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Elena Rivera is a successful art restorer who has left a turbulent past behind. Six years ago, she fled a relationship that deeply affected her, never imagining that the man she once loved would become one of the country's most influential magnates. When she receives a mysterious commission to restore a private work in a renovated palace on the outskirts of Madrid, she discovers that the owner is none other than Alejandro, the same man she abandoned without explanation. Alejandro hasn't forgiven her, but he hasn't been able to forget her either. Can the unspoken truths, the buried secrets, and the still-open wounds find redemption? Or will pride and pain be stronger than the love they once shared?
Chapter 1 The door I never closed
Elena stopped in front of the mansion.
The iron gate creaked as it closed behind her, and silence enveloped her like a warning. The wind stirred the tops of the tall trees, and the gray sky began to darken, as if time were turning back with every step she took.
Everything was the same. The same immaculate garden. The same modern facade. The same damned buzzing in her chest every time she breathed near it.
She hadn't thought going back there would be like this. Not so real. Not so soon. Not so... violent to the heart.
A message, unsigned, had brought her back.
"Urgent restoration. Down payment: 15,000. Absolute discretion. Address attached."
I'm taking the job for money.
So she told herself.
But the knot in her stomach said otherwise.
The front door opened with a barely audible click. Inside, the white marble reflected the faint evening light that streamed in through the large windows. A familiar scent floated in the air: wood, expensive incense, something masculine that lingered on her skin.
"Come in," a voice said.
Deep. Unmistakable.
Elena stopped.
It couldn't be him.
Not with that calmness, not with that certainty. After all?
"You have my attention, but not for long," he said from the living room.
Then she forced herself to move forward. Her heart pounded as if to warn her she was making a mistake.
Six years earlier.
"Why are you running away from me?" Alejandro asked, leaning against her doorframe.
"I'm not running away," Elena lied, her hair still damp from the rain.
"Yes, you are. You do it every time I get too close."
She didn't respond. He took her by the waist, and for a second, the world shrank at his touch.
"Tell me you don't feel anything," she whispered.
But she couldn't.
She never could.
Alejandro was still the same.
Or almost. His dark suit made him look more adult, colder. But those eyes... they still had the same intensity as the first time he saw her naked under the lights of his studio.
"Years have passed," Elena said, not looking directly at her.
"And yet, you still know how to fill a room," he replied.
She bit her tongue. She wasn't going to fall for that game. Not again.
"Where is the painting? I came to work, not to talk about the past."
He led her down the hallway without another word. His steps were firm. Controlled.
He led her to a large room with walls covered in bookshelves and a soft light falling from the ceiling. In the center, covered by a white cloth, was the oil painting.
"It's a portrait," Alejandro said, without emotion. "Of my mother."
Elena carefully lifted the cloth. The large canvas depicted a woman with a serene expression, dull green eyes, and a melancholy expression that seemed to speak.
The paint was cracked, with areas darkened by moisture. But the overall structure was intact. Restorable.
"It's deteriorated," Elena murmured. "But not irreparable. I'll need at least a month. And the freedom to work alone."
Alejandro nodded.
"You can use the studio in the east wing. It has good light."
"I'd prefer to stay in a hotel."
He looked at her for the first time, directly. That look that had once disarmed her just by crossing the street.
"I haven't forgotten what happened, Elena."
"Nor have I," he replied without thinking.
A heavy silence fell.
"Then stay," he said. "Face it, if you can."
She gritted her teeth. She could leave. She could say no. But something inside, something she couldn't quite bury, forced her to nod.
"Just for work."
"Sure," he said with a half smile. "Just work."
The guest room was more luxurious than any hotel she'd ever stayed in.
Soft sheets. Large windows. A marble bathtub. But all that mattered to her was the small notebook she kept in her bag.
She opened it with trembling hands. Inside, among drawings and technical notes, was that letter.
She'd written it after she'd left.
"I left without saying goodbye because I was afraid. Because if I told you the truth, I'd stay. And if I stayed, you'd destroy yourself trying to protect me."
"I loved you so much that I learned to lose you."
She closed it. She wasn't going to cry. Not this time.
Three years ago.
"He shouldn't know," her father had told her, in that clinic where the walls smelled of lies and disinfectant.
"And if he finds out?" she asked.
"He won't if you push him away."
And she did. By force. With words calculated to hurt. She broke his heart to save it.
The next day, the restoration began.
She spent hours in front of the portrait, peeling away layers of grime with a scalpel and mild solvents. And even though her hands were full, she couldn't stop thinking about Alejandro.
He appeared sometimes. With a coffee. With some excuse.
"You move the same," he told her one day. "Focused. As if nothing else existed."
"Some things don't change."
"And others do?"
Elena didn't respond.
He left the coffee on the table and left. But that night, she dreamed of his voice whispering behind her.
One afternoon, Alejandro entered unannounced. Elena, crouching in front of the canvas, barely noticed him until he spoke.
"Do you remember the night of the fire?"
She looked at him sharply.
"Why are you bringing that up now?"
"Because I thought you were going to die. Because you screamed my name before you fainted. Because we never spoke about it afterward."
Elena lowered her gaze.
"Your father asked me to leave."
"And you listened to him?"
"He knew something you didn't."
He moved closer. Too close. She could feel his breath on her cheek.
"Tell me now."
Elena trembled. Inside and out.
"I was threatened. Not by you. By what I knew. By what you meant."
"And you thought it was best to leave me believing you'd used me?"
She swallowed.
"I thought it was the only way for you to live."
And then he kissed her.
It wasn't gentle. It was an explosion bottled up for years. It was rage and desire. Guilt and need.
She didn't stop him.
His hands caught her waist, like before. Like always. And for a few seconds, the world blurred.
But then, they broke apart. Panting. Confused.
"This doesn't change anything," she murmured.
"What if it changes everything?" he whispered.
That night, Elena didn't sleep.
The restoration continued. The past returned. And in the mirror, she was no longer the same girl who ran away.
Maybe she had come for the money.
But she was staying for something that still hurt.
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