Diego said nothing. He took off his jacket and gently placed it over her shoulders.

When he saw the mark on her cheek, his expression changed.

Not shock.

Controlled anger. Cold and quiet.

“Who did this to you?”

Camila didn’t answer.

She didn’t need to.

Diego lifted his gaze toward the house. Lights on. Curtains shifting. Shadows behind the glass.

He already knew.

He had always known.

Only Camila had refused to see it.

“Come on,” he said firmly. “You’re leaving with me.”

She hesitated.

Her eyes drifted to the door—that place she once called home, now nothing more than a prison.

“I have nothing,” she whispered.

Diego clenched his jaw.

“You have yourself.”

A pause.

“And that’s enough.”

He didn’t knock.

Didn’t shout.

Didn’t beg.

Camila simply turned away…

And walked into the rain beside him.

Inside the house, Álvaro watched.

Arms crossed.

Annoyed—but confident.

“She’ll regret this,” he muttered. “She has nowhere to go.”

Behind him, his mother laughed dryly.

“Leave her. She’ll be back tomorrow—begging.”

But that night…

She didn’t come back.

The next morning, Álvaro woke up late.

No Camila.

No breakfast.

No coffee.

No quiet presence that had kept his life running without him noticing.

He frowned.

“Useless…” he muttered.

He checked his phone.

Nothing.

He smirked.

“It’ll pass.”

At 10 a.m., his assistant called.

“Mr. Álvaro… there’s an urgent meeting.”

“Who called it?”

“Mr. Diego Serrano.”

Álvaro frowned.

“What does he want?”

“He said… you’ll want to hear it.”

When he arrived at the office, something felt wrong.

The silence.

The stares.

No one greeted him.

Some avoided him.

Others watched, tense.

He walked into the boardroom.

Diego was already there.

Sitting at the head of the table.

Calm.