“I think I’ve lost my mind,” she confessed softly. “I know this began as a contract. But I don’t come here for legal reasons anymore. I’m here because I… love you. If you ever wake up, I want you to know that.”
She kissed his forehead gently.
And then — a pressure.
Her fingers tightened instinctively.
Daniel’s hand moved.
Slowly, painfully, like someone rising from deep water, his eyes opened.
The chaos that followed blurred into doctors and alarms. But for Lucía, the world narrowed to his honey-colored gaze meeting hers.
Later, alone, he whispered hoarsely, “I know who you are.”
“You do?” she breathed.
“I heard you,” he said faintly. “Your voice was the only thing that reached me. You read me my own dreams. You told me about the pastry shop. You said you loved me.”
Her cheeks burned.
“I wanted to wake up for you,” he added.
Recovery was slow and grueling, but Lucía never left his side. She helped him walk again. Helped him relearn ordinary movements. Their forced marriage slowly transformed into partnership. The mansion, once echoing and cold, warmed with laughter.
Then Clara returned.
Elegant. Polished. Carrying a designer suitcase and a history Lucía could never compete with.
Daniel’s former fiancée. The woman who had left him years before to chase a career abroad.
“Oh, this arrangement,” Clara said sweetly when introduced. “How tragic for you, dear.”
From that day on, Clara lingered like perfume that refused to fade. She reminisced about trips. About plans. About the man Daniel had once been.
Lucía shrank inside herself.
