“Dad, why is she looking for food in the trash?” the little girl asked the SEO. What he did left her speechless. “Dad, why is that woman looking in the trash?” Renata felt the ground open up beneath her feet. Her hands froze on the wet cardboard she had just pulled from the green bin. The little girl’s voice cut through the cold air like a sentence. “Don’t turn around, don’t look at them.”
She kept searching. But her fingers trembled so much that the cardboard slipped from her grasp. The sound against the pavement echoed like an accusation. “Luciana, don’t signal,” a male voice murmured. Renata closed her eyes. She wanted to disappear, to sink into the trash she was rummaging through, to become nothing, to cease to exist under those stares that burned her back.
Three weeks ago she was buying coffee at Starbucks. Two months ago she was presenting projects in boardrooms. Six months ago she had an apartment, a career, a future. Now she was scavenging for aluminum cans to sell for spare change. “Are you cold, Dad? You’re shivering.” The little girl again. Her innocence was a knife. Renata forced herself to continue. She put her hands in the bin, feeling disgust rise in her throat.
A plastic bottle, two cans, a piece of copper that might be worth something. Footsteps drew nearer. No, please, no. Excuse me. The man’s voice was soft, but firm. Renata kept her head down, her dirty blond hair falling over her face like a curtain. The white dress, once her favorite, now hung in tatters, her stockings ripped, her bare feet in shoes that no longer fit. “I don’t need anything,” Renata said.
Her voice cracked. “Leave me alone. We just wanted to say I don’t need your pity,” she turned to face them. The man took a step back in surprise. Renata saw his impeccable suit, the cashmere coat, the shoes that probably cost more than everything she owned now. The little girl beside him, bundled up in beige down, a red and white hat, red gloves, her cheeks flushed from the cold.
The little girl looked at her without fear, only curiosity, and that hurt more than contempt ever could have. “I have hot chocolate,” the girl said, extending a steaming cup. “Want some?” Renata felt tears welling up. No, she wouldn’t cry in front of strangers. She hadn’t even lost that dignity. But she would cling to it with all her might. “Luciana.” The man placed a hand on his daughter’s shoulder. “But she’s cold, Daddy.”
Look, she’s shaking much more than I am. Renata lowered her gaze. Her hands were shaking uncontrollably. It wasn’t just the December cold; it was the hunger, the exhaustion, the three days sleeping on the street after the last shelter filled up. I can’t accept this, she whispered. Please, the girl said. My therapist says that helping others makes us feel better, and I need to feel better.
Something in those words broke Renata’s last defense. She took the glass with trembling hands. The heat burned her frozen fingers, but she didn’t let go. She brought it to her lips. The taste of the chocolate exploded in her mouth. Sweet, creamy, real. Tears fell. “How did you get here?” the man asked. His voice had changed.
It wasn’t charity anymore; it was something darker, genuine concern. Renata looked up, studied him—thirty-something, maybe forty, with striking features, intense eyes, the bearing of someone accustomed to power, yet he held her daughter tenderly. Protective. It’s not her problem. Perhaps not, but my daughter asked a question. It deserves an answer.
Renata laughed, a bitter sound that scraped her throat. “Do you want to know why I’m searching through the trash? Because three weeks ago I was living in an apartment. I had a job, I had a future. What happened? My boss stole my project, forged my signature on fraudulent documents, accused me of embezzlement, emptied my bank account with a fake court order. I was evicted.”
The man exchanged glances with his daughter. The girl squeezed his hand. “What was your profession?” “I’m an architect.” The word came out with fierce pride. Renata straightened her back. They could take everything from her, but not her identity. “Specializing in sustainable design, I won the National Green Innovation Award two years ago. I worked for four years at Pizarro & Associates.”
The project was mine, the sustainable housing complex in La Reina. Ernesto Pizarro inaugurated it last month as his own. The man tensed. I know that project. Everyone knows it. It’s brilliant because I designed it. Silence fell over them. Christmas lights twinkled on the nearby buildings. A couple walked by laughing, carrying bags of gifts.
The world kept turning, indifferent to Renata’s breakdown. “Do you have a place to sleep tonight?” the man asked. “It’s not his place. I have a guest apartment. It’s empty.” Renata stared at him, searching for an angle. There was always an angle. Men didn’t offer shelter without expecting something in return. “I don’t sell my body for a roof over my head.”
The man blinked, genuinely surprised. Then his expression hardened. “I’m not buying. I’m offering a safe night. Door locked from the inside, bathroom, bed. You can leave tomorrow if you want.” “Why?” He looked at his daughter. Luciana was watching Renata with huge, hopeful eyes. “Because my daughter asked a question she shouldn’t have to ask, because an award-winning architect shouldn’t be rummaging through the trash, because tomorrow is Christmas and nobody deserves to spend it on the street.”
Renata felt something stir in her chest, something that had died weeks ago. Hope. No, it was too soon for that, but perhaps it was the will to survive one more night. One night, the barely audible voice said. Just one night. The man extended his hand. Sebastián Olmedo.
Renata looked at that clean, strong hand, offering something that could be either a trap or salvation. She took it in her own dirty, trembling hand. Renata Salazar. Luciana smiled. A smile that lit up the dark street. Let’s go home, Renata. We have hot soup. As they walked, Renata glanced one last time at the green dumpster. Her life for the past few weeks, her hell.
She hadn’t known this walk would lead her to something far more dangerous than the street. It would lead her straight to the heart of a man who could either destroy her or save her. And she would have to decide which. The mansion appeared beyond the electronic gates like a fever dream. Renata stopped dead in her tracks. I can’t go in there.
Sebastian had already pressed the remote. The gates began to open. We’re here. There’s no point in staying outside. I literally live on the street. I’m going to make a mess. Luciana pulled on his hand with surprising strength for a 5-year-old. We have a watering can and soap. Dad buys the one that smells like flowers. The car drove through the gates.
Renata felt as if she were stepping into another universe. Perfectly manicured gardens shimmered under soft lighting. The house rose on three levels, modern and elegant, all glass and stone. A fountain danced in the center of the circular walkway. Two months ago, Renata had lived comfortably, but this was a whole new level of wealth. “What exactly do you do?” she asked. “Construction.”
I’m a CO of Pacífico Construction. Renata closed her eyes. Of course, the stolen project involved the three largest construction companies in Santiago. Pacífico was one of them. Do you know Ernesto Pizarro? We compete frequently. The car stopped. An elderly man opened Sebastián’s door, surprise crossing his face when he saw Renata.
Good evening, Mr. Sebastian. We didn’t know you were bringing guests. Please prepare the guest apartment. Clean towels, fresh linens. Renata got out of the car. Her bare feet touched the stone, warmed by the day’s sun. December in Santiago meant heat. Long evenings, summer stretching until 9 p.m.
Now, past 8, the air was just beginning to cool. The front door opened. A woman in her sixties, her gray hair neatly pulled back in a bun, was waiting for them. Her gaze swept over Renata from head to toe. The judgment in those eyes was instant and absolute. “Lorenza, this is Renata,” Sebastián said. “She’ll be staying in the guest apartment tonight, for now.”
Lorenza pressed her lips together into a thin line. “Can I speak with you for a moment, Don Sebastián?” Then, first show her where everything is. “Daddy, I’ll show her.” Luciana was already pulling Renata’s hand toward the stairs. “My room is upstairs too. We’re neighbors.” Renata let the girl lead the way, aware of the eyes fixed on her back.
The staircase was marble; her dirty feet left footprints. Here, Luciana pushed open a door at the end of the hallway. It’s the nicest one after Dad’s. The apartment was bigger than the place where Renata had lived before the disaster. Living room, small kitchen, bedroom with ensuite bathroom, all in shades of white and gray, minimalist, clean, too clean for her.
“I shouldn’t be here,” Renata whispered. “Why not? Why? Look at me.” Luciana studied her with a seriousness uncharacteristic of her age. “You look tired and sad, but my therapist says we all need help. Sometimes Dad helps me when I have nightmares. I can help you.” Something broke in Renata’s chest. She knelt down, getting down to the girl’s level.
You have nightmares about my mom. She left when I was a baby. Sometimes I dream that she comes back, but then she leaves again. Luciana’s eyes filled with tears, but they didn’t fall. She blinked hard, throwing her head back. “Dad says crying is okay, but I already cried a lot today in therapy.” Renata hugged her; she didn’t think, she just acted. The little girl clung to her with desperate force.
“Mothers who leave are foolish,” Renata murmured against her hair. “Because they left behind what was most precious. Do you have a mother?” She died when I was 17, and so did my father. Luciana pulled away, looking at her with wide eyes. “Are you all alone in the world?” Renata nodded, unable to speak. “Then you can stay with us,” Luciana decided. “My father and I are alone too.”
We can be alone together. It doesn’t work that way, little one. Why not? Because the world wasn’t a fairy tale. Because rich men didn’t rescue women from the street without expecting something in return. Because Renata had learned that trusting was the fastest way to be destroyed, but she couldn’t tell that to a five-year-old. We’ll see, she said. Instead, Lorenza appeared in the doorway holding immaculate white towels.
Mr. Sebastian says to use whatever you need. There are clothes in Luciana’s mother’s closet. She never took her things. Disapproval dripped from every word. Thank you, Renata took the towels. Luciana, it’s time for bed, but I want to stay with Renata now. The tone brooked no argument.
Luciana sighed dramatically, but obeyed. At the door, she turned. “Will you be here tomorrow?” Renata looked at Lorenza, then at the little girl. “Yes, I’ll be here tomorrow.” Luciana’s smile was worth every second of discomfort. When they left, Renata locked the door. She leaned against it, her legs trembling.
Only then did she allow herself to truly look at the space. A full-length mirror hung on the wall. She saw herself for the first time in weeks. The scream died in her throat. The woman in the reflection was a specter. Matted, dirty hair, tangled with leaves and trash. A gaunt face, cheekbones cutting into her skin.
The white dress she’d worn to her last project presentation two months ago hung in tatters. Stains of grime covered her arms. Her legs showed bruises and scratches—evidence of weeks surviving on the streets. “My God,” she whispered. “No, I don’t believe in God anymore. No god would allow this.” She forced herself to walk to the bathroom. She turned on the shower. Hot water gushed out immediately. Renata stared at her, mesmerized.
For three weeks she used public restrooms, cleaned herself in gas station sinks, endured disgusted stares, and then she went in fully clothed. The water hit her body and she cried. She cried for everything: for her parents, killed in that car accident 11 years ago; for working three jobs while finishing college; for trusting Ernesto Pizarro when he hired her at 23, fresh out of college, promising to mentor her.
She wept for four years of honest work, for the project she designed, pouring her heart and soul into every line, for the day Pizarro told her that signing the documents was standard procedure. She wept for discovering six weeks later that those documents authorized funds for nonexistent construction, for the police arriving at her apartment, for Pizarro looking at her with feigned pity as he accused her of embezzlement.
She cried for the legal process that emptied her bank account, for the eviction that took a whole month, watching her fall in slow motion, for the three weeks sleeping in shelters until they were full, for the nights on the street, the constant fear, the hunger that gnawed at her insides. She cried until the water ran clear, until there were no more tears left. She took off her ruined dress.
She looked at it for a moment, remembering the woman who had last used it. Bright, hopeful, naive. That woman was dead. She found soap on the shelf. It smelled like the band. She scrubbed her skin until it burned, until every inch was clean. She washed her hair three times. When she came out wrapped in soft towels, she felt human again.
The wardrobe contained elegant, expensive women’s clothing, all in the right size. Sebastian’s wife had to be his height. Renata chose the simplest outfit: cotton pants and a white T-shirt. A soft knock on the door startled her. “Yes, it’s me,” Sebastian’s voice said. “May I come in?” Renata opened it. He was holding a tray with steaming soup, bread, and fruit.
I thought you’d be hungry. Renata’s stomach growled in response. Sebastian smiled slightly. “I’ll let you eat in peace. I just need to establish some rules. Of course, you can stay two more weeks if you need to, but we’ll evaluate. You don’t owe anyone anything. The door is that red. You’re free to leave whenever you want.” “Why are you doing this?” Sebastian remained silent.
Her gaze drifted toward Luciana’s room at the end of the hall. My daughter asked something tonight that embarrassed me. Not for her, for me. For the world I’m building for her. You can’t save everyone. I’m not trying to save everyone, just someone who was destroyed by a system I know all too well. She left before Renata could answer.
She ate slowly, savoring each spoonful. The soup was homemade, rich, perfect. When she finished, she lay down on the softest bed she had touched in weeks. She thought she wouldn’t be able to sleep, that nightmares would come, but the darkness was merciful. For the first time in 21 days, Renata Salazar slept without fear. Luciana’s laughter filled the garden like forgotten music.
Renata held the pencil to the paper, showing her how to draw basic floor plans. A week had passed since Christmas Eve, seven days of discovering that normalcy could still exist. “And here’s my room?” Luciana asked.
pointing to a precise rectangle, with large windows to let in the sunlight and a secret closet. Renata smiled. Her first genuine smile in two months. Every good plan needs secret spaces. Sebastián watched them from the glass door of his office. Lorenza appeared beside him with coffee. “She’s getting attached,” the housekeeper said. Clear disapproval in her voice. “I know. She’s leaving in a week. She’s thought about how that will affect Luciana.”
Sebastián hadn’t thought of anything else. His daughter was laughing again. She was sleeping without nightmares. This morning, when Renata came down for breakfast, Luciana had shouted, “Good morning, Renata!” with pure joy. Five years raising his daughter alone. Five years of therapists explaining that Luciana needed emotional stability, predictable routines, and in seven days a stranger had achieved what he couldn’t in years. His phone vibrated.
A message from Álvaro Pinto, the private investigator he hired six days ago. “I have the report. You need to see it today. Cancel all my afternoon meetings,” he told Lorenza. “You have a meeting with the design team at 3. All of them.” Two hours later, Sebastián was reading the report for the third time. Each reading made him angrier.
Álvaro Pinto sat across from him, waiting. “Are you absolutely sure about this?” Sebastián asked. “I have documents, emails, testimonies from three former employees. Ernesto Pizarro is a systematic predator.” The report detailed a six-year operation. Pizarro identified young, talented architects without support networks.
He hired them, gained their trust, and expected them to develop innovative projects. Then he destroyed them. Forging signatures is his specialty, Álvaro continued. He gets people to sign administrative documents that actually authorize fraudulent funds. When the fraud is discovered, the architect is legally responsible. How many? As far as we can confirm, seven in six years.
Renata Salazar is the eighth. Why didn’t anyone report him? Some tried. Pizarro has excellent lawyers and friendly judges. The cases stall. The victims are left without the resources to fight. Eventually, they disappear, leave the city, change professions, give up. Sebastián finished the report. His hands trembled with rage.
The sustainable housing project in La Reina was hers. Every plan, every design, every innovation. I have the digital file with the timestamps. Renata Salazar created everything in 18 months. Pizarro simply erased her name and replaced it with his own, along with the criminal accusations. Interesting, isn’t it? The complaint was filed six weeks ago, but the prosecutor still hasn’t issued an arrest warrant.
Why not? Because the evidence is weak. Pizarro forged the documents well, but not perfectly. A competent forensic analyst would see the inconsistencies in the signatures. The problem is that Renata doesn’t have the money to hire a lawyer. Her bank account is frozen by court order while the investigation is underway. Pizarro filed a civil lawsuit claiming she owes him $300,000 in embezzled funds.
It’s a lie, but the judge ordered the precautionary freeze. It could take months to resolve. Sebastián stood up and walked to the window. Outside, Renata was helping Luciana plant flowers in the garden. Her daughter held an oversized shovel, intently focused. What more do I need to know? Pizarro already knows Renata is here. Sebastián turned sharply.
How so? He has connections everywhere. One of his lawyers saw Renata get into your car a week ago. Pizarro had her followed. He knows she’s living at your house and he’s furious. He thought he was done with her, that she’d disappear like the others. The fact that she’s under your protection makes him nervous. Good for him. Álvaro studied Sebastián carefully.
What are you going to do? I don’t know yet, but thank you for this. When Álvaro left, Sebastián put the report in his safe. He needed to think. He needed a plan. He needed to talk to Renata. He found her on the terrace after Luciana went for her afternoon nap. Renata was watering the newly planted flowers, deep in thought. “We need to talk,” Sebastián said. She tensed up and put down the watering can.
“My time is up, isn’t it? It’s been seven days. You promised two weeks, but that’s not it. Sit down.” Renata cautiously obeyed. Sebastián sat down across from her. The report between them. I hired an investigator to find out what really happened between you and Ernesto Pizarro. The color drained from Renata’s face. You had no right.
I have a five-year-old daughter under this roof. I had a right to know if you were telling the truth. And you found out I’m a criminal, a liar. I found out you’re the eighth victim, that Pizarro has been doing this for years, that destroying careers is his favorite pastime. Renata closed her eyes. A tear escaped, rolling slowly down her cheek.
I also discovered that every line of that project was yours, that you worked on it for 18 months, that the energy efficiency innovations were revolutionary, that Pizarro stole your masterpiece. I know, Renata whispered. I created it. Tell me everything. From the beginning, without omitting anything. Renata’s eyes widened. The vulnerability in them hit Sebastián like a punch.
Why? So you have the whole story when you fire me. I’m not going to fire you, but I need the truth. She took a deep breath, then began. My parents died when I was 17. Car accident. I was a senior in high school. I had no extended family, no one. Her voice was monotone, reciting facts. I worked three jobs while finishing high school. Waitress, babysitter, office cleaner.
I managed to get into university on a full scholarship, but scholarships don’t cover food or rent. I kept working. Three jobs over six years. I slept four hours a night, but I graduated with honors. I won the National Green Innovation Award for my thesis on sustainable architecture and Pizarro. He was on the jury. He offered me a job immediately. I was 23 years old.
He said he saw potential in me, that he would make me his protégé. Renata laughed bitterly. I was so naive, so stupidly grateful. I didn’t have a father. He was 60 years old. I thought he really cared about my career. He used me. The first three years were good. Real projects, genuine learning.
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