From the other side, she heard a soft whimper, then Bia’s quiet cry, thin and breaking. The executives were getting closer. Amanda was trapped between the fear of being discovered and the terror of her daughter feeling abandoned.
Who could she ask for help without being reported?
At that moment, the pantry door opened. An older woman appeared carrying a tray of coffee—Dona Cida. Kind eyes. Steady hands. The look of someone who’d seen too much life to scare easily.
“Amanda… what’s wrong, child? You’re pale.”
With her throat burning with shame, Amanda made the riskiest decision of her life.
She told her everything. The rent. The notice. The sick neighbor. The hidden baby. The locked door. Dona Cida pressed a hand to her chest.
“Dear Lord… a baby locked in there?”
“I know I did wrong… but I had no choice,” Amanda said, on the verge of tears.
Dona Cida didn’t judge her. She pulled out a keyring.
“I have a master key. Come.”
They ran. The door opened. Bia sat among the blankets, face red, tears rolling down her chubby cheeks, crying quietly, as if even crying needed permission. Amanda scooped her up, holding her tight, kissing her again and again.
“I’m here, my love. I’m sorry… I’m sorry…”
Dona Cida watched with wet eyes. She had been a single mother once. She knew that kind of fear.
“Listen to me, Amanda. I’ll help you. But you have to trust me. The baby stays with me here in the pantry while you work. There’s a meeting next door, yes—but I’ll distract her. You clean the private bathroom in the meeting room. It’s quick. If she cries, you’ll hear her.”
Amanda swallowed hard. There was no other way.
Meanwhile, in the boardroom, Arthur Albuquerque entered like a silent storm. Impeccable black suit. Dark eyes. Six middle-aged directors sweated despite the air conditioning.
“Good evening,” he said, without warmth.
It wasn’t a greeting. It was protocol.
“Someone is going to explain how two million dollars disappeared from our account,” he said calmly—terrifyingly so.
The CFO cleared his throat.
“We’re investigating. There were unauthorized transfers to a ghost account. We suspect—”
“I didn’t ask for suspicions. I asked for explanations,” Arthur cut in. “Where’s my brother Roberto? He should be here.”
Silence fell. Arthur already knew.
“The transfers started after Roberto took over the department,” the CFO admitted, trembling.
Arthur closed his eyes for a second. Roberto. Always Roberto. And beneath the anger, an old grief—the one he’d carried for five years since leukemia took his four-year-old daughter, Clarinha. Since then, Arthur existed, but didn’t live.
“Call him. Now.”
Roberto arrived with a fake smile, messy hair, smelling of whiskey. He dropped into a chair like the world owed him something.
“What’s this surprise meeting? You could’ve warned me, brother.”
Arthur looked at him like a stain.
“Sit up straight. And tell me where the two million went.”
Roberto shrugged.
“No idea. System error. Someone hacked my password. It happens.”
Arthur stood slowly, hands on the table.
“Do you think I’m an idiot?”
“Relax. It’s just money. We have plenty. Why the drama?”
Arthur was about to answer when he heard a faint sound—a whimper. He paused.
“Did you hear that?”
Before anyone could respond, the service door opened quietly…
and something small entered the world of powerful men.
Bia.
She had crawled out of the pantry, following light. To her, the massive wooden table looked like a familiar tunnel. At home, she crawled under the coffee table. She knew nothing of millions, fraud, or betrayal. Only noise, fear, and the need for safety.
At first she was invisible. A whisper beneath the table.
Then a small movement near a chair.
No one noticed—
until Roberto stepped back nervously and almost stepped on her.
He looked down, his face twisting in disgust.
“What the hell…? Where did that come from?”
That.
Hearing his harsh tone, Bia shrank back. She recognized men like him—loud voices, sudden movements, danger in the air. Roberto flicked his foot like shooing an animal.
“Out. Go away. Get out!”
Bia’s lip trembled. Then the cry burst out—loud, desperate, as if the whole night had collapsed into her chest.
The directors stood in confusion. Arthur turned—
And at that exact moment, Amanda burst through the service door like a mother running through fire.
She didn’t see power or suits or money. She saw her daughter on the floor… and a man treating her like trash.
Something broke inside her.
“Don’t touch her!” she screamed, lifting Bia in one motion.
The baby clung to her neck as if the world were ending. Amanda rocked her, kissing her head.
“I’m here, my love. No one will hurt you.”
Roberto finally recognized her.
“You… the scammer,” he spat. “How much do you want this time?”
Amanda looked at him, eyes burning, no tears yet.
“I don’t want anything from you. I never did. I just wanted you to take responsibility for your daughter.”
“That thing isn’t mine,” Roberto growled. “You set it all up to trap me.”
Shame turned into dignity.
“You promised you’d be there. Then you disappeared. Blocked me. Threatened me. When I sent you her photo, you blocked me again. When I asked for a DNA test, you said I was crazy.”
The words fell heavy. No one knew where to look.
Arthur watched Bia. The curls. The eyes. The shape of her nose. Something felt painfully familiar.
“How old is she?” he asked, his voice unexpectedly gentle.
“A year and a half,” Amanda said.
Arthur calculated quickly. His gaze hardened. He looked at Roberto, then at the baby’s neck.
“What’s her name?”
“Beatriz… but I call her Bia.”
Arthur stepped closer. Bia, still crying, went quiet. As if something about him didn’t signal danger. Arthur looked closely—and saw it.
At the base of her neck: a V-shaped birthmark.
The world stopped.
Arthur had the same one. So did his father. His grandfather. A rare family mark.
His hands trembled.
“Roberto,” he said softly—deadly soft. “Come here. Look.”
Roberto did—and went pale.
“No…”
See more on the next page
Advertisement
