One of the last photos showed the two of them looking at each other, laughing at something only they seemed to understand. It was intimate. It was complicit. It was unacceptable.

Thor snatched that photo and, with a brutal movement, crushed it in his fist.

“You damn bitch,” he growled, his voice low and guttural.

The silence in the office was heavy, almost tangible. He leaned back in his chair, dropping the envelope onto the desk, and dragged his hands down his face as though he could peel off his own skin. The image of Celina laughing with Gabriel burned behind his eyes like a ghost that refused to leave him in peace.

It wasn’t just anger. It was pain. It was loss. It was something deeper—something he would never dare say aloud.

For several long seconds, he remained still. Then, slowly, he rose. He walked once more to the wall of glass. São Paulo sprawled out before him, but now it looked meaningless. His mind was a thousand miles away, in a city that never slept, where Celina was wa