Chapter 30
The morning started with the phone buzzing nonstop on the nightstand. First a few messages. Then call after call. Something was wrong.
Fernando woke first, rubbing his face before grabbing his phone and checking the notifications. His expression, still soft from sleep, hardened in seconds.
“Damn it.”
My pulse quickened.
“What is it?”
He didn’t answer right away. He ran his fingers through his hair—a reflex of frustration—before handing me the phone. The moment I looked at the screen, I understood.
“EXCLUSIVE: GLóRIA’S PRIVATE MESSAGES SHOW HOW SHE MANIPULATES THE REELECTION CANDIDATE!”
“ROMANCE OR CON? SEE THE PROOF THAT GLóRIA IS THE ONE REALLY RUNNING THE GOVERNMENT!”
My stomach turned.
I clicked on one of the articles and there they were: screenshots of my conversations. But they weren’t just random messages. They were distorted, edited, ripped out of context to make it look like I was controlling Fernando, dictating decisions, manipulating his strategies.
“If you want to win, you need to follow what I said.”
“The people are stupid, Fernando. You have to tell them what they want to hear.”
The words were right there, typed as if I’d actually said them. But I never said any of that.
My whole body started to tremble.
“This is a lie! I would never say something like that!”
“I know.” Fernando got out of bed, his gaze cold, calculating. He wasn’t just irritated. He was ready for war. “But the opposition doesn’t need the truth. They just need to plant doubt.”
I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to control the wave of panic. The online mob was already ready to burn me alive, and now they had what looked like solid proof against me.
“What do we do?”
“I’m going to speak.”
He was determined. He grabbed the phone and started calling advisors, strategists, journalists. Meanwhile, I called my lawyer. If they wanted to take me down, they’d have to do a lot more than edit a few messages.
But the internet was already on fire.
The attacks came harder than ever. They called me “the real brain behind Fernando,” said he was a puppet, a weak man dominated by his ambitious girlfriend.
Others insinuated I’d always been lurking behind the scenes, that Rita was never his true political partner, and that I’d been waiting for the right moment to make my move.
The most absurd theory claimed our entire relationship was staged—a marketing ploy to win the female vote.
Fernando couldn’t waste time.
That same night, he took the stage in front of thousands of supporters and dozens of cameras.
The crowd shouted his name, but he raised his hand for silence.
“Today, my speech isn’t about my proposals or my campaign. It’s about something more important.”
The entire square fell silent.
“Since the beginning of this journey, I’ve faced opposition. Not because I’m a man without proposals, but because I’m a man who doesn’t bend. Since my relationship with Glória became public, that opposition has turned against her.”
Fernando took a deep breath.
“But today they crossed the line. Today, they distorted words, manipulated conversations, and tried to turn the woman I love into a villain.”
I felt a lump in my throat. He was defending me with everything he had.
“Let me say one thing clearly.” His voice grew firmer. “Glória doesn’t manipulate anyone. She doesn’t control my decisions. I am the man who governs. I am the man who chooses. And above all, I am the man who chose to love her.”
The crowd exploded in applause.
“And for those who think a man loving a woman is a sign of weakness, let me remind you what real weakness is. Weakness is creating lies because you can’t win at the ballot box.
Weakness is attacking a woman because you can’t get to me.
Weakness is being coward enough to spread hate instead of presenting ideas. ”
Shouts of support echoed through the square. I watched from the side of the stage, my chest tight with pride and emotion.
Fernando delivered the final blow:
“If being a strong man means humiliating, diminishing, or silencing women, then I’d rather be called weak for the rest of my life.”
The applause was deafening.
That speech made headlines in every newspaper. Social media was flooded with videos, and popular support surged. The opposition’s attack backfired. Instead of destroying me, they’d turned me into a symbol of female resistance.
Fernando didn’t just defend me. He gave me a place beside him.
And in that moment, I knew: we were going to win. Together.
After Fernando’s powerful speech, the campaign for his reelection gained unexpected momentum. Popular support swelled, and the narrative shifted. He was no longer just a governor running for four more years. Now, his name was circulating in a different sphere entirely: Fernando Serra for president.
At first, it was just media speculation. Tentative comments in political analyses, informal Twitter polls, passing mentions on debate shows. But as the polls showed his approval skyrocketing, the whispers turned into serious discussions.
The party noticed. Allies began talking about his “promising future.” Business leaders and politicians from other states started seeking him out. Backroom meetings changed in tone.
And I felt all of it growing around us.
“You’ve noticed what’s happening, haven’t you?” I asked as he loosened his tie after another packed event.
Fernando shot me a tired but amused look.
“If you’re talking about the number of people who suddenly want to be my best friend, yes. I’ve noticed.”
“And about the fact that they’re already calling you ‘the future of Brazil’?”
He snorted, throwing himself onto the couch beside me.
“Glória, I’m still running for reelection as governor. Let’s take it slow.”
I crossed my arms.
“You know that’s not how it works. People are already thinking ahead. And if you win this election with this kind of momentum…”
He pulled me onto his lap, wrapping his arms around me.
“And if I win this election, we’ll have four years to think about what comes next.”
But we both knew it wouldn’t take that long. His name was already in play in the country’s most dangerous game.
And there was no turning back now.