Sunday stretched out calm and golden over São Paulo, but inside Thor’s penthouse, the air was heavy — charged with a past that refused to stay buried. Thor stood in the living room, fastening his cufflinks, waiting for Celina to finish getting ready. The distant hum of the city was muffled by the sleek, elegant walls around them, creating an illusion of peace that was about to shatter.

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, and Raul and Angélica stepped out. Angélica’s eyes carried a mix of longing and sorrow, while Raul, as always, held himself with that rigid posture and stern expression that seemed carved in stone.

“I can’t bear it anymore,” Angélica said, her voice trembling, tears glistening in her eyes. “My own son treating me like a stranger.”

“We came to make things right, Thor,” Raul added in his usual blunt, rough tone. “It’s been long enough.”

Thor lifted his gaze, crossing his arms — a silent warning that this wouldn’t be an easy conversation.

“There’s nothing to