...HELEN...

Prologue 🍀

Life forces us to make choices that shatter us inside. And that night, as I packed my things in silence, I knew I was about to make the worst mistake of my life.

The rain drummed on the windows of the small apartment I shared with Daniel. I was folding my clothes, quickly placing them inside my suitcase.

My phone vibrated on the dresser. I already knew what it was. The doctor. Another hospitalization, another impossible bill to pay. My mother needed me, and I couldn't do anything.

That's when she appeared. His mother. That always cold, ruthless woman who didn't like me one bit. She wanted someone better for her son, someone rich and classy.

She offered me the salvation I needed so much—a check. An absurd amount of money. Enough money to pay for the clinic, the treatments, to give my mother dignity.

But the price was too high: I had to leave Daniel. Disappear from his life without explanations, without goodbyes. Let him believe I never loved him.

I accepted.

I accepted because I loved my mother. I accepted because I loved Daniel enough not to drag him further into the hole with me. I accepted because I saw no other way out.

I closed the suitcase with trembling hands, my heart pounding inside my chest as if it would explode any second.

That's when I heard the door open. My whole body froze.

Daniel came in, bringing a bouquet of flowers in his hand and a shy smile on his face. The sweet scent of the flowers filled the room. I couldn't move. I just watched him, as if I were outside my own body.

In the other hand, a black velvet box.

"Hel, love..." he said, approaching.

His smile was so sincere, so full of hope that my chest tightened with pain.

"I know we don't have much. I know it's hard. But I want to spend the rest of my life trying to make you happy."

Before I could react, he knelt in front of me, and my world collapsed.

Daniel opened the little box, revealing a simple ring, but so full of love that I felt my legs weaken.

"Will you marry me?" he asked, his voice choked with emotion. "Well, I don't have a better place, I don't have enough money to give you what you deserve. Not at the moment, but I promise I'm taking care of it, I swear I'll give you everything."

I closed my eyes for a second, trying to contain the cry that threatened to betray me. It was now. I had to be cruel, I had to hurt him. It was the only way to set him free.

I took a deep breath. I faked a confidence I didn't feel.

"I would never marry a poor guy like you, Daniel." The words came out sharp, cold, tearing me apart inside. "Look at you. You have nothing, you'll never have anything. I'm not going to sink my life by tying myself to a poor wretch who can't give me anything."

His smile died right there, before my eyes. Hope disappeared, like a candle being extinguished by the wind.

"Helen... don't do this," he whispered, his eyes filled with tears. "I'll make it, I'm doing everything, my love, to give you a better life, I..."

I laughed. An empty, bitter laugh that sounded horrible even to me.

"You're pathetic, Daniel. I deserve more, I'll make it, but without you.

He remained kneeling, motionless, as if still hoping it was a bad joke. But I couldn't hesitate.

I grabbed my suitcase and passed him without looking back. If I looked... I would never be able to leave.

When the door closed behind me, I felt like my heart had stayed in there, trapped forever. The tears came forcefully as soon as I went down the stairs. But I kept walking.

I saw, out of the corner of my eye, when he opened the door, went down the stairs, and came after me.

"HELEN!" he shouted. "Helen, please!"

My steps quickened.

I couldn't stop. If I looked at him now, everything would be lost.

"Helen, tell me what I did wrong! Tell me... I love you!" he insisted, his voice breaking in the middle of the cry.

Each of his words was like a blade tearing my skin. But I kept walking, fighting against the desperate urge to go back, to hug him, to tell him the whole truth. But I couldn't.

I took my cell phone out of my pocket and dialed a number I knew by heart.

"Leon, can you come pick me up? I'm in front of cafe 42, remember?" my voice came out low, muffled.

Leon was the only friend I still kept from my college days. He had always been a loyal presence in my life, even when everything else was falling apart. Today, he had a very respected semi-jewelry company in the city. A successful, kind man, and more importantly: someone I could trust.

Minutes later, Leon's car pulled up on the sidewalk. He jumped out quickly, opened the passenger door, and extended his hand to me.

Without saying a word, I just nodded in thanks and got into the car.

Leon's look was understanding, but also full of unasked questions.

When the door closed, I looked in the rearview mirror and saw Daniel standing in the middle of the street, lost, crying like a child, while his hands were on his chest.

The car started.

And I saw, for the last time that night, the man I loved being left behind, watching me leave without understanding the reason. And that's how I broke Daniel's heart... and mine too.

CHARACTERS

...𝐷 𝐴 𝑁 𝐼 𝐸 𝐿...

...𝐻 𝐸 𝐿 𝐸 𝑁...

Five years had passed since that night that changed everything in my life.

Five years since I discovered what it was like to be left behind, abandoned on the ground, without understanding why.

Sometimes, time seemed to speed up and slow down inside my head. Some memories came clear as photographs, others seemed distant, blurred, as if they belonged to another life. But what Helen did, that never faded. It was etched in me, like a tattoo I didn't choose.

But I learned. I learned that love doesn't fill the belly, doesn't pay bills, doesn't buy respect.

I learned that the world has no pity on those who kneel. And I learned that pain, however suffocating, can be used as fuel.

Today, sitting behind my polished mahogany desk, on the top floor of the Moreau's Jewels building, looking at the city through the glass wall, I knew: I won. I won with dignity and gave a better life to myself and my mother, Elizabeth.

My name was pronounced with respect in the business corridors, feared in business meetings, envied in magazine headlines.

From Daniel Azevedo, a man without a future, I became Daniel Moreau, the CEO who built an empire from humiliation.

I adopted the surname of my French grandfather, rescuing the noble blood that ran in my veins and that, for a long time, I denied out of shame.

Not anymore. Today, that name was stamped on million-dollar contracts, exclusive jewelry shows, and magazine covers.

From a poor and broken man, I became one of the most respected entrepreneurs in the luxury market, known in every corner where wealth dictates the rules. But deep down, the truth was harsh: everything I built, I built to prove she was wrong. That I wasn't a poor guy, that I was capable.

I leaned forward, resting my forearms on the mahogany desk that I had custom-made. Every corner of that room was a reminder of the path I had traveled. The glass walls offered a privileged view of New York, the city that never sleeps, but that kneels before those who know how to win.

On the table, a pile of resumes awaited my decision. Ten candidates for the position of jewelry designer. The project was special. The new collection that would mark the ten years of Moreau's Jewels needed pieces that carried not only beauty, but history and soul.

I picked up the first resume and started to flip through it.

Average experience. Correct works, but without brilliance. I set it aside indifferently.

The second, the third... More of the same.

I passed the fourth resume, without enthusiasm. Just another professional who did the basics to survive. The fifth, technical, cold, without soul.

I was starting to get annoyed. The time I had was too precious to be wasted on mediocrity. Then, the sixth resume fell into my hands. I was going to flip through it like the others, without any expectation, when I saw the name.

Helen Dupont.

For a moment, my hands froze in the air.

My chest leaped, an unexpected punch that took my breath away. I raised my eyes, facing the golden horizon of the city, trying to understand if it was just a cruel coincidence or another dirty trick of fate.

I looked back at the paper. And there it was. The photo attached in the corner of the sheet, discreet, almost timid.

But I would recognize that face anywhere in the world. Helen.

The same brown hair, now shorter, perhaps to look stronger. The same big eyes, which were once beacons in my dark days. The same mouth, which once promised eternal love, and then spat venom.

The resume trembled slightly in my hands, but I didn't allow emotion to take over.

Not anymore.

She was there. Applying to work at my company, with no idea who was on the other side.

My hands closed the resume firmly, as if I could crush the past with the strength of my fingers.

A bitter, cold smile curved my lips.

"Very well," I murmured to myself, feeling the blood pulsate strongly in my temples. "It seems that fate still knows how to play with me."

I picked up the phone, pressing the button that connected directly to my personal assistant, Clara.

"Mr. Moreau?" she answered immediately, always efficient.

"The candidate Helen Dupont. Hired," I ordered, with no room for questions. My voice came out firm, controlled, as if it didn't carry the weight of the years. "I want you to inform her that she was chosen by the board of directors for a special project. No interviews. I want her here tomorrow, at nine in the morning."

"Perfectly, sir."

I closed my eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. The taste of revenge was hot and bitter in my mouth.

But I wasn't finished yet.

"Also tell her that she must create three exclusive models of wedding rings. Unique, creative pieces. The most beautiful she can conceive. It's for my wedding, so I need it to be as beautiful as possible. Make sure you tell her that." I paused. "And the pieces must be presented personally at the general meeting with the board of directors," I added. "I want to see her presenting herself. Explaining every curve, every detail. Directly to me."

"Yes, sir," Clara replied, professional as always.

I hung up without waiting any longer.

I stood there, in silence, looking at the city, through the large glass window.

She thought she was over with me. That she could throw me away like a used piece of paper and move on. But now she would come back to me. Without even knowing it.

And when she was in front of me, presenting the rings that would represent the union of two souls—mine and another woman's—perhaps she would understand. Perhaps, finally, she would feel on her skin the bitter taste of loss.

The cell phone vibrated on the table, interrupting my thoughts.

A message.

Isadora: "I'm looking forward to dinner tonight, my love. I can't wait to see you. I went to your mother's house today, and I took a little tea, since she wasn't well."

I smiled at the device, but the smile didn't reach my eyes.

Isadora was beautiful, elegant, everything any man could want. And yet, a part of me remained stuck in a past that I swore I had left behind.

I put the cell phone in my suit pocket and got up, adjusting the dark suit on my body.

Tomorrow, Helen would take the first step into my world. A world that I built without her. And this time, it would be she who would feel the bitter taste of being left behind.

Five years.

One hundred and eighty-two Sundays staring at the same wall, trying to understand how life could change so much from one moment to the next.

When I left Daniel that night, my world collapsed along with his. He just didn't know that, while I left him standing in the middle of the road, I myself was crumbling inside.

Throughout all these years, the pain never completely left me. But I didn't have the luxury of allowing myself to falter.

My mother needed me. She still does.

The cancer, silent and cruel, gave no truce.

After the first surgery, came the endless treatments, the ups and downs, the moments of hope mixed with fear. The medical bills piled up like bricks building an insurmountable wall.

The money I received from Daniel's mother, although tainted with guilt, saved her life at that time. And I carried the weight of every penny alone.

I found myself forced to give up dreams, stability, even dignity at certain moments.

I worked as a salesperson, coffee shop attendant, department store assistant... all to pay for the clinic where my mother still fights with a strength that inspires me and breaks me in half every day.

But in the midst of this chaos, a part of me refused to die.

The love for drawing had always been with me, since I was little, when I scribbled school notebooks with rings, earrings and necklaces that I invented. It was my refuge. My secret hiding place when the world outside seemed too big.

Over time — in the few free hours I had between jobs — I started to study.

I took free online jewelry design courses, watched videos, read books borrowed from public libraries. I trained late into the night, falling asleep over unfinished sketches.

And so it was, in the midst of exhausting nights and days, that I became a jewelry designer.

Nothing renowned, nothing that would put me in the showcases of fame. But enough to be proud of each line traced, of each metal imagined, of each stone carved on paper.

When I felt I was ready, I carefully assembled my portfolio. I chose the best drawings, created simple presentations, but made with passion. And I started sending resumes. One by one. Company by company. City by city.

Most of the time, I didn't even receive a response. In others, a brief and polished "we appreciate your interest, but at the moment we have chosen another candidate".

Hope became small, fragile, like a flame threatened by the wind. But I kept trying. Because, if there was one thing I had learned in these years, it was that giving up would never be an option.

Until, one afternoon, while I was finishing feeding my mother in the clinic room, the phone rang. I picked up the device with one hand, balancing everything with difficulty.

"Hello?"

"Miss Dupont?" the voice was firm, professional.

"Yes, it's me."

"I'm calling from Moreau's Jewels. We inform you that your resume has been selected for a special project. Your presence is required at the main headquarters tomorrow at nine o'clock. More details will be provided by your email."

I was silent for a few seconds, trying to absorb those words. Moreau's Jewels. One of the largest jewelry companies in the world.

I almost dropped the phone.

I managed to stammer a "thank you very much" and hung up with a trembling hand.

I sat on the edge of my mother's bed, the phone still pressed against my chest.

"We did it, Mom," I whispered, my eyes tearing up. "We did it..."

She smiled weakly at me, with that tired but proud look that made me want to conquer the whole world.

...🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸...

Now, sitting at the small makeshift table in my apartment — a simple studio, with peeling walls and a constant smell of mold —, I was working on the three wedding ring models that the company requested by email.

Three. Three opportunities to show what I was capable of.

I spread my pencils, papers and samples around.

I looked at the blank sheet and tried to imagine the story of those who would wear those rings.

They said they were for the company's CEO.

An important wedding. An eternal symbol.

I wanted my pieces to carry more than beauty. I wanted them to have a soul.

I designed the first ring thinking about strength. Striking, bold lines, with geometric details engraved in white gold.

It was a ring that said: "We are strong together. We are unbreakable."

The second, more delicate, I designed for love. Rose gold, subtle details of small diamonds cut like raindrops around the piece.

I wanted it to whisper promises in silence. To represent the tenderness hidden under the harshness of life.

The third... The third I made for eternity.

A ring of pure platinum, simple and at the same time imposing. No stones, no exaggerated shine. Just the purity of the perfect, eternal metal.

While drawing the last lines, I felt something strange in my chest. As if, somehow, each of those rings also carried the story I never lived. The story I dreamed of one day. Of marrying Daniel, of building a life alongside him, of being happy without fear. But dreams, like jewels, require sacrifices to be carved. And mine fell apart before it even started.

I looked at the clock. It was past midnight. I closed my eyes for a moment, letting the silence of the room envelop me.

Tomorrow I would deliver those drawings.

Tomorrow, a new chance would open.

Tomorrow, who knows, life would start to change.

I didn't know who the CEO who would get married was.

I didn't know who I was designing for. But I knew that, this time, I wasn't going to fail.

I picked up the finished sketches, reviewed each stroke with attentive eyes. My heart was beating fast, mixing anxiety, fear and hope. I carefully stored everything in the black folder, put the material inside the backpack and got up.

I walked to the small framed photo of my mother smiling, still young and full of life, and kissed the image.

"For you, Mom. Always."

I turned off the light in the room, taking a deep breath before lying down.

The restaurant chosen by Isadora was one of the most sophisticated in Manhattan.

A private room on the top floor, with glass walls that allowed you to see the entire city illuminated like a carpet of stars. The background music was low, elegant, the type of soundtrack that didn't disturb, but made its presence felt.

Waiters in impeccable suits glided from table to table, serving expensive wines and dishes with names so refined that they even sounded ridiculous to those who knew what it was like to go hungry.

I sat down at the table punctually at eight, as agreed.

My tailored suit seemed to be a part of me now. The discreet gold watch on my wrist shone under the soft light of the hall. Everything about me screamed power and control.

I saw Isadora entering.

She was beautiful. She wore a long black dress that molded perfectly to her slender body. Hair tied in an elegant bun, subtle makeup that enhanced her natural beauty.

She walked towards me with the grace of someone who had always known they belonged in places like this.

I smiled, the trained smile that I knew how to give on these occasions, and stood up to kiss her cheek.

"You look stunning," I said, pulling out her chair.

"And you, as always, irresistible," Isadora replied, winking charmingly. "A perfect boyfriend."

We sat down. A waiter approached to take our orders, and soon we had two glasses of red wine in front of us.

Isadora was good company. She talked intelligently, knew the right subjects, asked the right questions. She talked about the new art gallery she was helping to inaugurate, about the trip she was planning to the south of France in the summer, about mutual friends from the social circle we were now part of.

I listened to her, participated in the conversation, but part of me always seemed distant.

It was strange.

She had everything any man could want. Beauty, education, ambition. She was the type of woman I needed by my side. The perfect partner for events, to build an impeccable image. But she didn't touch the part of me that, secretly, remained untouched.

I toasted with her when the wine arrived, and smiled at her funny stories, her sharp comments about the world of appearances.

Dinner arrived.

I ordered a thick, rare steak, the same as always. Isadora opted for handmade pasta with seafood.

The conversation continued to flow naturally.

She commented on our wedding.

"I've been thinking," she said, swirling the glass of wine between her thin fingers, "maybe for our wedding, we could do something more discreet. Nothing too flashy. Just something elegant, for close friends and family. What do you think? I spoke to your mother this morning, and she agreed, she said she supports us in everything, you know, she adores me."

The word "wedding" seemed to echo inside my head, like a distant bell.

I nodded calmly.

"Sounds perfect to me."

Lie.

Nothing seemed perfect.

Nothing seemed right.

But what else was there to do?

I was no longer a man to chase silly dreams. The real world demanded practical decisions. A wedding with Isadora would further consolidate my position. We would be the perfect couple in the eyes of society.

She smiled, satisfied with my answer, and stretched her hand across the table, touching mine. The touch was warm, soft. I accepted it.

During dinner, for a brief moment, I found myself thinking about Helen.

I wondered if she had already married that guy, that she had gone away. If he held her hand on nights like this, if she smiled at him the way she smiled at me, when we still believed that love could be enough.

I brush these thoughts away as if they were irritating mosquitoes.

Helen was the past.

Isadora was the present.

And the future? Well... the future would be built with conscious choices, not with impulses.

As I cut my steak, I heard Isadora commenting on the engagement ring.

"I've been thinking about the ring too," she said casually. "I know you have a whole network of wonderful designers at Moreau's. Maybe we should ask them to create something unique for us."

I smiled slightly.

"It's already taken care of."

And it was.

Helen was drawing the models at that very moment, without having the slightest idea who they were for. The irony of it was almost poetic. The same love that she despised... would now be celebrated in alliances created by her own hands. My stomach churned discreetly at the thought, but I kept my expression unchanged.

"Oh, my love, you are wonderful. You think of everything and solve it quickly," she said, with a calm smile.

"Always!"

Dessert was served.

Isadora chose a creme brûlee, I preferred just a strong coffee.

We talked a little more about travel, about business, about the reception we would plan. Every word, every smile, every gesture... all so impeccable that it seemed rehearsed.

When we finished, I paid the bill and then got up to pull out her chair. I accompanied her to the private elevator that would take us to the lobby.

On the way, she intertwined her arm with mine.

"I'm happy," she whispered. "Very happy. And I know we'll do great things together."

I looked at her.

So sure.

So sure of us.

I gave a light kiss on her forehead.

"Me too, Isadora," I lie.

And part of me wanted to believe it, really.

We got into the car that was waiting for us.

During the journey, Isadora rested her head on my shoulder and fell asleep softly.

I stared out the window.

The city lights passed quickly, like golden blurs. I thought about everything I had achieved. I thought about the man kneeling with a small box of alliances in his hands. I thought about the cold man I had become.

When we arrived, I helped Isadora out of the car, accompanied her to the door of her building, and said goodbye with a brief kiss on the cheek. We've been together for a year, and at no point have I had the courage to touch her intimately.

"I'll call you tomorrow," I promised.

She smiled, half asleep.

"I'll wait. Good night!" she went inside.

I stood for a moment, staring at the closed door.

Then I turned and got back into the car.

"Home, Mr. Moreau?" asked the driver.

"Home," I confirmed.

The car started, silently.

I leaned my head on the leather seat and closed my eyes.