Paul always said he knew Angella even before he knew what love was.They were seven years old when they fought for the first time.She wanted the school swing.He did too.She pushed.He fell.He got up with a scraped knee and declared, with the childish conviction of someone who knows no limits:— When I grow up, I'm going to marry you. Just to win every fight.
She stuck her tongue out.And that's where it all began.When Paul was ten, the world had already tried to knock him off balance for the first time.The car accident took his parents on a rainy night.The newspapers talked about inheritance.About shares.About succession.No one talked about the boy sitting on the floor of the room, holding a broken car, waiting for someone to say it was a lie.The one who entered that room was not a lawyer.Nor an executive.It was James.The family butler since before Paul was born.He didn't say "everything will be alright".
He just sat next to the boy and stayed.And sometimes, staying is enough to stop someone from falling apart.Angella's parents started picking him up for dinner more often.They treated him like a son.He started calling her mother aunt without realizing it.Her family was warmth.His was elegant silence and corridors that were too long.At eighteen, Paul controlled more money than some countries.International railways.Oil holdings.Gold and diamond mines.
Majority shares spread across continents.Executives three times his age awaited his decisions.But that morning in New York, none of that mattered.He was nervous.Because it was Angella's birthday.And he had been planning it for a whole month.The Mandarin was booked.An entire room.Her family invited.Discreet live music.A gift he chose personally — not bought by an assistant.James helped with the details.As always.— You are restless, sir — the butler commented, adjusting his tie.— I manage billions, James. I shouldn't be nervous about a dinner.— Precisely for that reason, sir. Billions don't scare you. She does.Paul smiled.Angella was even more beautiful that morning.Her dark hair fell naturally over her shoulders.Her eyes had that lively, curious sparkle.She spoke with her hands, excited about college, about the teachers, about the new life in New York.
He just watched.His silver hair attracted attention wherever he went.His blue-gray eyes always seemed to scan the environment before relaxing.But when he looked at her…Everything softened.— You're strange today — she said, laughing.— Strange how?— Too happy.— Maybe I'm just with the most amazing woman in the city.She rolled her eyes.— Conceited.— Billionaire. It's different.She gave him a light tap on the arm.They stopped in front of the coffee shop.Common movement. People coming and going.Nothing that announced disaster.— Wait here — Paul said. — I'll get the coffees.— No sugar in mine!— I know. Since I was seven.She smiled.That smile.Paul entered.The cold air conditioning contrasted with the heat of the street.He placed the order.Paid.Waited.Through the glass, he could see her outside.Angella was facing him.Fiddling with her cell phone.Then looking inside.
Looking for him.He raised his hand.She waved.Open smile.Eyes shining.The attendant called:— Two coffees.Paul picked up the cups.It was at that moment that the light changed.It wasn't an immediate bang.It was a shadow crossing the glass.Her smile was still there.Then —An impact.The sound came late.The glass vibrated violently.The street exploded in dust and screams.Paul heard nothing.The coffee ran down the lid, burning his fingers.But he didn't feel it.On the other side of the glass, the world had collapsed.And Angella was no longer standing.He didn't scream.