When we landed, Valentina and Clara got into one car. I got into another.
She was using the trip as an excuse to visit her parents. I, on the other hand, had business to take care of.
Valentina might have bristled at my insistence that she behave like a Ferrara wife, but she was already enjoying the privileges of carrying my last name.
After all, that was what she had always wanted.
I ordered my driver to wait until their car disappeared completely before pulling away. An odd restlessness settled in my chest, uncomfortable and hard to explain.
I shook my head, irritated with myself.
São Paulo traffic was relentless, as always. It took nearly an hour to reach the towering building on Faria Lima. The reception was swift and efficient, and soon I was seated across from Marina Oliveira, watching her serious expression as she organized several documents on the desk between us.
“Mr. Ferrara, thank you for coming on such short notice,” she said. “We’ve uncovered something that I believe will be of great interest to you. It concerns Valentina Muniz—” Shepaused briefly. “—Valentina Ferrara. Congratulations on your marriage.”
I frowned, my attention sharpening instantly.
“Thank you. But if you could get straight to the point, I’d appreciate it.”
I made an impatient gesture for her to continue. A tight, unpleasant sensation was forming low in my chest.
Marina took a slow breath, clearly choosing her words with care.
“I’m not sure how familiar you are with the scope of documents our firm has archived for your family. It’s possible that what I’m about to say won’t come as a surprise. Still, I prefer to err on the side of caution.”
My patience thinned by the second.
“You handle contracts. Wills,” I said with a shrug. “Any legal records that require assistance.”
“Yes. But not only that,” she replied calmly. “We also archive every investigation commissioned by your family—personal or corporate. Confidential agreements. Prenuptial contracts. Non-disclosure clauses. Even… unusual requests.”
“Ms. Oliveira,” I interrupted sharply, “I believe I asked you to be concise.”
She nodded. “I apologize. I’m only trying to prepare you for what I’m about to tell you. It may not be easy to hear.”
I leaned back in the chair, crossing my arms.
“Try me.”
She met my gaze steadily.
“I found evidence indicating that the scandal that dominated the media years ago was nothing more than a carefully orchestrated manipulation. I’m referring to your first wedding to your current wife. The one that never happened. The reasons reported in the press after the incident were false.”
She paused.
“And I believe the person responsible was Eloá Ferrara.”
The silence that followed was absolute.
Oppressive.
My heart slowed until it felt as if it might stop entirely. I stared at the documents in front of me, unable to process what she had just said.
My body reacted before my mind could catch up.
A cold tingling spread from my fingertips up my arms and into my chest. My throat constricted painfully, the air refusing to fill my lungs. Dizziness washed over me, and I had to grip the arms of the chair to keep myself grounded.
“That’s not possible,” I murmured, my voice barely audible, rough and unsteady. “Do you realize what you’re suggesting?”
