In the car, the old man sat next to Cleia, watching her silence and distant expression.
"You will always have my support and protection. You saved my life, it's the least I can do for you," he said, gently touching the young woman's hand.
"But I don't want to get married," she replied, looking out the window: "I never dreamed of this. And much less like this. A thank you would have been enough, fill my belly today and that's it."
The old man took a deep breath.
"Think about the good things you will have: Hot food, a bed of your own, protection. You won't sleep on the street anymore, or face dangers. This decision may seem unfair now, but perhaps it is the beginning of something bigger."
Cleia fell silent.
His words were heavy... and sensible.
And at that moment, she no longer had the strength to fight against everything.
She just lowered her eyes and continued in silence.
...>>>>...
The doors of the registry office opened with a discreet creak, but what caught the most attention at that moment was not the sound, but the young woman who entered escorted by the powerful Castelier family.
Cleia walked with firm steps, but her old and tattered clothes denounced a crude and harsh reality. Her hair, tied up any old way with an old elastic band, still exuded dignity, despite a strong and bittersweet aroma that escaped from her body — the smell of accumulated sweat, of the street and abandonment.
The couples present at the scene, lined up for their own unions or civil proceedings, wrinkled their noses in a mixture of shock and revulsion. A couple further ahead even murmured something, but immediately fell silent when they noticed who was accompanying her: Nathaniel Castelier, the magnate of European and national industry.
The weight of the surname stifled any bold comment. Looks were quickly averted, as if the presence of that young woman was a social stain that no one dared to face head-on.
Jonas walked beside his grandfather, with a tense jaw and a somber face. He wore a perfectly aligned dark gray suit, but his posture was that of a man at war with his own honor.
He leaned discreetly towards his grandfather and, with his teeth clenched, whispered:
"Grandpa... is this really necessary? I have so many women at my feet... Why subject myself to this? Do you want to punish me?" He cast a look full of contempt at Cleia, as if she were trash that someone had dropped on the floor.
Cleia, even hearing, did not look away. She stood, firm, looking forward, ignoring each provocation as if it were wind hitting stone.
Nathaniel stopped walking. He leaned slightly on his cane and said in a clear and firm voice:
"Well-educated women, but without personality, are like puppets. And that girl you supposedly like is one of them, beautiful on the outside, hollow on the inside. To enter the Castelier family, it takes more than appearance. It takes strength, it takes soul, courage and determination. And only one person here has all that." He pointed his chin discreetly at Cleia, with a smile.
"So carry out this marriage, Jonas. And shut up."
Jonas huffed something inaudible and muffled, and advanced to the clerk's counter.
In a hurried and impatient gesture, he grabbed Cleia's arm to pull her, but in the next instant seemed to remember who he was touching. A wave of revulsion ran through his body and he released her abruptly, causing her to sway slightly.
He reached into his jacket pocket, took out a small bottle of hand sanitizer and rubbed his hands with exaggerated vigor, as if he had touched something infectious.
Cleia watched the scene with irony, and let out a muffled and mocking laugh.
"I thought your fingers were made of gold. But apparently, they are made of glass."
The clerk hid a nervous laugh and looked away.
Jonas gave her a murderous look.
On the other side of the room, Margareth kept her arms crossed and her thin lips pressed together, as if trying to contain a scream of anger. The elegance of her attire contrasted with the silent despair of her expression.
"Dad, if people find out about this... we'll be ridiculed. Our family name will become a joke," she said through clenched teeth: "Why not just give this stinky beggar money and end this charade?"
The old man turned slowly to her. The sound of the cane hitting hard against the marble floor echoed in the registry office like a muffled thunder. The murmurs silenced immediately.
"Because I like her," he replied in a tone that ended any discussion: "She is the right choice."
Margareth's eyes widened, but she laughed softly, bitterly, muttering to herself:
"Enjoy your leech girl, dad... Your life will become hell," she thought, biting the inside of her cheek.
On the other side of the counter, Cleia extended her hands, still a little dirty, to pick up the document made of firm paper and with a red stamp: the marriage certificate.
"Congratulations to the newlyweds," said the clerk in a formal voice.
Cleia looked at her name next to Jonas Castelier's. The paper seemed heavier than it should. She held it carefully, as if she didn't believe it was real.
Jonas turned his face, his jaw locked.
Nathaniel touched the young woman's shoulder lightly. His gaze had a soft, almost paternal glow.
"Now you won't be alone anymore. You have my name, my house... and my protection."
Cleia took a deep breath. She didn't smile. But her eyes, for the first time in years, didn't just carry tiredness.
They carried uncertainty... and a small and dangerous spark of hope.
The silence of the registry office was broken by the firm and proud voice of Nathaniel Castelier.
"Congratulations to the couple!" he declared, raising his cane slightly as if he were raising a glass in a toast.
Cleia looked at the floor, ashamed by the still judgmental looks around her. Jonas maintained an expression of carefully rehearsed indifference, trying to pretend that this forced marriage was not a blow to his pride.
Nathaniel then approached his grandson, his face aged but hard as stone.
"Jonas," he began, his voice low but cutting like a sharp blade: "as long as you are married to her, I will keep my promise: you will be my sole beneficiary in the will. All the Castelier Fortune, the empire, the shares, the assets... everything will be yours."
Jonas gave a slight smile, but before he could express any satisfaction, the old man paused long enough to make time seem to stop.
Then, looking directly into his eyes, he said:
"But if, at any point, she is being mistreated, humiliated or put aside by you or someone in our family... then I will donate everything. Every penny, every property, every jewel in the Castelier vault... to her."
The impact was immediate.
Jonas' face turned to stone.
The color disappeared from Margareth's face, who brought her hand to her mouth as if she had been hit with an invisible slap.
Cleia swallowed hard, the blood fleeing from her face. She was still, almost trembling. The marriage certificate trembled slightly in her hand.
"Mr. Nathan..." she murmured, in a low voice, not knowing whether to thank or protest.
Nathaniel raised an eyebrow, and his firm gaze fell upon her.
"She is my granddaughter now. So tell me, Cleia... what right do you have to call me by my name?"
Her eyes widened.
So did the others in the registry office. Margareth took a step forward, gaping, but nothing came out of her lips.
Cleia was still pale when, in an almost childish whisper, she said:
"G-grandpa..."
A smile lit up the old man's wrinkled face, a genuine, warm and paternal smile.
He put his hand on her shoulder and pulled her into a brief hug. As he allowed himself the touch, he murmured close to her ear:
"I s-stink..."
Her clothes were worn, dusty, with the smell of the street ingrained in the fabric, but he didn't seem to care. On the contrary, he squeezed her tightly.
But he replied, almost as a secret shared only between the two:
"I never cared about that. By the way, don't let him intimidate you, or anyone in the family. My grandson is tough, but he has a soft heart. He just doesn't know he has it."
Cleia smiled. A small, restrained smile that didn't reach her eyes.
She didn't yet trust that new world, but that old man gave her a security she had never had.
And that, for now, was enough.
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