Chapter 1 – That Look Wasn’t for Me

The clock read 3:17 a.m. when Sofía Rojas removed her gloves as she stepped out of the operating room—another shift finished. She wiped the sweat from her brow and pulled off her surgical cap, which had left several strands of hair clinging to her damp forehead. Her face was pale, dark circles shadowed her eyes, her scrubs wrinkled. She had just completed an emergency surgery.

Retinal detachment.

A delicate case—and yet, she had managed to stabilize the patient.

She left the room the way she always did: no applause, no one waiting for her. Only the intermittent hum of the vending machine, the distant squeak of a treatment cart, and the echo of her own footsteps—footsteps no one followed.

A nurse passed by and offered her a tired smile.

“Thank you, doctor,” she murmured sincerely.

Sofía nodded, but her mind was far away. Her body moved on autopilot. Her soul, however, had long since stopped at a place so vague she no longer knew whether she was moving forward or simply enduring.

The parking lot was deserted. A cold Montevideo mist settled on her skin like a warning. She opened her coat mechanically, searching for her keys. The icy air struck her face sharply, like a slap of reality. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm the tight ache between her ribs.

She wanted to go home. Sleep. Stop feeling.

And then she saw him.

A black sports car turned sharply from the main entrance and came to an abrupt stop in front of the emergency room. The headlights shut off instantly. Adrián Castell stepped out of the driver’s seat.

Her husband.

He was wearing a dark gray coat that moved with him, his face tense, his eyes swollen—whether from exhaustion or from something Sofía could identify all too clearly. He walked quickly, as if time itself were pressing down on him. As if fear were pushing him forward.

From the passenger side, she emerged.

Valeria Montesino.

Thin. Almost ghostlike. Wrapped in a beige coat poorly buttoned, lips dry, her face half-hidden behind carefully disheveled bangs. She staggered a step forward and, without saying a word, collapsed into Adrián’s arms.

“Calm down. You’re here now,” he whispered, his voice low, deep—almost tender.

He held her by the waist with both hands. He brushed her face with his fingertips. He looked at her as if she were fragile. Precious. As if, among all the broken things in the world, she was the only one he wanted to fix.

So she came back… and Adrián hadn’t said a word, Sofía thought, a quiet sadness sinking into her chest.

And in that moment, she knew.

It wasn’t a thought. It was a visceral certainty. Her body understood it before her mind did. Her heart recognized it in that hollow, aching beat.

That look had never been meant for her.

Not when they signed the marriage contract.

Not when they attended carefully staged dinners, photographed as the perfect couple.

Not when she made his favorite coffee every morning for three years without him ever noticing.

Not when she waited up with dinner ready, knowing he wouldn’t come home.

Not when she tended his fevers, his injuries, his silences.

That tenderness—the silent devotion she was witnessing now—had never been for her.

It never had been.

Frozen beside her car, keys clenched in her hand, fingers numb and chest tight with an emotion she couldn’t name, Sofía felt her world grind to a halt. Something inside her came loose. It didn’t shatter loudly. It detached quietly, with the weary dignity of someone who no longer expects anything.

Three Years Earlier

“Are you sure, Dr. Rojas?”

“Yes.”

The word came out clean. Clear. Final. Like an irreversible diagnosis.

The room was white, immaculate, impersonal. No flowers. No music. Just paperwork on the table and silence hanging in the air. Isabel Castell—Adrián’s mother—stood off to the side, her expression unreadable, fingers gripping her purse tightly. Adrián signed without looking up. He wore a flawless black suit, his face empty of emotion. No affection. Not even a polite smile.

Sofía hadn’t expected one.

She knew exactly what this document represented. It secured what she needed: funding for her research on regenerative eye therapy. She knew the Castell Group was her only real chance to make it happen. And she also knew that Adrián needed a wife—for appearances, for his surname, for the cameras.

A figurehead.

A mask.

She accepted.

Everyone gained something—except her heart.

That night, while the city slept, Sofía Rojas became an invisible doctor to Adrián Castell.

And he became the man who would never truly see her.

The distant sound of a stretcher rolling down the hallway pulled her back to the present. Sofía blinked. The car was gone. Adrián and Valeria had already disappeared inside the hospital.

She didn’t move.

She stayed there beside her car, gripping the keys so tightly her fingers ached. She took a deep breath. Her throat was dry. Her stomach twisted, nausea rising. Her thoughts blurred—because she refused to cry.

She got into the car and closed the door slowly. The click of the lock was the only sound breaking the silence.

She rested her forehead against the steering wheel.

It wasn’t physical exhaustion.

It was the kind that lived in the soul—one that couldn’t be cured by sleep or rest.

And for the first time in a very long while… she cried.

She didn’t scream. She didn’t ask why. She didn’t demand answers.

She cried the way one cries when there’s nothing left to hold onto.

When the last hope finally drops to its knees and surrenders.

But this time… she wasn’t going to stand still and watch.

Her knuckles turned white around the key ring. She inhaled shakily, her chest rising and falling as if each breath were trying to tear her free from herself. Then, without another thought, she turned the key.

The engine roared to life, shattering the stillness of dawn. The headlights cut through the mist. The steering wheel creaked beneath her firm grip. The tires screeched against the wet asphalt as the car pulled away.

She rolled down the window and, on impulse, did the unthinkable.

She didn’t look back.

She didn’t hesitate.

Sofía Rojas wasn’t running away.

She was choosing to leave.

And this time, there would be no turning back.