Chapter 5
LORETTA
Today was my first official day as Rafael Pérez’s personal assistant.
It was a position most people would have celebrated.
I dreaded it.
Not because of Rafael, though the thought of working directly under the most powerful man in the city was intimidating enough.
No.
I dreaded seeing Ramiro.
Ever since he had taken that hair sample from Zara, a knot of anxiety had lodged itself firmly in my chest. Every passing hour had only made it worse.
By now, the results could be back.
By now, he could know whether Zara was truly the missing child they had been searching for.
And if she was...
I couldn’t bring myself to finish the thought.
The possibility haunted me all night and followed me into the morning.
The elevator doors sighed open with that familiar hydraulic whisper, releasing us into the executive floor’s hushed atmosphere of polished marble and controlled power.
I tightened my grip on Zara’s small, fever-warm hand.
She walked quietly beside me, her fingers wrapped around mine with unusual firmness, as though she feared I might disappear if she let go.
She’s still running a fever, and there was no way I could leave her home alone.
Nor could I bring myself to trust a stranger to care for her.
Not after everything she’d been through.
Not after the fear that still lingered beneath her quiet moments.
Perhaps bringing a child to the headquarters of Rafael Pérez’s empire was absurd.
Perhaps it was unprofessional.
Perhaps it would earn me disapproving looks before I had even started my first official day.
I didn’t care.
Zara came first.
Always.
So while other personal assistants probably arrived carrying tablets, planners, and coffee, I arrived with a white cane in one hand and a feverish five-year-old in the other.
My white cane swept forward in a wide, practiced arc, the tip tapping, gliding, tapping again against the glossy floor.
The rhythm mapped the world for me in fragments: distance, obstruction, space.
I didn’t need sight to know how sharply people would be looking at us right now.
We moved forward.
Zara shifted beside me, her small hand tightening around mine.
“Mommy...” Her voice was weak and drowsy. “I don’t feel good.”
A sharp pang of guilt twisted through my chest.
“I know, baby,” I murmured, squeezing her hand gently.
My free hand found her forehead, and the lingering warmth beneath my fingertips sent another wave of worry through me.
“I’m sorry you’re not feeling well.”
I brushed a few strands of hair away from her face before forcing calm into my voice.
“We’re almost there. Just stay with me a little longer, okay?”
“Okay,” she whispered.
“Miss Loretta,” a calm, familiar voice cut through the tension like a steady hand placed on a tilting ship.
Ramiro.
For a second, I swayed, my balance slipping as though the ground itself had shifted.
I caught myself quickly, tightening my hold on Zara before she could register the tremor in me.
“I assumed you might not have fully memorized the route to your new office yet,” he continued, his tone unhurried. “Allow me to guide you.”
My jaw locked.
Yesterday, he had taken something from my child without permission.
Today, he stood here speaking as though nothing in me should be unsettled by his presence.
I turned slightly toward the sound of his footsteps, stopping just outside my immediate reach.
“Thank you,” I said, offering a small, controlled smile even though I knew he couldn’t see it.
“This way.”
I adjusted Zara closer to my side and followed.
My cane resumed its steady pattern.
Ramiro’s presence remained a few steps ahead, his footsteps acting like a metronome guiding mine.
We stopped after a short distance.
Ramiro tapped twice on a surface.
A desk.
“This is your new station,” he said, voice smooth again. “Right outside Mr. Pérez’s office. Only a single door separates you.”
I exhaled slowly.
Of course.
As his personal assistant, my office couldn’t have been far from his.
I carefully released Zara’s hand.
Immediately, her fingers tightened on my sleeve instead.
I gave her a reassuring squeeze before shifting my attention forward.
My fingertips found the edge of the desk.
Cool woodgrain. Smooth finish.
The surface was wide—L-shaped, extending further than I expected. I traced along it slowly, committing every detail to memory the way I always did when sight wasn’t available to do the job for me.
Keyboard centered. Monitor slightly to the left. Phone dock to the right.
Everything placed with intentional precision.
I stepped forward half a pace, cane sweeping.
Clear path.
Two steps forward led to the visitor seating area.
I brushed my hand lightly over the armrest of one chair—leather, soft, new. Another chair beside it. Symmetrical. Controlled.
I pivoted slightly left.
My cane caught the faint resistance of a corner.
Filing unit.
Sharp edge avoided.
Three steps from the corridor to the desk. Two more to the seating area. One careful pivot left.
I mapped it again internally, reinforcing it until it became muscle memory rather than thought.
A soft tug pulled at my skirt.
“Mommy...” Zara’s voice was small again, thinned by exhaustion. “Can I sit?”
Something in my chest tightened immediately.
“Of course, baby,” I said at once, the firmness in my tone softening into warmth as I turned toward her.
I guided her carefully by the shoulders, lowering her into the visitor chair beside my desk.
The leather creaked faintly under her small weight.
A quiet exhale left her.
I drew a slow breath and straightened.
Ramiro hadn’t moved far. I could still sense him nearby—close enough to be present, far enough not to intrude.
But he still hadn’t said it.
The result.
The DNA test.
The answer that had been sitting between us since yesterday like a blade neither of us was acknowledging out loud.
My jaw tightened.
Maybe he liked it that way. Maybe leaving me suspended in uncertainty was easier than delivering whatever truth he had already learned.
“If you need anything,” he said at last, his tone even—“adjustments to the setup, introductions... even a quiet space for her, don’t hesitate.”
For a moment, I didn’t answer.
My fingers brushed Zara’s hair absently, grounding myself in her small, fevered warmth.
“I’ll manage,” I said finally.
A pause followed.
Then, softer: “Rafael values capability above all, Miss Loretta. You wouldn’t be here if he didn’t see it in you.”
That landed differently than reassurance usually did.
I turned slightly toward his voice. “I appreciate that.”
Another pause—this one shorter.
Then his footsteps shifted.
“I’ll be nearby,” he added, already stepping away. “If you need me.”
“Thank you,” I said quietly.
And then he was gone.
The sound of his departure faded into the wider hum of the executive floor, leaving me alone with Zara’s soft breathing and the subtle weight of the space around me.
I stood still for a moment longer than necessary.
Listening.
My fingers curled slightly at my side before I forced them to relax.
I moved carefully to the desk, lowering myself into the chair.
The leather was cool and expensive.
My hands found the keyboard immediately, fingertips brushing across each key until my mind anchored itself in familiar structure.
I straightened my posture, aligning myself with the workspace I had already memorized through touch alone.
Monitor to my left. Phone dock to my right. Notepad within easy reach. Every object placed with deliberate precision.
I exhaled slowly and placed both hands flat on the desk.
I was about to begin working when faint footsteps echoed somewhere behind me.
Not at my desk.
Further down the corridor.
I paused, my fingers hovering above the keyboard as I listened.
The footsteps drew closer.
My grip tightened slightly on the edge of the desk before I forced it to loosen.
The corridor seemed to grow quieter with each approaching step.
The footsteps continued until they stopped directly outside the single door separating my office from Rafael Pérez’s.
My pulse stumbled.
For some reason, I knew.
I knew exactly who had arrived.
I straightened my posture again, shoulders squared with the practiced poise.
My chair rolled back softly as I stood, smoothing my blouse in a single fluid motion.
I turned toward the source of the footsteps.
“Good morning, Mr. Pérez,” I said clearly.
He stopped.
I felt his reaction through the subtle shift in the air pressure around him.
He hadn’t expected me to identify him so quickly.
My chin remained slightly lifted and composed.
“Good morning, Loretta. I wasn’t informed we’d be receiving another guest today. Is this your daughter?”
Something in the way he said it made the air tighten further.
I swallowed once, steadying myself.
“Yes, sir. I realize this isn’t a conventional start to my first day. I apologize for bringing her here. She’s unwell, and I had no one I trusted to care for her. If there’s a consequence for that decision, I’ll accept it.”
A heavy silence descended.
It lasted only a few seconds, yet it felt long enough for the air itself to turn brittle.
Then I felt the atmosphere in the room darkened so abruptly that every instinct in my body went on alert.
When Rafael spoke again, his voice was stripped of all warmth.
“Loretta.”
My name sounded less like a greeting and more like a warning.
“Perhaps you’d like to explain how my missing daughter came to be in your possession.”
For a moment, I forgot how to breathe.
The words washed over me without meaning at first.
Then the implication hit me.
The missing child Ramiro was searching for...
Could it be Rafael’s lost daughter?
My pulse stumbled.
No. It couldn’t be.
My grip on the edge of the desk tightened instinctively, knuckles whitening beneath my skin.
“I don’t understand,” I said weakly. “Zara has been living with me for weeks.”
“Weeks.”
The word exploded from him.
My heart lurched.
“Weeks?” he repeated. “My daughter was with you for weeks?”