Chapter 5
Oliver Ferraz
I arrive in Brazil Saturday morning, and my friend César is there to greet me and take me to the apartment. I’m dying to see my new place.
“Well, look who’s back.” César comes over and hugs me.
My friend, who I haven’t seen in ages, looks exactly the same.
Tall, long curly hair, strong build, and a few more tattoos on his arms.“You idiot, you knew I was coming.” I hug him back.
“Of course, but who leaves the United States to come back to Brazil?! Only you.” He rolls his eyes.
“You know exactly why I came back. I have to take over for my father. But if everything goes according to plan, in two or three years I’ll leave again—for good.
”“What do you mean, leave in two years? Explain that.” César gives me a serious look.
“I’m planning to expand the hotels internationally.
I’ve already got an investor interested in the chain, so if everything works out, we’ll be a global brand soon.
”“And you’ve pitched this to your father?
” César asks, sounding skeptical.“That’ll be decided in board meetings, but I’m sure they’ll love the idea.
More money in everyone’s pockets.” I answer with satisfaction.
“Well, let’s get going—you must be exhausted. ”
And so we head to my new apartment. When I arrive, I set myself up as the sole authorized entry. I know word will spread that I’m back, and I don’t want any unwanted visitors. I program my password into the elevator and the door, along with my fingerprint.
As soon as I step inside, I’m greeted by an elegant entrance hall with a dark wood bench and a built-in closet across from it for shoes and coats. The light marble floor contrasts with the recessed ceiling lighting, creating a sophisticated atmosphere.
The living room is huge, with double-height ceilings and floor-to-ceiling glass windows—I’ve always loved this type of design—revealing a view of the entire city.
Automated curtains glide smoothly, controlling the outside light.
In the corner sits a dark wood bar with a mirrored back, reflecting the imported bottles already displayed there.
On the opposite side, the open-concept kitchen features black granite countertops and state-of-the-art appliances.
Further ahead, a glass door leads to the outdoor area: the infinity pool seems to merge with the horizon. Around it are modern lounge chairs and a full gourmet setup with a barbecue grill and prep counter, perfect for entertaining. I smile, satisfied with everything I see.
I head toward the stairs and climb the glass and brushed steel steps to the upper floor.
At the end of the hallway, the master bedroom dominates the space.
An entire glass wall reveals the city, which will be all lit up at night.
The king-size bed sits right in the center of the room.
The closet takes up a generous space next to the bathroom, which looks more like a spa, with a whirlpool tub and double shower.
I take a deep breath, feeling proud to have finally found a home that truly reflects who I am.
I turn to my friend, who’s been following me the whole time looking serious.
I give him a pat on the back, shake his hand, and tell him:“Thank you, man! This is great—wonderful. You really know my taste. And you nailed exactly what I wanted for my first apartment.”“Phew, I thought you didn’t like it.
You walked through the whole place stone-faced, no expression at all.
” He brings his hand to his chest dramatically.
I smile.“How could I not like it? The building is excellent and secure, the apartment is beautiful, it has the view I asked for, and it’s close to work.
Couldn’t be better. Of course, it still needs my personal touch, but I’ll handle that over time.
”“I’m so glad you like it, but come on, I want lunch.
Your fridge is already stocked—you can make us something while I wait by the pool.
” César grins, already walking out of the room.
“Hold on, smartass. This is my apartment and you’re giving orders?
No way.” I say it seriously, but with humor underneath.
“I’m the one who found this place for sale, exactly the way you wanted—furnished, fridge and bar fully stocked.
Making me lunch is the least you can do.
” He scolds me playfully.“Fine, but just this once. And don’t get used to it—I’m not going to keep inviting you over. You have your own place.”
Just as I finish talking, my phone rings. I pull it out of my pocket and see it’s my father calling. I tell César I need to take this and head back to my room.
“Good afternoon, Dad, how are you?”“Son, haven’t you arrived yet?
We’re waiting for you at home and your mother is worried.
”“Yes, Dad, I arrived and came straight to check out the apartment I bought. I’ll be there for dinner—please let Mom know.
”“You bought an apartment?” my father says incredulously from the other end of the line.
“But I’m already looking at the house I’m going to give you as a wedding present,” he says convincingly.
I huff indignantly.“Dad, we’ll talk later at dinner, okay?
”“All right, son, we’ll be waiting for you. ” I end the call.
Since I’m already in the bedroom, I open my suitcase and grab some comfortable clothes. I’m going to make some snacks and then enjoy the pool. I leave the room and find César already rummaging through my fridge, pulling things out.
“What’s good in there?” I ask before he notices me.
“Dude, you scared me!” he says, hand on his heart as he spins around.
“I’m grabbing some snacks for us to munch on while we hang by the pool, and you can fill me in on what happened.
You left here years ago head over heels in love, and now you come back telling me you’re not getting married. Spill it—the whole story.”
We put together a charcuterie board, grab beers from the fridge, and head outside. It’s a beautiful day here in Atibaia, so we’re going to kick back and enjoy the pool.
I tell my friend everything that happened, down to the smallest detail, and I see outrage in his eyes.
After all, he’s been with us since we were young—from the very beginning, through when we decided to study abroad together.
The result was a life thrown away. I have to agree with him, but what gives me some comfort is that I found out what she was really like before I married her.
I sigh again—this story always gets to me.
We spend a nice afternoon together, and in the early evening he heads out. I take a shower, get ready, and head to my parents’ house. Time to face the beast.
My parents’ house is in a gated community here—where I grew up, though I haven’t been back in ten years.
It’s on a dead-end street. I stop my car in front of the enormous wrought iron gate, and the security guards ask for my ID.
Of course—I left years ago, and many of them don’t know me.
I identify myself, and they wave me through.
Once I’m through the gate, I drive up to the house, which sits a good distance away. The property here is one of the largest in the community. My mother always loved gardens, so to please her, my father bought three lots and built the house of her dreams.
As I get close to the house, I see my mother at the top of the stairs by the entrance, waiting for me.
God, how I’ve missed her. I jump out of the car and rush toward her, and she throws herself into my arms.“Oh, my dear son, finally back home. How I’ve waited for this moment!
” my mother says, hugging me tight and kissing my cheeks, her eyes full of tears.
Our reunions are always like this.“Hi, Mom, I missed you too. Let’s go inside,” I say, gently pulling away from her embrace as we head through the front door.
As soon as I step into the living room, nostalgia washes over me.
Everything is just as it was before—huge sectional sofas, a Persian rug with a coffee table adorning the space.
The crystal chandelier hangs from the ceiling, still missing a small piece I broke as a child.
Huge windows are draped with thick curtains.
I look to the side and find my father sitting in an armchair with a glass of whiskey in his hand, which he promptly offers me.
I head to the bar to pour my own—today I’ll need plenty of these to face the beast.“Good evening, Dad!” I greet him, going in for a hug.
“Good evening, son. It’s so good to have you back.
” He returns my hug. “Tell me about studying abroad. We always came to visit, but we were always in such a rush—there was never time for anything.”“It’s a whole different world there, Dad.
The universities, the graduate program I completed—everything was wonderful.
I learned so much, and I want to put it all into practice,” I respond seriously.
“That’s exactly why I sent you there. We need fresh ideas in the company—we’ve been stuck in the past with the hotels, and we need to modernize.
We agreed to transform the hotel here into a resort, and our clients loved it.
”“I told you they’d like it, but we can expand on this idea.
What do you think?”“You came back hungry for improvements, but let’s take it slow.
You need to familiarize yourself with the company, the suppliers, the shareholders, and our employees.
”“Of course, Dad. Give me fifteen days to get everything in order—you’ll be satisfied with my work,” I say, waiting for his reaction.
But Mom enters the living room and calls us.
“My loves, the table is set. Shall we have dinner?”
We sit at the table, beautifully set for my return—blue placemats, plates with minimalist designs in the same shade, and white cloth napkins adorning the enormous solid wood table.
I look at the other twelve empty seats and remember the beautiful holiday dinners we used to have here.
Today they’ve prepared my favorite foods: pasta with bolognese sauce and filet steak with fries.
My mother never forgets. For dessert, lemon pie and pavê—my favorite. My mouth starts to water.
We talked a lot over dinner. I told them about my course, how my final days there had gone, and a bit about the friendships I'd made. As we're finishing up, my father calls me to his office. I already know what this is about. I follow him and close the door behind me.
“So, son, tell me what's gotten into you with this absurd idea about not wanting to get married.
You know we have a contract and we can't simply break it.” He opens with that voice heavy with authority.
The way he always does.“I'm not marrying her, Dad.
I've made up my mind. And if I have to, I'll pay the breach penalty out of my own pocket,” I say firmly.He leans forward, eyes narrowing.
“You think you can just pay and walk away? You two were promised to each other as children. She was raised to be your wife.”“Raised to be my wife? While she was moaning underneath Alex, our best friend?” My tone cuts like a blade.
My father slams his whiskey glass down on the dark mahogany desk, liquid sloshing over the rim.
“Control yourself, Oliver! Don't speak about your fiancée that way in my house!”“My fiancée?!” I scoff.
“Andrea cheated on me, Dad! Wake up! She lied to me for months, made a fool of me, and you still want me to accept her because of some damn contract?”
He stands up, his face already red with rage.
“You don't understand! This marriage isn't just about you two.
It's about alliances, power, the future of the company! You want to throw all that away over wounded pride?”I take a step forward, my face inches from his.
“It's not pride—it's dignity. I'm not going to marry a woman who betrayed me, who dishonored me and our family.
All our friends knew about their affair.
I was the only idiot who didn't. If that doesn't matter to you, it matters to me.”
The tension cuts through the air like a blade.
He takes a deep breath but doesn't back down.
“Are you challenging me, Oliver?”“If that's what it takes to keep my word and my honor, yes.
I'd rather face you and the whole world than lie down next to a woman who betrayed me.” My voice comes out thick with rage and pain.
I storm out of the office, slamming the door so hard the sound echoes through the house. My heart races, my clenched fists aching from the pressure. How can my own father blame me?
I leave my parents' house—the house I've been away from for so long—without even kissing my mother goodbye.
I'm devastated. Heartbroken. I expected my family to support me, at least, but apparently not.
Rage consumes me again. Damn this engagement.
Damn this betrayal. When I get in the car, I finally let the tears fall.
I'd been holding them back for days. Now I let them flow freely.
I start the engine and drive straight to my apartment.
Buying this place was the best decision I ever made—my home, my sanctuary.
I won't leave until Monday, when I have to go to work.
I change clothes and throw myself onto the bed.
I'm exhausted. All I want is peace. I fall into a deep sleep, hoping not to wake until tomorrow—and late at that.