Chapter 18
The Palace was silent when I received the message.
“I need to talk to you. Now.”
My heart raced.
It was past ten at night, the corridors were almost empty, and most of the staff had gone home. Only security and a few essential employees were still moving through the building.
My heels echoed on the marble floor as I headed to Fernando’s office. I knew he was still there. He always stayed late, immersed in papers, crises, the weight of being who he was.
But something in that message told me this wasn’t about politics.
When I arrived, I knocked on the door.
“Come in.”
His voice was hoarse, heavy with something I couldn’t quite place.
I pushed the door open and stepped inside.
Fernando stood with his back to me, gazing at the city through the large office windows. The warm glow of the lamp softened his features, and for the first time in a long while, he seemed... vulnerable.
I closed the door behind me.
“What is it?”
He sighed but didn’t turn right away.
“Did I overstep?”
I frowned.
“What?”
He turned, finally, and his eyes met mine. There was a weariness there, but also something deeper, something that made me hold my breath.
“I need to know, Glória. Did I cross the line?”
I crossed my arms, defensive.
“What are you talking about?”
He took a step forward, and I felt the electricity in the air.
“You’re choosing a woman for me, Glória. You’re handing me someone to stand by my side because you think it’s best for my campaign.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but he raised his hand, cutting me off.
“You know this isn’t about politics. You know it.”
My chest tightened.
“It’s not that simple, Fernando.”
He let out a bitter laugh.
“No? Because to me it seems pretty clear. I want you. And you... you’re offering me someone else.”
I looked at the floor, guilt crushing me.
“I did what needed to be done.”
“For whom?”
His gaze burned.
“For the party? For the campaign? For the strategists who think they can decide who should be by my side?”
My throat closed up.
“For you.”
He was silent for a moment, studying me.
Then he took another step closer.
“If it were for me, you would have asked what I wanted.”
My hands trembled at my sides.
“Fernando...”
“You don’t want to hear what I have to say because you’re afraid.”
I froze.
He gave a half-smile, but there was no amusement in it.
“The party won’t like it. Isn’t that what you told me?”
I nodded, feeling a dull ache growing inside me.
“And you think I care about that?”
I swallowed hard.
“You should.”
He shook his head, frustrated.
“I’m the one who has to like the woman I choose, Glória. Not the people.”
The words hung between us, intense, crushing.
My heart pounded.
Fernando took another step, closing the distance. His scent—warm and masculine—enveloped me.
“And I like you.”
I closed my eyes, feeling tears threatening.
He raised his hand and touched my face, his fingers tracing my skin with the delicacy of someone who knew he could break something fragile.
“Do you think you can run from this forever?”
I wanted to say yes. I wanted to say that politics was bigger than us, that what we had couldn’t exist in this world.
But then he leaned in, his face inches from mine.
“Tell me you don’t feel anything, Glória.”
My breath caught.
Fernando looked at me as if he could see my soul, as if he already knew the answer before I said anything.
My mouth opened, but no words came out.
And then, he kissed me.
It was an intense kiss, charged with frustration, desire, and a need that ached deep in my chest. His hands cupped my face, pulling me closer, and I felt every line of his body against mine.
The world spun, and for a moment, nothing else existed.
Just the two of us.
But when I finally responded, when I surrendered to what was already inevitable, he stopped.
He pulled away, breathing hard.
His eyes were clouded, conflicted.
“Is this what you're afraid of?”
My answer caught in my throat.
He ran a hand through his hair and let out another humorless laugh.
“I’m an idiot.”
“Fernando…”
He shook his head.
“Good night, Glória.”
And then he left.
I stood there, alone, feeling the weight of the emptiness he left behind.