Three years ago...
Narrator
When Elizabeth got home, Natasha and Bianca were already asleep. She held the bracelet loosely in her hand, still unworn. Quietly, she set it down on her dresser and stared at it for a long time.
What had she been thinking when she accepted it from him?
There was something unsettling about being around a man like him—let alone accepting a gift.
This man... this world...
It wasn't hers.
And yet, for the first time in what felt like forever, she didn't feel like she was just drifting through life.
She sat at the edge of her bed and whispered a quiet prayer—not for safety this time, but for clarity.
---
Elsewhere, Sebastian lounged on his sofa, eyes fixed on nothing in particular. His collar was unbuttoned, a glass of deep crimson wine in his hand—untouched.
The room was silent again.
But it wasn't cold. Not anymore.
He leaned back, closed his eyes, and exhaled slowly.
For the first time in a long while, he didn't feel alone.
---
The next morning, Elizabeth woke early as usual to take care of her chores. It was Bianca's week to help with cooking, but with her broken leg, Elizabeth had stepped in.
She disliked cooking every day. Instead, she preferred to dedicate one day to preparing a variety of meals and storing them in the fridge for the week.
Anyone who needed food could just grab a container and heat it up.
With her boss Sharon away on a business trip, Elizabeth used the chance to stock up on groceries.
By the time Natasha and Bianca walked into the kitchen for breakfast, the counter was overflowing with food—over a dozen dishes.
Their eyes widened.
Feijoada. Pão de Queijo. Coxinha. Pastel. Moqueca. Acarajé. Farofa.
Snacks like Bolinho de Bacalhau, Kibe, Esfiha, and Brigadeiro.
Desserts including Pudim, Romeu e Julieta, Quindim, and Beijinho.
They looked between the dishes, speechless.
"Damn, you cook like a pro," Natasha said, sliding onto a stool.
"Tell me you didn't wake up before six just to make all this yum-yum," Bianca added, eyeing the Farofa and Pastel like she had to choose between two soulmates.
"I think I'll just take both," she decided.
Natasha gave her a look.
"What? One's for breakfast, the other's for lunch at work," Bianca defended.
Natasha chose Acarajé—black-eyed pea fritters filled with spicy shrimp paste. "God, that's why I love you," she said between bites. "You know how much I love spicy food."
Elizabeth was at the sink, rinsing utensils. "Cooking every day is exhausting. I figured I'd get it all done at once."
Bianca nodded as she served herself a plate—farofa with feijão, fried eggs, meat, and crispy bacon. "Smart. Kill seven birds with one stone."
"She's a thinker," Natasha said, mouth full.
"Lizzy," Bianca asked, "don't you usually drive your boss to work?"
"She's out of the country," Elizabeth replied, placing clean dishes on the rack.
"That girl's a bitch," Natasha muttered, rolling her eyes. "Still, sometimes I envy her. Glamorous life, zero struggle."
"It's her destiny, Tasha," Elizabeth chuckled.
Bianca pouted. "Sometimes I wonder where I was when God was handing out the good lives."
Elizabeth dried her hands, turned to her dramatic friends, and crossed her arms. "Don't waste time envying others. Pray. Ask God to bless you so you can bless others."
"But your boss is kinda stingy," Natasha said, turning to Bianca. "Right?"
Bianca nodded, backing her up.
Elizabeth shook her head. "Maybe to some people. But not everyone. She inherited a charity from her father, and she genuinely cares about it."
"She inherited it. Doesn't mean she earned it," Bianca pointed out.
Elizabeth shrugged. "You haven't met her. Don't be so quick to judge."
Her friends mumbled something under their breath.
Then Natasha's brows lifted. "Hey, I saw a silver bracelet on the dresser. Looked very expensive. Definitely not Bianca's."
Elizabeth paused. The bracelet.
She still hadn't decided what to do with it.
Bianca squinted at her. "Is there something we should know?"
Snapped back to the present, Elizabeth cleared her throat. "Huh? Oh—no, nothing. It's just a gift from Sharon. A thank-you."
She lied.
Bianca and Natasha exchanged glances but said nothing. They decided to focus on breakfast instead of probing.
---
Sebastian woke up feeling uncharacteristically lazy. He declared it a free day for himself.
Wearing nothing but white shorts, his dark hair tousled, he wandered into the kitchen for a glass of cold water—it was already sweltering, probably 32 degrees Celsius.
Opening the fridge, he paused, confused. It was full—overflowing—with carefully packed, freshly made dishes.
He wasn't expecting that.
Frowning, he called for his chef, a middle-aged man who arrived quickly.
"Did you stock the fridge without telling me?"
The man shook his head, startled. "No, sir. Miss Elizabeth did. Yesterday. She bought enough groceries to feed a small city."
Sebastian dismissed him with a wave, puzzled.
He hadn't asked for that. Why would she go to so much trouble?
He went back upstairs to get his phone, intending to call her.
But something stopped him.
A feeling.
Pride?
He sat at the edge of his bed, thoughts swirling, when his phone buzzed—a flash call from one of his past flings.
He dialed her back and unleashed a tirade. "Don't call this number again," he snapped. "Next time, you'll be cooked."
He hung up and blocked the number.
Tossing the phone aside, he walked into the bathroom without another word.