.
Fernando Serra spoke at the Security Department meeting with the same firmness as always. He spoke well, was articulate, knew how to wield words like few politicians I'd ever seen.
He had the charisma of someone born for power.
And I felt that charisma reach across the room to me, like a silent electric current.
I sat at the back of the meeting, taking notes for follow-ups. I kept my eyes on the laptop screen, on the data presentation.
But whenever I raised my head, I found his gaze on me.
And it wasn't just any look.
It was the look of a man who knew exactly what had happened between us the night before.
It was the look of a man who remembered.
Who felt it.
Who wanted it again.
Tension filled the room.
And no one seemed to notice—except the two of us.
That evening, back at the Palace, I handed him the last documents to sign.
“Anything else?” I asked, gripping the edge of the desk.
He stared at me for a moment, pen between his fingers.
“No.”
But he didn’t take his eyes off me.
I stayed where I was. Every part of me on alert.
He spun the pen between his fingers, taking his time, his gaze roaming over my face, then my body.
As if undressing me without lifting a finger.
My heart raced.
I knew where this was heading if I didn’t leave right now.
Fernando leaned back in his chair, relaxed, as if testing me.
As if waiting to see who would give in first.
I wouldn’t give in.
I wouldn’t give in.
But when he wet his lips, when his eyelids lowered, when his voice dropped low and husky…
“Good night, Glória.”
My self-control hung by a thread.
I turned away before I did something stupid. Before I crossed that desk and made the same mistake as the night before.
I left the office, knees weak, breath shallow.
And as I walked through the silent corridor of the Palace, one certainty pounded in my head.
This game wasn’t over.
In fact, it had just begun.