Narrator
Grandfather Castle knew his granddaughter's artistic talent all too well. That potential painfully reminded him of his late wife, who had possessed the same sensitivity and passion for art. From a young age, she had dreamed of making a living from painting, and she would have succeeded if fate hadn't taken her older brother in a car accident. With his death, she became the heir to the Wright Industries. Her parents, fearful of leaving the company in inexperienced hands, arranged a marriage with his family.
From then on, his wife turned what had been her passion into a mere hobby. She painted only for him, with a naturalness and elegance that had fascinated him from day one. Grandfather could spend hours watching her paint, delighting in the sparkle in her eyes that appeared only when she held a brush. And though she assured him she was happy that way, he knew deep down it was a lie.
There were moments when he wanted to insist that her works see the light of day, but she always refused. She said it was no longer a priority. And it was true: over time, her family and the company took that place. What initially had been frustration and pain over abandoning her dream transformed into an unexpected love for the company. That business, which once seemed empty, had become her second home.
When his granddaughter showed artistic inclinations, Grandfather became agitated. He didn't want to see those same green eyes, filled with sadness and resignation, reflected in Mel. He could not bear to witness the same story repeating in another generation. So, firmly and without hesitation, he decided to root out any trace of art in his granddaughter's life before it could take hold and become a world she would never want to leave.
The irony was that, despite his efforts, the years showed him that Mel, in essence, had become his late wife. With the same determination, the same sensitivity hidden behind a firm face, and a talent that no strict orders could extinguish.
Years ago, Mel had asked Sheldon to buy her materials again for painting and sculpting.
Two years after Mel assumed the presidency, Grandfather asked Sheldon to give her those same art supplies as a gift for completing two years as CEO. Sheldon couldn't hide his surprise at the request, as he had thought that the day Mel asked for the materials, Grandfather had already authorized her to paint again. His reaction, full of bewilderment, betrayed him, and the patriarch discovered at that moment that his granddaughter had been painting in secret for quite some time, quietly nurturing a passion she had never been able to abandon.
Grandfather didn't get upset, for he had promised in the past that when she became the new CEO, she could paint again. However, he had assumed his granddaughter would patiently wait for his formal authorization.
That simple fact—that Mel hadn't even asked for permission to paint again—reminded him painfully of his late wife. She too would hold on to the first word or promise she was given, as if it were enough to cling to what she most desired in silence. In Mel, he saw the same rebellious and dreamy spirit, as strong as it was fragile, that his wife had possessed.
Over the years, Grandfather had wanted to bring up the subject and tell his granddaughter that her grandmother had also been an artist, as dreamy as Mel. But he never found the right moment. He kept those words, waiting for a perfect occasion that never came.
During dinner, he thought mentioning it might be a good idea, perhaps a way to ease the tension dominating the table. He imagined that opening that door would allow him to connect with her, share a piece of their family history, and perhaps show her that she wasn't so alone in that feeling. But what he received instead was a bitter surprise: looking into Mel's eyes, he understood, with a knot in his chest, that she was still deeply hurt and wounded by the matter.
Because, in her eyes, he was still the man who had prevented her from fulfilling her dream. And that truth hit him like a mirror reflecting years of silence, harsh decisions, and a love poorly expressed. At that moment, he realized it was not enough to speak of the past alone, but to mend the present with his granddaughter.
On his way to his apartment, Sheldon received a call from Mr. Castle, asking him to come to the mansion because he had some questions. Sheldon, resigned, assumed it was the usual: inquiring about his boss. With a sigh, he drove in silence until he arrived.
Grandfather was waiting in his study, seated behind the imposing dark wooden desk, with a troubled expression that seemed to age him even more. As soon as Sheldon crossed the door, the man began to speak, fixing his tired, piercing gaze on him.
"Why, Sheldon? Why did she give me that look?" he asked, a hint of nostalgia and sorrow in his voice, as if the question carried ghosts of the past.
"Excuse me, Mr. Castle, I don't understand what you mean," Sheldon replied, confused and uneasy.
The old man sighed, lowered his gaze for a few seconds, and then continued in a broken voice:
"She was never supposed to give me that wounded look when she painted again… the same sad look her grandmother had." His words were filled with a melancholy that made the air unbearably heavy.
Sheldon, moved by the confession, responded sincerely:
"Mr. Castle, the only thing I can tell you is that Miss Mel doesn't hate you for denying her what she loves to do. But she does… feel frustrated and hurt for not being able to do it freely."
The silence that followed was heavy, and Sheldon understood that, deep down, the patriarch also carried his own burdens of guilt and regret.
Grandfather felt deeply troubled, and in an attempt to distract his mind, he asked Sheldon how things were going with Judith. Calm as ever, Sheldon simply replied that things were fine. That answer, though brief and cold, didn't please the grandfather, but neither did it upset him; it simply left him in a limbo of uncertainty.
Tuesday arrived, along with the long-awaited board meeting. Mel and her grandfather arrived on time, but he paid far more attention to his granddaughter's gestures than to the partners' words. He observed every movement, every measured smile, as if trying to decipher the truth she so desperately tried to conceal on her face.
As the meeting was about to conclude, our partner Ted stood up and congratulated Mel on her recent marriage. The others followed suit, filling the room with applause and enthusiastic remarks. This was the exact moment when Mel needed to speak a little about her life with Judith, and for her grandfather, that instant became a perfect opportunity to discover what she truly intended alongside her wife.
Mel thanked everyone with a charming smile before taking the floor and beginning what seemed more like a carefully rehearsed speech than a simple response:
"Thank you all for your kind wishes. I must say, when I get home, my wife will probably make me sleep on the couch for the first time because I interrupted our honeymoon," she joked, a bit cautiously.
Laughter erupted in the room.
"You have no idea how many times I've slept on the couch," teased one partner, eliciting even more laughter.
"And how many times I've sent my husband there to sleep," added another partner, joining the playful banter.
"But that's part of marriage… just wait until the kids arrive," another partner interjected subtly, with a joking tone.
Mel didn't hesitate to continue the role she had built with such naturalness.
"It will be crazy: diapers, bottles, changing them every hour…" she said with a dreamy air, though it was all part of her charade. "That's why I want to spend a lot of time with my wife before I have to share her."
The partners laughed again at her lighthearted and playful comment.
"So please, don't call me to the next meeting. It will save me from sleeping on the couch again, and I can continue my honeymoon," Mel requested with a mischievous gesture.
Everyone nodded, laughing and approving. Then, as if wanting to deliver the final touch to her convincing performance, she added:
"By the way, could anyone recommend books about raising children or pregnancy? I'd like to start learning about it. Because if I ask my mother, she'll think I'm pregnant," she joked.
The oldest female partner stepped forward, her smile full of tenderness.
"I can recommend three books, dear. But I must warn you that there are many things you only discover during pregnancy and child-rearing," she explained, almost with the complicity of a mother.
"We're very happy that you've decided to start a family," said another senior partner warmly.
Mel lowered her gaze slightly, feigning shyness, and responded with carefully measured sweetness:
"Thank you for your kind words. I must admit that it's the first time I don't have a manual or instructions on how to do things, but the only thing I know is that I want to protect my wife."
Her voice was so sweet and convincing that everyone present, including her grandfather, was caught in that performance. No one doubted her sincerity. Everyone believed Mel spoke from the heart, fully devoted to her marriage and the future children she imagined.
However, the reality was very different. It was all a big lie, a carefully planned act, which her grandfather—despite knowing her as well as anyone—did not realize at that moment. The truth remained hidden, masked behind the perfect disguise of an obedient granddaughter and a loving wife.
Yet, of all the lies she had told, there was only one truth: she wanted to protect her wife. Not as the woman she loved, but as a friend, safeguarding her from harm without involving romantic feelings—at least, that was what she wanted at that moment.
Mel courteously said goodbye to all the partners and finally to her grandfather, with a warmth that seemed sincere. Yet, as he watched her leave, he felt a strange premonition: something in his granddaughter seemed out of place, a hint that there was more beneath the surface of that smile.
In the car, Sheldon broke the silence:
"Excellent performance, boss. Now no one will suspect a thing," he praised, smiling.
"It was worth preparing a speech for all possible scenarios," Mel replied, satisfied, smiling as she leaned back in her seat.
She returned to the residence with her "wife." Upon entering the room and crossing the doorway, she smiled broadly:
"They fell for it!" she said happily, as Judith ran to hug her enthusiastically.
No one could have imagined that this happiness, which now seemed complete, was about to multiply. Shared moments, unexpected confessions, and deep secrets would begin to surface between them, awakening emotions neither of them had anticipated. The initial affection they now felt would transform into a deeper bond, marking the beginning of something far more intense in their lives.
............
Judith
Since Mel's meeting with the board, I've seen her more relieved, and gradually we've started to live and share many things together. To continue this fake marriage, we decided to decorate the mansion according to our combined tastes. I must admit that Mel has an excellent eye for decoration; on more than one occasion, she came up with better ideas than those I had proposed. Although it seemed like we were only following her suggestions, the truth is that I thought they were fantastic.
Mel was genuinely kind because she always asked for my opinion or suggestion and repeated several times whether I agreed with the final decision. Her gentleness struck me as adorable. It wasn't difficult to get close to her: during the first week of living together, we bought furniture for the living room and our bedroom. There were still many rooms left, but at least we had taken the first step.
That first weekend, I decided to visit my parents. Following Mel's advice, I gathered courage and spoke with them. I told them how I had felt when my father turned his back on me and my mother did nothing, along with the thought that always haunted me: that at some point I felt I loved my nanny more than my own mother.
My mother appeared deeply distressed when she heard my words. She sincerely apologized and, with a lump in her throat, confessed:
"I didn't realize you felt that way… and somehow I also felt bad that you had a stronger bond with Rachel than with me."
She explained that in her mind, she had always thought it was her fault for not being able to handle all her responsibilities while also being present for her two children. She acknowledged that my father had managed to balance his work with raising us, but for her, that balance had always been impossible to achieve. When he realized this, my father suggested she take a break so she could spend more time with us. His words were only meant to ease her pressure, but it was precisely those words that enraged her and led her to hire my nanny. What began as a temporary solution kept extending because balancing those two roles was too difficult for her.
Deep down, my mother only wished to merge her role as a good mother with that of a good CFO. Now she regretted it—not for having hired Rachel or because she had earned our affection, but for allowing herself to be overcome by pressure. If she had taken the break my father suggested, perhaps she would have found a way to organize herself better and fulfill what she always wanted to be: a present mother and a competent CFO.
On my father's side, his initial rejection of me was equally painful. I had always believed he would protect me from everything and be with me no matter the circumstances, but that was not the case. That wound, which I thought was closed, remained open.
Because several months later, when he turned his back on me, he suddenly appeared at the house where I lived with Amber and simply said he was sorry. At first, I thought those words were enough, but over time I realized they weren't. I needed to understand why he had reacted that way, and when I asked, he confessed with a broken voice:
"I always believed you would marry a man who would protect you when I am no longer here. I wanted you to start a family and love them deeply, as I love you. But above all, I need someone strong by your side, someone who will help you, comfort you, and love you unconditionally when I am gone. Only then can I go in peace," he confessed with sorrow. "I don't just wish this for you; I wish it for your brother too, although he has already found someone who loves and supports him through good times and bad. I'm sorry, my daughter. My fears got the better of me. I believed no woman could protect you as I would have wanted, and that's why I acted so foolishly."
His words moved me deeply, helping to close that wound. For the first time, I understood that his rejection was not born of lack of love, but of fear.
I said nothing, only embraced my parents, and we stayed crying together, united in a silence that spoke louder than any words. When my brother arrived with my sister-in-law Aida, both appeared confused, not fully understanding what was happening. However, after hearing what had transpired, my mother apologized for having left us alone while we were growing up. Tomás, moved, could not hold back tears and cried with us, while Aida, respectful, stayed to the side, supporting us with her presence and maintaining a silent solidarity.
After that intense weekend, and before returning to Mel, my mother pulled me aside. Her voice was soft but laden with genuine concern as she asked how things were going with Amber, if we had talked again. I shook my head regretfully and confessed that I hadn't reestablished contact with her, as I had been dealing with several issues with Mel lately. Her surprise was evident—not only because of the closeness we shared, but also because it had all happened in such a short time.
"Daughter, please tell me the truth…" she whispered anxiously. "She isn't forcing you to do anything you don't want, is she?"
"No, Mom," I answered sincerely. "Believe it or not, she's a good woman, and now I can even say we're friends," I added with a smile to reassure her.
My mother gave a half-smile, though her eyes still carried a hint of doubt.
"At least this time she is keeping her promise," she said softly.
I was puzzled.
"What promise are you talking about?" I asked uncertainly.
She caressed my cheek tenderly before replying:
"She promised us that no one in the family would suffer."
Those words left me thoughtful. If someone had told me that a while ago, I would never have believed it. But the more I got to know Mel Castle, the more convinced I became that this promise was real.
On Sunday night, I returned to the mansion. I found Mel lying on the bed, watching a movie. As soon as she saw me, she got up with a wide smile and greeted me.
"Hey, hi! How was it?" she asked cheerfully, moving closer to hug me.
"Hi, Mel," I replied as I returned the hug. "It went really well."
We sat down and talked for a couple of hours. I told her everything that had happened over the weekend, and she listened with an attention that surprised me, reacting with genuine expressions at every part of my story. At the end, she said with a sincere smile:
"I'm glad you resolved that issue. Also, you seem more cheerful."
I just smiled at her before changing the topic, curious about her weekend.
"And yours? Did you go see your parents?"
"No," she replied, a little saddened. "They're on a cruise. They'll be back in a couple of months. So I just had a date," she said proudly.
I looked at her in surprise.
"A date? Did you sneak someone into the house without anyone seeing?" I asked incredulously.
Mel shook her head, amused.
"The date was with the new sofa and me binge-watching a series," she replied proudly, smiling happily.
I couldn't help but laugh at her remark.
"You know, tomorrow we need to continue with the decorating," I reminded her as I got up from the bed.
"Of course," she replied enthusiastically. "How about we go see some furniture, like a shopping day?" she suggested with a smile.
"Sounds like a good idea," I nodded. "Shall we go tomorrow at nine?"
"We can go around ten-thirty," she requested in an almost pleading tone.
I looked at her mischievously and teased lightly:
"Do you have something to do… or a date?"
Mel let out a cheerful laugh before responding:
"No, nothing like that. I just need to train," she reminded me, and then added playfully, "By the way, it wouldn't hurt if you joined me once."
"Excuse me?" I immediately took offense at her comment, crossing my arms.
"No, wait, don't get me wrong," she hurried to clarify. "I just think you have a lot of potential. But it's okay if you don't want to come, I understand. It could be… a bit intense…"
"Wait, wait a minute… are you saying I can't keep up with you while working out?" I raised an eyebrow, feigning indignation.
"Judith…" she fell silent, as if internally debating the best way to say something without offending me more than she already had.
I knew she was really thinking about how to tell me she couldn't handle one of her routines.
"I can work out with you just fine," I assured her firmly.
"Judith, I don't think it's…" she tried to reply.
"No. No," I cut her off sharply. "Tomorrow I'm going to the gym with you."And with that final statement, I grabbed my clothes and headed to the bathroom to shower, not giving her a chance to keep protesting.
I could feel her gaze on my back, as if she were trying to figure out whether I was serious or just trying to prove that I could keep up with her. The truth was, not even I was sure—but there was something inside me that refused to give her the satisfaction so easily.
I woke up with the first rays of sunlight, full of energy. Without making a sound, I walked over to the couch where Mel was sleeping, took a deep breath, and mischievously shouted into her ear:
"Good morning, Mel!"
I startled her; she shot upright, clutching her chest.
"Judith! What are you doing? For God's sake, you almost gave me a heart attack," she said, still shaken.
I laughed softly before adding:
"Get up, we need to have breakfast so we can train together," I reminded her.
"Judith," she complained, "it's not necessary…"
"No, no," I interrupted, heading toward the bathroom. "Don't even say it."
Mel gave in.
After breakfast, we headed to the gym. We warmed up for about ten minutes before starting her routine. Thirty minutes later, I could barely breathe; I was so exhausted that Mel noticed and carefully asked me to rest while she continued with her exercises. I wanted to stay with her until she finished the toughest sets, but I knew that if I kept going, I would pass out.
I watched her for an hour and a half. And when it was time for cardio, she began hitting a punching bag with an enviable strength and rhythm. As I watched her, I remembered something trainers often do with boxers, and I wanted to see if it was true. So I stood up and walked over to her.
"Mel," I called out for her to stop.
"Yes? What's going on?" she asked, looking at me attentively.
"I'm curious," I began.
"Curious about what?" she replied.
"I've seen trainers do something with boxers… so I was wondering—could you do that too? Do you actually know how to box properly?" I insisted, intrigued.
"Yes, I know how to box," she replied proudly.
"Then you can handle a boxer's training?" I asked, surprised.
"You could say that," she assured me.
"Can I try something with you?" I asked.
"All right," she agreed hesitantly. "What do you want to try?"
"Lend me your gloves," I asked.
Mel, somewhat confused, handed them to me. I made sure one more time:
"Do you really withstand a boxer's training?"
"Yes, I already said yes," she replied, placing her hands on her hips with a hint of indignation.
"Good," I smiled at her answer. "It's just that I've seen trainers sometimes hit boxers in the stomach like this…"
I said that, and without thinking much about it, I punched her in the stomach with all the strength I had.
The impact landed sharply on her stomach. Mel immediately hunched over as she felt the direct blow to her abdomen and let out a sharp groan of pain. A few seconds passed before she managed to form words:
"What are you doing?" she asked, nearly out of breath, clutching her stomach.
I froze, paralyzed. I had truly believed it wouldn't be a big deal for her.
"You told me you could handle a boxer's training," I repeated in panic, reminding her of her own words.
"The training, yes… but not direct hits with sixteen-ounce gloves," she clarified, wincing, holding her stomach.
Then I understood why the gloves had felt so heavy when I put them on. Hastily, I took them off, tossed them aside, and helped Mel sit on the floor so she could catch her breath.
"I'm sorry, Mel. I really thought you could take the punch," I said, my voice full of guilt.
"It's fine," she replied with a sigh. "I deserve it for underestimating your strength and for not moving out of the way," she admitted.
"Hey!" I protested, giving her a light tap on the shoulder. "You could've moved!"
She chuckled softly, though the laughter quickly turned into a grimace of pain.
"You caught me off guard too," she lied shamelessly.
"Liar!" I complained, frowning.
Despite the tension, we both smiled softly. We waited a few minutes until she recovered a bit. Stubborn as always, Mel decided to get on the treadmill to run, ignoring my warning.
"I forbid you to do that with a hit to your stomach," I warned firmly.
But Mel was stubborn, insisting she was fine. She didn't listen. However, barely a minute later, she had to stop the machine as the pain returned with full force.
"I told you so," I scolded her, looking at her with a mix of anger and concern.
Mel slumped, and together we headed back to the room.
After showering, Mel reminded me that we still needed to go furniture shopping. I didn't want to go; I still felt guilty about the hit I had given her at the gym. But she insisted, smiling and assuring me that it didn't hurt at all. In the end, she convinced me.
We visited several stores in search of what we needed, walking from shop to shop while discussing styles and colors. We spent so much time that we had to stop for lunch at the same mall. I ordered a burger, and Mel chose some spicy wings, so red they immediately caught my attention.
"Can I have one?" I asked her.
Mel looked at me first and then at her plate.
"You want this?" she asked, pointing at her wings.
I nodded, hoping she'd give me one.
"But they're mine," she emphasized, with all the seriousness in the world.
I was stunned.
"I know, but I just want to try one… won't you share?" I asked incredulously.
"No," she answered without hesitation.
My face must have said it all; I couldn't believe she was that selfish.
"Selfish," I reproached, crossing my arms.
Mel just shrugged and popped some fries into her mouth, brazenly. She seriously looked like a little girl defending her toys. Taking advantage of a distraction, I grabbed one of her wings and shoved it straight into my mouth.
Mel froze, surprised by my boldness. However, I ended up paying the price: the spiciness was so intense that the moment I tasted it, my mouth was on fire.
"What is this?!" I complained, desperately reaching for my soda and drinking it almost in one gulp.
Mel covered her mouth to hold back laughter, but a hint of teasing slipped through her voice:
"That happens when you take someone else's food without permission."
"You should've warned me!" I protested between coughs.
"You didn't give me time, because you stole my food," she replied, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow.
"I had no choice; I didn't think you'd be selfish," I accused, pretending to be outraged.
"I'm not," she defended herself immediately. "I just didn't want to give it to you because I already touched all the wings. Besides… it's my food!" she whined, in a little-girl voice.
I couldn't hold back my laughter and burst out laughing.
"Alright, mental note: you don't like sharing your food," I said between laughs.
"If that means you won't steal anything from me again, take as many mental notes as you want," she replied, happily shoving another fry into her mouth.
After that strange food encounter, we went back to the task of shopping for furniture. When we finally found what we were looking for, we felt a huge relief. We returned to the residence exhausted, with no desire to do anything but collapse on the bed and turn on the TV.
While watching a '90s series, I noticed out of the corner of my eye that Mel had settled at the other end of the bed. At that moment, I remembered her words: "Believe it or not, I respect your relationship with Amber." An involuntary smile spread across my face; after all, who would have thought that from this fake marriage, I could at least gain a friend?