Бесплатный фрагмент - The Final Blueprint

Author’s Foreword

In this book, you will not find simple answers or easy solutions. There are no perfect heroes or unequivocally evil villains. There is life — as it is — with its pain, joy, losses, and gains.

«The Final Blueprint» was born from my own experience of overcoming. I know what it’s like to live in the shadow of the past, to fight the voices of the past, and to search for the light at the end of the tunnel. I know how it feels to carry guilt for something you aren’t responsible for, and how difficult it is to forgive those who have hurt you.

Aurora Pereira is not my copy, but she contains a part of me. Her scars are my scars. Her fears are my fears. Her hopes are my hopes.

I do not want to teach you about life. I simply want to share with you the story of a girl who found the strength not to break under the weight of circumstances and to build her life anew.

«The Final Blueprint» is a story about how even after the darkest night, dawn always comes. About how forgiveness is not a weakness, but a strength. About how love and compassion can change the world.

I dedicate this book to everyone who has survived abuse, who struggles with depression, who searches for the meaning of life. Remember, you are not alone.

Thank you for choosing this book. I hope it finds a resonance in your heart.

May this story warm you.

With love,

Madina Fedosova

Prologue

The cold tiles burned her bare feet. The smell of dampness and mustiness had seeped into her lungs, causing nausea. She remembered this room down to the smallest detail, even though more than twenty years had passed since then. The green wallpaper, once adorned with naive little flowers, was now torn and covered in crude graffiti. The cracked ceiling with peeling paint pressed down from above as if ready to bury her alive.

Every time she closed her eyes, she saw this picture before her: the shattered glass, the shards scattered across the floor like icy stars. She remembered how her stepfather, in a fit of rage, had thrown the glass against the wall, and how the shards had embedded themselves in her arm, leaving bloody cuts. The pain was unbearable, but the fear was even stronger. Fear of his anger, of his cruelty, of what he could do to her.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to ward off the intrusive memories. But they were relentless, like ghosts of the past haunting her everywhere. She heard his screams, felt his touch, saw his malicious face, distorted by hatred.

Aurora shuddered and opened her eyes. She was standing on the balcony of her luxurious apartment in Lisbon, breathing in the fresh sea air. Below her, the city sprawled, bathed in the lights of street lamps. In the distance, the ocean was visible, endless and alluring. It seemed nothing could disturb her peace and well-being.

She looked around her apartment: a spacious living room with panoramic windows, expensive furniture, paintings by contemporary artists. Everything here spoke of her success and prosperity. She had achieved everything she had dreamed of as a child. She had managed to escape poverty and violence, build a career, and become a respected architect.

But, despite all her achievements, she did not feel happy. The past would not let her go. It was always nearby, like a shadow following at her heels. It reminded her of who she really was, where she came from, what she had been through.

She had Kenan in her life, a loving and caring man, ready to do anything for her. He had accepted her as she was, with all her scars and secrets. But even to him, she could not reveal the whole truth about her past. It was too painful to remember, too frightening to share her nightmares.

She had friends, loyal and devoted, ready to support her in any situation. But she always kept a slight distance, afraid to let anyone get too close. Afraid they would see the real her, see her weakness, her pain.

She loved her work; it gave her a sense of freedom and independence. She created beautiful and functional buildings that pleased the eye and benefited people. But even in her work, she could not completely forget the past. Every time she designed a new house, she remembered that room where she had spent her childhood, the cold walls, the smell of dampness and despair.

An envelope with an unfamiliar address trembled in her hand. She was afraid to open it because she knew: inside was a message from the past that would turn her life upside down.

She slowly ran her finger over the rough surface of the envelope. On the back, there was no name, no surname, only some unfamiliar address in Porto. What could it be? Who could be writing to her from that city?

Something tightened painfully inside. Aurora knew she could not avoid this. The past had caught up with her, and she would have to face it.

She took a deep breath and tore the envelope open. Inside was a small sheet of paper, covered in unfamiliar handwriting. She began to read, and with each line, her heart beat faster and faster.

«Aurora Pereira,» the letter began, «I know you aren’t expecting any news from me at all, and you probably curse the day I was born. But I had to write to you before I leave this world forever. I know I caused you unbearable pain, left you all alone, and I can never atone for my guilt. But I want you to know: I have always remembered you, always watched over you from afar, and always, every minute, regretted what happened, that I couldn’t become a real father to you…»

Aurora froze as if doused with ice water. She couldn’t believe her eyes, couldn’t believe the words she was reading. «What? Father?» raced through her head. «What father? This is some terrible mistake! This simply can’t be!».

But the lines on the paper continued to stubbornly form words, burning her consciousness like a red-hot brand:

«I am dying, Aurora, my dear daughter. I have very little time left, just a few weeks, maybe days. And I want to ask you for one last favor, one small request which I hope you cannot refuse me, despite all the pain I have caused you. I want you, my talented daughter, to design my final house. Not a luxurious mansion, not a chic villa, but just a modest, quiet refuge where I could meet my end in peace and tranquility. If you want to talk to me, hear my story, find out why I acted this way and not another, why I wasn’t there for you all these years, call me at this number…»

Aurora, as if struck by lightning, dropped the letter from her trembling hands. A fine shiver wracked her body, as in a severe fever. The words from the letter spun in her head like a broken record: «I am dying… final house… caused you so much pain…» She stepped back until her back pressed against the balcony railing, as if seeking protection. The world around her suddenly swam, colors mixed in a chaotic whirlpool, sounds became muffled as if someone had turned off the volume. She felt she was about to lose consciousness and fall into a black, hopeless abyss.

Father. A word she had almost forgotten, crossed out of her life like an unnecessary thing. A man she had never seen, never known, never felt his love or care. A man who, she believed, had ruined her life even before it began, by abandoning her mother to her fate.

The anger, accumulated in her soul for years like a restrained dam, suddenly broke loose, sweeping away everything in its path like lava from an erupting volcano. Beside herself, she grabbed the crumpled letter and with fury threw it into the corner of the room, as if it were the culprit of all her misfortunes.

— I hate you! — she whispered with her lips alone, feeling tears choking her, not letting her breathe. — I hate you for what you did to my life! I hate you for abandoning me! I hate you for appearing now, when I had almost learned to live without you!

She stood on the balcony for a long time, looking at the night city, trying to calm down. But the anger and resentment would not release her. She felt as if someone had reopened an old wound that had almost healed.

Part One
Behind Closed Doors

Chapter 1
Scars and Blueprints

Sintra breathed the coolness of the early evening. Aurora stood on her balcony, wrapped in a light cotton robe, and looked at the city spread out below. The smell of pine trees, mixed with the salty breeze from the Atlantic, tickled her nose but brought no peace. Sintra, with its palaces drowning in greenery and narrow cobbled streets, should have been soothing, but today it only emphasized her inner turmoil.

The sun had almost disappeared below the horizon, painting the sky in a whimsical mixture of scarlet, orange, and purple tones. This hour she had always loved the most — the hour between light and darkness, when the world freezes in anticipation of something new. But today, this anticipation held a sinister note.

Aurora shivered, though she wasn’t cold at all. She ran her fingers over the ridge on her left arm, almost mechanically. The scar. Rough, uneven, it reminded her of the past she so desperately tried to forget. The shards of a broken glass, the stepfather’s rage, the fear that had saturated every corner of that cramped apartment on the outskirts of Lisbon.

She closed her eyes. Mustn’t think about that. Not now. But the memories were insistent, like annoying flies buzzing around her ear. She saw that room again, with its peeling wallpaper and tiny window overlooking a gray courtyard. She smelled again the cheap tobacco and sweat emanating from her stepfather. She heard again his drunken screams.

Forcing her eyes open, Aurora looked at her hands. These hands created beauty, transformed space, gave people homes. She was an architect, one of the best in Portugal. Her projects were distinguished by elegance, functionality, and attention to detail. She was building a bright future for others but couldn’t build one for herself.

Aurora’s gaze fell on a roll of blueprints lying on the balcony table. It was the project she had been working on lately — a complex of affordable housing for low-income families in one of Lisbon’s most disadvantaged neighborhoods. She had invested not only her talent but also a piece of her soul into it. She dreamed of creating not just cheap apartments, but a real home where people would feel safe, where they would have a chance to start a new life.

This project was more than just work for her. It was her way of atoning for her guilt. Guilt for having managed to escape that quagmire when many others had not. Guilt for her luck, while they remained there, in the darkness.

She took one of the blueprints and unrolled it. On the paper was the facade of one of the houses. Beautiful, modern, with large windows and balconies entwined with greenery. Aurora looked at this blueprint for a long time, as if trying to find in it an answer to her question: would she ever be able to truly rid herself of her past? Could she build not only houses for others but also a happy life for herself?

At that moment, the phone rang. Aurora flinched in surprise. She didn’t want to talk to anyone, didn’t want anyone to disturb her solitude. But the phone continued to ring insistently.

She looked at the screen. Kenan. Her heart fluttered. She loved him, but was afraid to let him get too close. She was afraid he would learn the truth about her and be disappointed.

Reluctantly, she answered the call.

— Aurora? Where are you? — she heard his soft, velvety voice.

— I’m home, — she answered quietly. — On the balcony.

— You seem strange today, — Kenan noted. — Is everything alright?

Aurora was silent for a moment. Should she tell him about her dark thoughts? Should she confide in him?

— Yes, everything’s fine, — she finally answered. — Just a bit tired.

— I see. Listen, I was thinking… Maybe we could meet tonight? Have dinner somewhere?

Aurora hesitated. She wanted to be alone, to sort out her feelings. But she also knew that Kenan was the only person who could support her.

— Alright, — she said. — Where shall we meet?

— I’ll pick you up in an hour, — Kenan replied. — Dress nicely.

Aurora hung up and looked at herself in the mirror. She saw a beautiful, successful woman confidently looking towards the future. But she also saw a little girl in it, frightened and lonely, hiding from a terrible past.

She sighed and went to the bedroom. She needed to collect her thoughts and put on a mask of carefreeness so Kenan wouldn’t suspect anything. She needed to become Aurora Pereira again — the successful architect, the self-confident woman. But how long could she keep pretending?

The bedroom was in semi-darkness, like an old photograph faded by time and memories. Aurora touched the switch of the antique floor lamp brought from her grandmother’s family estate. The room filled with a soft, amber light, casting whimsical shadows on the walls. The light, like herself, tried to hide what was better left in the dark.

She approached the walk-in closet, which more closely resembled a museum of high fashion, and began sorting through her outfits. Dresses from Dior, blouses from Yves Saint Laurent, skirts from Chanel — every item was carefully selected and fit her figure impeccably. She always watched her appearance with manic attention. It was her personal «zen» — one of the few ways to control the elusive reality, to create a fragile illusion of order in the chaos that raged inside her, like a Lisbon tram during rush hour.

She settled on a little black dress made of flowing silk. The simplicity of the cut was deceptive: the perfect fit emphasized her shapely figure, which Aurora had worked on like a sculptor, cutting away everything superfluous with grueling workouts at the gym. Putting on the sheerest stockings, she admired the play of light on the flawless smoothness of her legs.

In the mirror, she was met by the reflection of a woman confident in herself, who knew her worth. A businesswoman. A free spirit. A femme fatale. But she knew that this was just a carefully constructed mask, behind which hid a little girl, scared to death of life. A mask, like in fado, where behind a beautiful melody lies a deep sorrow.

Applying her makeup, Aurora wielded brushes like a professional artist, hiding the traces of fatigue and anxiety on her face. A light layer of La Prairie foundation with a radiant effect, Diorshow mascara making her lashes look like butterfly wings, Chanel Rouge Coco lipstick in a delicate «Mademoiselle» shade — and now she looked almost flawless.

Almost… The scar on her left arm, barely visible under the layer of foundation, betrayed the truth.

Her gaze fell on a gold chain with a tiny pendant in the shape of a drop — an exact copy of a tear frozen in time. It was a gift from Kenan for their anniversary. The pendant was handmade in a workshop of hereditary jewelers in Bahrain — Kenan always knew how to surprise. Aurora took the chain in her hands and felt the warmth of the metal, like the touch of a loved one. Kenan… He was kind, caring, loving. He saw in her what she didn’t see in herself: strength, beauty, potential. He loved her not for the mask, but for what lay beneath it. Or so she wanted to believe.

But fear shackled her like chains. She was afraid that he would learn the truth about her past and stop loving her. Afraid that he would see the real her — broken, wounded, incapable of true intimacy. Afraid that he would see in her that little girl whom her stepfather had locked in a dark room.

She put on the chain, and the pendant touched her skin like a gentle caress. The gold glittered on her neck like a beacon, reminding her of the love she so desperately wanted but was afraid to accept.

At that moment, the doorbell rang, sharp and demanding, like a gunshot. Aurora flinched as if caught off guard. Kenan had arrived earlier than she expected. She took a deep breath, trying to calm the trembling in her hands, and went to open the door. «Come what may,» she whispered like a prayer.

On the threshold stood Kenan, as if he had stepped off the pages of GQ magazine. Tall, stately, with hair black as coal and piercing brown eyes that reflected the stars. He looked incredibly elegant in his impeccable Brioni suit and a snow-white shirt with onyx cufflinks. A light scent of Terre d’Hermès emanated from him — the smell of confidence and success.

Seeing Aurora, he gave her an appraising look, and a fire of admiration ignited in his eyes.

— You look amazing, — he whispered, extending his hand to her. His voice was low and velvety, with a barely perceptible Eastern accent.

Aurora took his hand, and the warmth of his palm burned her skin. She smiled back, trying to hide her anxiety.

— You too, — she said, feeling her heart begin to beat faster.

Kenan pulled her to him and kissed her gently, as if tasting her. Aurora returned his kiss, but an icy wall of fear remained in her heart. She knew she couldn’t hide the truth about herself for long. Sooner or later, she would have to tell Kenan about her past. But she feared that moment more than anything in the world.

They left the apartment and headed for the elevator, like actors playing their roles on stage. The whole way, Aurora was silent, immersed in her thoughts. Kenan noticed.

— Is something wrong, my love? — he asked, looking at her with concern. His eyebrows came together on the bridge of his nose, forming a small wrinkle.

Aurora shook her head, trying not to look him in the eye.

— Everything’s fine, — she answered, trying to sound confident. — Just a little tired.

Kenan didn’t believe her but decided not to press. He knew Aurora didn’t like to share her problems. He knew she needed time to open up. He knew how to wait — a quality he valued in himself most of all.

They exited the elevator and headed towards the black Maybach waiting for them at the entrance. The driver in uniform respectfully opened the door for Aurora, and Kenan helped her in.

— Where shall we go? — he asked, getting behind the wheel. He always drove himself when they were alone — he liked to be in control.

Aurora shrugged, trying to look carefree.

— I don’t know, — she answered. — Wherever you want.

Kenan smiled, and his eyes sparkled.

— Then I’ll take you to a place you’re sure to like, — he said, starting the engine. — A place where all sorrows are forgotten.

He pulled the car out onto the night streets of Sintra, and they sped off into the unknown. Aurora looked out the window, trying not to think about what lay ahead. She knew that sooner or later she would have to tell Kenan about her past. But she hoped that this night would be an exception, and they could forget all their problems for at least a few hours.

The black Maybach, like a predatory beast, glided along the winding roads of Sintra. Against the backdrop of ornate villas and manicured gardens, the car seemed like a foreign body, a symbol of power and wealth, alien to the town’s bohemian atmosphere.

Aurora felt herself relaxing as she watched the silhouettes of pines and eucalyptus trees flash by the window, emitting a pungent aroma. The night coolness rushed into the car’s interior, mixing with the expensive scent of leather, sandalwood, and the barely perceptible notes of oud from Tom Ford’s Oud Wood, Kenan’s favorite.

Noticing her pensiveness, he took her hand and gently kissed her fingertips. On his fingers gleamed a massive signet ring with onyx, a family heirloom passed down through generations in his family.

«Don’t think about anything, my love. Just enjoy the moment,» he whispered, without taking his eyes off the road. In the headlights’ glare, a scar on his cheek flashed by, a barely noticeable reminder of a past he rarely spoke about.

Aurora nodded, but Kenan’s words couldn’t completely dispel the anxiety that had settled in her heart. How long could she hide her truth? And what would happen when he found out? She felt like a crystal vase in the hands of a rich man — beautiful, but so fragile.

Half an hour later, the Maybach stopped in front of an inconspicuous wooden fence that seemed random against the wild nature. Kenan turned off the engine, and silence, broken only by the whisper of the wind and the surf, crashed down upon them. He looked at Aurora with a mysterious smile that held anticipation and confidence that she would like the surprise.

«We’re here,» he said, getting out of the car and walking around to open her door. His movements were smooth and confident, like a predator who knew his worth.

Aurora followed him, looking around. No signs of civilization, only the sound of the surf and the rustle of foliage. She felt lost in a fairy tale where everything could be both beautiful and dangerous.

Kenan opened the gate, its creak breaking the silence, and led her along a narrow path strewn with pine needles, leading to the ocean. The air was filled with the smell of salt and wild herbs.

Suddenly, a stunning picture opened before them: a small sandy beach, illuminated only by moonlight and the twinkling of stars. A silver path of the moon stretched across the water, as if inviting them into the unknown. In the distance, the lights of fishing boats were visible, like little fireflies floating on the night sea.

A bonfire burned on the sand, built from driftwood thrown up by the ocean. Around the fire, soft pillows and Berber carpets were arranged, creating an atmosphere of coziness and warmth. On a small table stood a bottle of Portuguese Vinho Verde and several glasses.

«Surprise!» Kenan exclaimed, putting his arms around Aurora’s shoulders. «I knew you’d like it here.» His voice was filled with pride at having been able to surprise her.

Aurora was amazed. She had never seen anything like it. She was accustomed to luxury, but this simplicity, this closeness to nature, touched her to the core. This place seemed detached from reality, a quiet, secluded corner of paradise where one could forget all problems.

«This… this is incredible,» she whispered, feeling warmth kindling in her heart, thawing her frozen memories.

Kenan smiled, pleased with the effect produced, and led her to the fire. There, an elderly Portuguese man with a guitar and a bottle of wine was waiting for them. His face was etched with wrinkles, like a map of a life lived.

«Good evening, Senhor and Senhora,» he said, smiling welcomingly and revealing a few remaining teeth. «I am happy to welcome you to this secluded spot. My name is João.» His clothes were simple but clean, and his eyes shone with kindness.

Kenan said something to him in Portuguese, and João began to play a quiet, melodic Fado tune, sad and poignant, like the very soul of Portugal. Aurora sat on a pillow, watching the dancing flames. She felt the tension gradually leaving her body, as if dissolving in the night air.

Kenan poured her some wine and sat down beside her. They silently watched the fire, listening to the music and the sound of the surf. Aurora felt strange: on one hand, she was happy to be here, with Kenan, in this beautiful place. On the other hand, she couldn’t shake a feeling of anxiety, as if she was waiting for something bad.

«Tell me something,» Aurora asked, breaking the silence. «Something about yourself.» She wanted to know him better, to understand who he really was.

Kenan was silent for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts. He looked at her with a long, intent gaze, as if trying to read her thoughts.

«What do you want to know?» he asked.

«Everything,» Aurora replied. «About your childhood, your family, your dreams.»

Aurora sat, wrapped in a blanket, feeling the cool night breeze bringing with it the salty smell of the ocean. The fire crackled, casting whimsical shadows on the sand. João, the local musician Kenan had hired for the evening, quietly strummed his guitar, creating a serene atmosphere. Kenan, sitting beside her, sipped the tart red wine brought from the Douro Valley.

«My childhood was happy,» he began, breaking the silence. «I grew up in a large, close-knit family in Istanbul, in the Beyoğlu district. It was an incredibly cosmopolitan area where cultures and religions mixed — Greeks, Jews, Armenians, Turks lived side by side. My parents always supported me and believed in my abilities. We had a house with a small but cozy garden on the shore of the Bosphorus. Can you imagine, Aurora, every morning I woke up to the cries of seagulls and the horns of ferries sailing to Asia.»

He paused, as if searching for the right words. «My father, Mehmet, always said that the Bosphorus is not just a strait, it’s the soul of Istanbul, the connection between Europe and Asia, between the past and the future. He taught me about business from childhood, not by cramming numbers, but by teaching me to see opportunities. He told me about the intricacies of trading spices and carpets, about the art of making deals at the Grand Bazaar.» He chuckled.

«My mother, Ayşe, taught me to appreciate beauty and art, took me to museums, and told me legends about the Ottoman sultans.»

Kenan leaned back, looking at the starry sky. «My father always said,» he repeated, as if recalling a favorite saying, «Business is not just numbers and graphs. It is, first and foremost, people. Understanding their needs, the ability to see opportunities that others miss. He taught me to listen, not just to speak. He said that silence is sometimes more valuable than the most eloquent speeches. He, by the way, loved to quote Rumi — „Raise your words, not your voice. It is rain that grows flowers, not thunder.“»

«And my mother… my mother taught me to see beauty in the little things. In a sunset, in a flower, in a stranger’s smile. She said that beauty will save the world, but only if we learn to notice it.»

João finished playing, and in the ensuing silence, only the sound of the surf was heard. Kenan took a sip of wine, and the fire reflected in his dark eyes.

«I was always ambitious,» he continued, lowering his voice. «Since childhood, I dreamed of creating something of my own, something that would change the world for the better. So after university, I left Istanbul. I wanted to see the world, gain experience, find my niche. I worked in different countries, was involved in various projects. There were ups and downs, successes and failures. But I never gave up. You know, we have a saying in Turkey — «Damlaya damlaya göl olur’ — drop by drop, a lake is formed. I believed in my dream, and it led me here, to Portugal.»

«Why Portugal exactly?» Aurora asked, and her tone betrayed genuine interest.

Kenan smiled, and sparks lit up in his eyes. «There’s something special here. Some kind of magic that attracts. Maybe it’s the saudade, the longing for something lost that hangs in the air. Maybe it’s the people, so open and hospitable. Maybe it’s the atmosphere itself — a blend of ancient history and modern life. Here I feel at home. Here I found inspiration and the opportunity to realize my ideas.» He fell silent, as if pondering his words.

«And also… here I met you.» He took her hand in his and gently kissed the back of it. «You are my Portugal, Aurora.»

Aurora felt her cheeks flush with a light blush. She wasn’t used to such frank confessions. But there was a sincerity in his words that touched her to the core. She looked into his eyes and saw in them the reflection of the stars and the glimmers of the fire. She felt warm and cozy next to him, but at the same time, she felt a slight anxiety. She wasn’t used to trusting people, and she was afraid to open up to him completely.

«What’s next?» she asked quietly, meaning his plans for the future, but investing something more into the question.

Kenan looked her in the eyes, as if trying to read her thoughts. «Next… next I want to build my own little paradise here, in Portugal. I want to create a company that will help people realize their dreams, give them the opportunity to create, not just survive. I want to build a house where we will live together and raise children, speaking to them in both Turkish and Portuguese. I want to live a long and happy life with you, Aurora.»

João started playing again, this time a Fado melody filled with sadness and longing. Kenan stood up and offered Aurora his hand.

«Shall we dance?» he asked with a warm smile.

Aurora hesitated. She didn’t like to dance, especially in public. The scar on her arm began to ache from the excitement. But at that moment, she wanted to forget about everything and just enjoy the moment. She took his hand, feeling the warmth of his palm, and they began to dance under the starry sky, to the sound of the guitar and the surf.

In his embrace, she felt safe, but she knew that sooner or later the shadows of the past would catch up with them both.

Chapter 2

Shadows in the Blue Sunset

Fatigue gripped Aurora like an iron corset. Tossing the pencil aside, she leaned back in her chair, letting the tension drain from her shoulders. Outside the window, Sintra was lulling itself in the cradle of the approaching night. Crimson strokes of sunset spread across the sky like watercolor on wet paper, reflecting in the windows of neighboring houses. The shadows stretched out, taking on bizarre shapes, resembling clawed paws clinging to tiled roofs. During these hours, when the sun was sinking into the boundless Atlantic Ocean, memories of the past crawled out of the hidden corners of her memory, clinging to her with a special, painful force.

But today she resisted desperately. Today was marked by a warm light, a reflection of last night with Kenan. That evening had become for her not just a respite, but a breath of fresh, intoxicating air that filled her lungs after a long stay in a stuffy room.

Kenan had come to Sintra as soon as he could break free from the embrace of work, as he often did, with a generous smile and a bottle of exquisite red wine, which, like an artifact, he carefully selected himself, guided by criteria known only to him. The wind, playful and restless, played in her chestnut hair, fluttered the hem of her light dress, and Kenan seemed to catch every glimmer of the sunset in her eyes, every fleeting gesture.

He talked about his new business plans, about the dizzying prospects of expanding the company, about an unquenchable thirst to create something revolutionary that would change the world. His eyes burned when he spoke about technology, about code, about the future he seemed to see in every detail. Aurora listened, fascinated. His unbridled passion, determination, and self-confidence evoked her admiration and quiet envy.

In response, overcoming internal resistance, she shared with him her worries about the social project — the complex of affordable housing for low-income families. She spoke about the moral dilemma tearing her apart from within: how to come to terms with the fact that, having achieved success and recognition, she was powerless to help all those in need, unable to eradicate the injustice and inequality she had felt so painfully since childhood.

Kenan listened attentively, without interrupting, absorbing her every word, asking thoughtful questions, trying to understand the depth of her torment. His support, tact, and sincere sympathy were priceless to her, like a balm on a bleeding wound.

Gradually, as if under the influence of the wine and the trusting atmosphere, the conversation touched upon her past, her childhood. Kenan, without pressuring and showing delicacy, gently but persistently asked about the origin of the scar that adorned her arm. She felt everything inside her tighten, as painful memories rose from the bottom of her soul, threatening to overwhelm her. But, to her own surprise, she was able to tell him a little more than usual.

Aurora sighed, and the memories washed over her with renewed force. It was as if she was back in that apartment where she had spent her childhood. And in her ears sounded her own, childhood voice, which she seemed to hear anew:

«Mama… why is it so cold here? Not from a draft, but… inside. Why is it always so uncomfortable here? As if no one lives here, just spent the night… And when will you clean up? You promised you’d do at least something so it wouldn’t be so… empty. But you just watched TV. You didn’t even look at me…»

She fell silent, as if frightened by her own words. She swallowed the lump that rose in her throat and continued, quieter, almost in a whisper:

«And then I realized… that this isn’t a home. It’s just a place where we sleep. And eat when there’s something. And a real home I never had. And never will.»

She ran her hand over her cheek, wiping away an invisible tear. The words, torn from the depths of her memory, caused her physical pain. She remembered how often she had repeated these words as a child, trying to get through to her mother, but she remained indifferent to her suffering.

She noticed how his thick, dark eyebrows furrowed, how sympathy and genuine pain were reflected in his deep, brown eyes. He cautiously, as if afraid to hurt her, touched her scar with his warm, strong fingers. His touch was gentle and soothing. «This is a part of you, Aurora,» he whispered, looking her straight in the eyes, «But you must not let this past define your present, and even more so — dictate your future.»

They talked until late at night, laughing at funny stories, joking, drinking wine, enjoying each other’s company.

"...And then, can you imagine, this cheeky pigeon stole my croissant right out of my hands! I didn’t even have time to react!» Aurora said, laughing.

«No way! Right out of your hands?» Kenan asked in surprise, smiling at her.

«I swear! I was standing in line at the café, looking forward to my morning croissant, and then this feathered bandit flies up, snatches it, and flies away! I almost cried from frustration and annoyance,» Aurora continued, gesturing with her hands how the pigeon snatched the croissant.

Kenan added with a smirk: «Maybe it was a gourmet pigeon? He just had refined taste.»

«More like a kleptomaniac pigeon! All he does is steal,» Aurora retorted.

«And remember how we tried to make paella on a picnic?» Kenan suddenly recalled.

«Oh, that was unforgettable!» Aurora exclaimed, rolling her eyes.

«We decided we were cool chefs and could make paella over a campfire. As a result, the rice burned, the seafood was overcooked, and we mixed up the spices,» Kenan said, laughing.

«But the smoke! You could probably see us from a kilometer away,» Aurora added.

«And the worst thing was that we forgot the water! We had to ask some tourists for it,» Kenan finished the story.

«And after that, we decided it was better to just buy food from a restaurant,» Aurora concluded.

They laughed again, remembering that failed picnic. The wine flowed freely, and the conversations became more and more frank and heartfelt.

Kenan was nearby, as always, ready to listen, support, and embrace. And this gave her a sense of strength, self-confidence, so necessary for her in moments of spiritual weakness. He was her anchor, reliably holding her in reality, not allowing her to sink into the abyss of painful memories.

Today, after a hard and stressful working day, the memories of that evening warmed her soul like a ray of sun on a stormy day. She distinctly remembered the warmth of his hands, his caring gaze, his encouraging words. She knew, felt with all her heart, that Kenan would always be there, ready to come to her aid, to support her in a difficult moment. And this knowledge gave her strength, instilled hope for the best.

Aurora, gathering her thoughts, resolutely took a pencil in her hands and unrolled a clean sheet of paper. She was faced with the task of developing the concept for a new, complex, but insanely interesting project. And she knew she could handle it.

An image was born in her head. Through the shadows of the blue sunset, the contours of a future masterpiece began to emerge.

Inspiration, like a timid fawn, stepping silently, peered out from beyond the horizon. Aurora, usually practical and collected, now felt more like a medium than an architect.

In her hand, like a magic wand, the familiar «Koh-i-Noor» pencil sparkled with its faceted graphite — a pencil she hadn’t parted with since architecture college, which had survived all-nighters and dozens of missed deadlines with her. It was this pencil that was supposed to bring her most cherished dreams to life.

On a sheet of snow-white Whatman paper, like a ghost from the fog, the first lines began to appear — the contours of a house, a house that would become not just standard housing, but a manifesto, a hymn to hope, a place where wounded souls would find healing.

She closed her eyes, and pictures flashed in her imagination, like frames from a film shot by life itself: spacious rooms filled with soft light pouring through panoramic windows. Not just windows, but portals to another world — a world where there is no place for fear and loneliness, a world where nature caresses the eye and gives peace.

She saw how the sun’s rays played on the walls, painted in warm, earthy tones reminiscent of her native Portugal, its rocky shores and flowering valleys. In every house — a small winter garden, a nod to the famous «Hanging Gardens» of Babylon, only instead of exotic plants — unpretentious herbs and flowers accessible to everyone.

A cozy kitchen smelling of fresh pastries and strong coffee, where the whole family gathers around a large wooden table, sharing news and dreams. A living room with a fireplace lined with local stone — not just for warmth, but as a symbol of the hearth, a nod to ancient rituals when fire was the center of life and communication.

But this was not just a beautiful, architecturally verified project. It was an ethical project, built on the principles of accessibility, environmental friendliness, and safety, a kind of response to the challenges of the time.

She used recycled wood, local stone, and energy-saving double-glazed windows. The project included a rainwater collection system for garden irrigation and solar panels on the roof to reduce dependence on traditional energy sources. The houses were designed taking into account the needs of people with disabilities, with wide doorways, ramps, and special elevators.

She was drawing not just separate houses, but a whole community, a kind of «kibbutz» of the 21st century. In her imagination, a playground with swings and slides came to life with the ringing laughter of children who had forgotten their troubles and problems. A common garden where residents grow vegetables and fruits together, exchange experiences, and help each other. Workshops where they could engage in creativity and crafts, discover new talents, and earn a living. In the center — a community center with a library, a cinema, and a small gym, a place where people could communicate, learn, and develop.

She dreamed that this project would become a manifesto of a new architecture — an architecture that serves people, and not vice versa, an architecture that creates not just buildings, but a comfortable and harmonious living environment. That it would inspire other architects to create affordable and quality housing for all those in need, that it would become a symbol of hope and faith in a better future.

But then, like a bolt from the blue, something else flashed in her consciousness — her father’s face, blurred, like an old photograph, almost erased by relentless time, but no less painful for that. A memory from childhood surfaced, when she found an old photograph of her father hidden between the pages of a thick cookbook. The picture showed a young man with dark hair and radiant eyes, smiling straight at the camera. Aurora, who was about seven years old at the time, couldn’t take her eyes off the photograph. It seemed to her that she was seeing her father for the first time.

Clutching the photo in her small palm, she ran to her mother. Elena was doing laundry in the yard, her face red from fatigue and anger.

«Mama, who is this?» Aurora asked timidly, holding out the photograph.

Elena snatched the picture from her hands. Her gaze darkened, her face contorted into a grimace of rage.

«Where did you get this?» she hissed, clenching the photograph in her fist.

Aurora stepped back in fear. «I… I found it in a book…»

Elena didn’t answer. She tore the photograph into small pieces, throwing them into the dust.

«Never! Do you hear? Never ask me about him again!» she shouted, her voice trembling with anger. «He is dead to us! He betrayed us! Forget about him! He doesn’t exist!»

Aurora cried, frightened by her mother’s fury. She didn’t understand what was so terrible about this man in the photograph that even mentioning him caused such a storm of emotions.

Since then, her father’s name became taboo in their house. Elena did everything to erase him from Aurora’s memory. She removed all his things, destroyed all the photographs, and forbade even thinking about him.

Aurora threw the pencil aside as if it had burned her hand. Inspiration immediately, like a frightened bird, took off and flew away in an unknown direction.

She tried to calm down, take a deep breath, but the anger only intensified, turning into uncontrollable rage. She felt overwhelmed by a wave of hatred and contempt, that she was drowning in an ocean of pain and despair. She didn’t want to know anything about him, didn’t want to see him, didn’t want to forgive him. It was enough for her that he had once existed, to remember the bitterness of betrayal.

He had died for her many years ago, back when she first realized that she had no father. And let it remain that way. She would not give him a chance to be resurrected in her memory, she would not allow him to destroy her life again.

There was a quiet but persistent knock on the door. Aurora flinched as if from a gunshot, her thoughts scattering in disorder like shards of a broken mirror. Her heart was beating wildly in her chest like a caged bird.

— Aurora, it’s me, — she heard Kenan’s soft, soothing voice, like a balm on a wounded soul. — May I come in? You seem… not yourself today…

Aurora looked at the door as if it were a lifeline. Kenan — her support, her rock, the person who saw the real her, even when she herself tried to hide behind a mask of indifference. Maybe with him she could cope with this nightmare, maybe he would help her find the answer to the question that had been tormenting her for many years. But what if he learned the truth about her past? What if he saw that little, frightened girl she once was? Could he accept her for who she was?

Swallowing the lump in her throat, she whispered:

— Come in.

Chapter 3

The House I Will Build

The Lisbon sun, like a generous artist, had already painted the sky in a palette of gold and orange when Aurora, squinting slightly, parked her elegant but modest Fiat 500 by the fence of the construction site. Her project, the embodiment of her dream of affordable housing, was meant to be not just a structure, but a symbol of hope, a breath of fresh air for those who so lacked a place in the sun.

She got out of the car, inhaling the air steeped in the dust of the construction site, the smell of fresh concrete, and the barely perceptible note of metal, like the scent of a dream not yet born. This smell… She liked this chaos, this creative disorder. It reminded her of the process of creating something new, something significant.

Aurora walked past rows of tool containers and headed towards the site office — a small but cozy space where the «heroes» of the construction site were already waiting for her.

Inside, it was hot, mixed with the hum of working tools and the perpetual sound of ringing phones. At the table, cluttered with blueprints and cups of drunk coffee, a unique microclimate reigned — a mixture of work enthusiasm, Portuguese leisurely pace, and Carlos’s signature sarcasm.

Three men were seated at the table: João, the foreman, whose face, like an old map, was etched with wrinkles from sun and wind, testifying to his experience and silent wisdom. Miguel, a young engineer, with burning eyes and the energy of a volcano, ready to move mountains (or at least build a couple of floors). And Carlos — an experienced builder, whose jokes were as sharp as utility knife blades and always hit the mark.

«Bom dia, Aurora! You’re late, which means lunch is coming soon!» João greeted her, rising heavily from the table. His hands, as if molded from concrete itself, betrayed his profession.

«Bom dia, João,» Aurora replied, shaking his strong hand.

«So, what’s the situation? Everything going according to plan? Like a… grandfather clock?» Aurora asked, glancing at the blueprints.

«Almost, dear,» Carlos smirked, his eyes twinkling mischievously. «If you don’t count yesterday’s downpour turning the site into a copy of the Venetian Lagoon, and Miguel running out of coffee. A mess, you see.»

Miguel immediately bristled: «That’s not funny, Carlos! Without coffee, I’m like… like an inexperienced builder without blueprints!»

«Well, sorry, my young padawan,» Carlos shrugged, raising an eyebrow. «I thought for an engineer the main thing was knowledge of the laws of physics, not a dependence on a stimulating liquid. But apparently, I’m behind the times.»

Aurora, trying to hide a smile, glanced at Miguel. She knew that beneath Carlos’s sarcasm lay not only professionalism but also a kind heart.

«Alright, let’s get down to business,» Aurora said, sitting at the table and pushing her long chestnut hair from her face. «João, how’s the foundation coming along? Didn’t it drown completely?»

«The foundation is almost ready, senhorita,» João replied, his voice seemingly polished by wind and time. «We start pouring tomorrow. Unless, of course, God decides to repeat yesterday’s flood.»

«Excellent,» said Aurora. «Miguel, what about the electrical wiring? Missing a spark?»

«Minor delays,» Miguel replied, his face slightly pale. «The cable delivery is delayed, as if the supplier decided to take a cruise instead of working. I ordered a new one, but…»

«But apparently, he also prefers to relax on the beach,» Carlos chimed in, not missing an opportunity. «Or he’s trying to invent a way to transmit electricity without cables, like Nikola Tesla.»

Miguel threw a pleading look at Carlos.

Aurora sighed, but a smile touched her lips again. «Try to resolve the issue as quickly as possible, Miguel. We need to keep to the schedule. Unless, of course, the construction site decides to turn into Atlantis.»

«I’m doing everything in my power,» Miguel replied. «But I’m not Harry Potter, to wave a wand and fix everything!»

«No, Miguel,» Carlos interjected again, his eyes sparkling. «You’re just an engineer without coffee… Like Batman without the Batmobile!»

Miguel barely restrained himself from rolling his eyes.

Aurora sighed again, but this time it was from laughter. «Carlos, please, be a bit more serious. Your sense of humor isn’t always appropriate.»

«Perhaps,» Carlos replied, spreading his hands. «But at least I always lift your spirits, especially when we have to deal with sewage problems. Now that’s a real circus, not a construction site!»

Aurora rolled her eyes. «Let’s better discuss the sewage problems. I hear there’s something ’interesting’ there too.»

Carlos grinned. «Now we’re talking! There, we might need not just coffee, but a couple of strong Brazilian dancers to handle those pipes!»

«Oh, Carlos,» Aurora sighed, rubbing her temples as if trying to squeeze out a drop of calm, «if humor solved supply blockages, I’d have given you not just the «Best Plumber of the Year’ award long ago, but sponsored a European tour for you and your jokes! But unfortunately, in reality, everything is much more prosaic.» She smirked, remembering how Carlos once tried to persuade a malfunctioning concrete mixer with a mother-in-law joke.

Carlos, seemingly bulletproof against gloom, winked at her with his signature, slightly sly look. «Well then, it’s time for my second talent — persuasion bordering on blackmail! I’ll talk to the suppliers. Maybe a cup of real Portuguese coffee and a couple of well-chosen jokes, what do you think, about blondes? — will help them suddenly remember our urgent order. Maybe their memory got knocked out?»

«Carlos, if you say one word about blondes, I’ll personally make you paint this entire complex pink,» Aurora threatened, but her voice held more affection than anger. «Better promise them a free consultation on fixing their eternally leaky taps. That will be much more effective. And for heaven’s sake, no jokes about politicians!»

She turned her gaze to the huge blueprints spread on the table, trying to concentrate on the architectural details, but the noise and bustle of the construction site, this symphonic orchestra of hammers, drills, and workers’ shouts, constantly distracted her.

«João, what about the workers? Everyone in place? No one ran off to a football match?» Aurora asked, feeling fatigue beginning to build. Perfectionism and hyper-responsibility were both her curse and her blessing.

João, the elderly foreman with a face carved with wrinkles like a map of a lived life, answered with a slight smile that held respect and fatherly care. «Yes, senhorita. Everyone is working like bees in a hive. It’s even surprising. Some are even singing.»

«Singing? What are they singing?» Aurora asked, raising an eyebrow.

João shrugged. «Fado,» he replied with the air of a connoisseur. «What else? This is Portugal, senhorita. Even concrete can’t resist the charms of Fado.»

Aurora smiled. Fado — the traditional Portuguese music, full of longing and passion, the very quintessence of saudade, the Portuguese yearning for the unattainable. It seemed even the builders, stained with cement and sweat, busy with hard work, couldn’t resist its melancholic charms. She remembered the words of Amália Rodrigues, the queen of Fado: «Fado is when the soul sings, even if it’s in pain.»

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door of the site office. A tall man in work clothes entered, holding a worn hard hat in his hands. His face showed concern, as if he brought bad news.

«Senhorita Pereira?» he asked, slightly stuttering.

«Yes, that’s me. Did something happen, António?» Aurora asked, on alert, sensing a bad premonition.

António shifted from foot to foot, as if not knowing how to begin. «A small incident occurred,» he finally blurted out. «While working with the rebar, one of our guys got a little hurt. Not badly, but…»

Aurora’s heart skipped a beat. Safety on the construction site was always her absolute priority, a point she had drilled into everyone. She knew that one mistake could cost a person their health or even their life. Images from news reports about accidents on construction sites flashed in her head, and she felt a sticky fear enveloping her.

«Where is he? How badly is he hurt? Who is it?» she asked quickly, jumping up from the table as if propelled by a spring.

«He’s in the first aid station, senhorita. The wound isn’t deep, seems like just a scratch, but it needs to be treated, disinfected, all as it should be,» António replied, calming down a bit seeing her reaction. «It’s João, the new guy.»

«Let’s go,» said Aurora, heading for the exit. She felt responsible for every person on this site, especially the newcomers.

Miguel, her deputy and right-hand man, immediately stood up. «I’m with you, Aurora.»

«And I,» added Carlos. «Someone has to tell the injured guy a joke about the hospital to cheer him up. I have a whole collection!»

Aurora threw a reproachful look at Carlos but said nothing. Now was really not the time for his inappropriate jokes.

They left the site office and headed to the first aid station, located at the other end of the construction site, near the tool storage. Aurora walked quickly, almost running, trying to ward off dark thoughts. She knew there was always a risk of accidents on any construction site, but she did everything possible to prevent them, conducted safety briefings, purchased quality equipment, and demanded everyone follow the rules.

On the way, she saw Kenan, her boyfriend, walking towards her with a face expressing clear concern. Seeing her, he sped up. Kenan, like a true Eastern man, always worried about her and her safety, although he tried not to pressure her with his overprotectiveness.

«Aurora, my love, what happened? They called me from the office and said there was some incident,» Kenan asked, approaching her and gently cupping her face in his palms.

«Yes, Kenan, everything’s fine,» Aurora replied, trying to calm him. «One of the workers got a little hurt. We’re going to the first aid station to see what’s going on.»

Kenan frowned. «I’ll go with you. Safety is the most important thing.» He took her hand, squeezing her fingers tightly.

Together they headed to the first aid station, each of them worried about the injured worker and hoping the wound wasn’t serious and everything would be okay. Aurora felt Kenan’s support, his strong shoulder next to her. In such moments, she especially appreciated his presence in her life, his ability to be there when needed, without asking unnecessary questions or demanding explanations.

When they approached the first aid station, Aurora noticed a small crowd of workers gathered at the entrance. Their rough, cement-stained overalls contrasted with the anxiety frozen on their faces.

They were discussing something animatedly — it seemed they were arguing — but upon seeing her, they fell silent and parted, letting her through. This silence, suddenly coming after the hubbub, spoke volumes. Aurora knew — the workers were afraid of accidents on the construction site. Especially on such large projects where haste and complex structures created increased risk.

Aurora entered a small room, furnished modestly but impeccably clean. Whitewashed walls, the smell of iodine and fresh bandages — the standard set of any first aid station.

In the center stood a well-worn couch with cracked leather upholstery, on which sat a young guy with a bandaged arm. His face was pale as a sheet, but his eyes showed relief — it seemed the worst was over.

Next to him stood the nurse, Dora, with her constant kind smile and soothing tone that always acted on the workers like a balm on wounds. Dora was the real guardian angel of this construction site, and Aurora valued her professionalism and humanity.

«João?» Aurora asked, approaching the guy. She tried to speak softly so as not to scare him further.

João looked up at her. «Senhorita Pereira…» he muttered sheepishly, as if his guilt in what happened was more than just an accident. Aurora knew this look. The fear of losing a job because of an injury was perhaps stronger than the pain itself.

«How are you feeling? What happened?» Aurora sat down next to him on the couch, trying not to touch him to avoid causing pain. She noticed him wince when he tried to move his arm slightly.

«It’s all right, senhorita. Just cut myself a little. Didn’t notice a piece of rebar sticking out,» João tried to smile, but it came out poorly. The corner of his lip twitched in a nervous tic.

Aurora carefully examined his arm. The bandage was neatly applied by Dora, but a small, ominous spot of blood was visible on it. She knew that rebar was a real scourge of any construction site. These pieces of metal sticking out of concrete, like predator’s teeth, held enormous danger.

«The nurse said the wound isn’t deep, but I still need a tetanus shot,» João added.

«Of course, that’s mandatory,» Aurora nodded. She turned to the nurse: «Dora, do you think he needs to go to the hospital? Maybe an X-ray to rule out bone damage?»

Dora shook her head. «No, senhorita, no need. The wound really isn’t serious. I cleaned it with antiseptic, treated it with hydrogen peroxide, and applied a bandage with antibiotic ointment. He just needs to rest today and monitor the wound’s condition.»

Aurora turned to João. «João, you’re free for today. Go home and rest. You don’t have to come in tomorrow until your arm heals.» She knew he needed the money, but health was more important.

«But, senhorita, I don’t want to…» João tried to object. He was afraid he’d be considered a weakling and replaced by someone else.

«No ’buts’, João. Your health is more important than anything. We’ll pay you for today as a workday,» Aurora said firmly. In such situations, one had to be firm but fair.

João lowered his head. «Thank you, senhorita.»

Aurora smiled at him. «Get well soon, João. And be more careful next time.» She turned to the nurse: «Thank you, Dora, for your help.»

They left the first aid station. Kenan silently put his arm around Aurora’s shoulders, expressing his support. She felt his warmth and care, and it made her feel a little better.

«Everything alright?» he asked, looking her straight in the eyes. He could see right through her.

«Yes, everything’s fine. Just got a little scared,» Aurora replied, leaning against him.

«I understand. Safety on a construction site is very important.»

«Yes, it’s my biggest fear,» Aurora admitted. She remembered her childhood, when her mother worked in a factory and often came home with bruises and abrasions. She knew how easy it was to get injured in production and how hard it was to recover afterwards.

They stood in silence for a while, enjoying the quiet and each other’s closeness. Then Aurora pulled away from Kenan and looked at him gratefully.

«Thank you for being here,» she said.

«I will always be here, my love,» Kenan replied, gently kissing her forehead.

As they walked back to the temporary office, Aurora thought about João and how easily one could lose everything in an instant. She understood that she had to do everything possible to ensure safety on the construction site and protect her workers. She recalled a phrase from a famous architect: «Architecture is not only about beauty, but also about responsibility.»

When they entered the office — a spacious room with panoramic windows overlooking the hills of Sintra — Aurora immediately went to her desk. She didn’t like to put things off, especially when it concerned people’s safety. The office was furnished in a minimalist style: light walls, wooden furniture, several blueprints and models on the shelves. Photographs of Aurora’s completed projects hung on the walls: elegant villas, modern office buildings, and, of course, several social projects she was particularly proud of.

Aurora sank into an ergonomic chair that, despite its cost, seemed insufficiently comfortable to her. She always felt tension in her back after several hours at the computer.

Organized chaos reigned on the desk: stacks of documents, blueprints, material samples, supplier catalogs, a notebook with sketches and notes. Aurora always said that a tidy desk was a sign of an empty mind.

She started her laptop, waited for it to load, and opened the folder with documents for the social housing project. Today she planned to double-check all instructions and safety regulations again. Aurora knew that on construction sites, especially when building social housing where cheaper materials were often used and workers with little experience were hired, the risk of accidents increased.

She delved into reading the instructions. Building codes and regulations in Portugal were quite strict, but Aurora always tried to be extra cautious and use the most modern technologies and materials to ensure maximum safety on the site.

She opened a browser and started searching for information about new technologies for protecting workers from falls from height. This problem was especially relevant when constructing multi-story buildings. Aurora was interested in new systems of safety ropes and nets that could prevent serious injuries.

She also searched for information about new materials that could increase the building’s fire resistance. Lately, cases of fires in residential buildings constructed using cheap materials had become more frequent in Europe. Aurora wanted to make sure her project met the highest fire safety standards.

She remembered an incident on one of her previous construction sites when a worker was seriously injured due to a safety violation. Aurora had personally paid for his treatment and rehabilitation, but the case left a deep mark on her soul. Since then, she had become even more attentive to safety issues on the construction site.

Suddenly, a knock on the door distracted her.

«Come in,» Aurora said, without looking up from the computer screen.

At that moment, Miguel entered the office, which smelled of coffee and blueprints. «Aurora, good evening. I was thinking…» He hesitated, adjusting his glasses in thin frames. «Maybe we should conduct an additional safety briefing for all the workers? You know, considering the recent changes in regulations, and just in general…»

Aurora looked up from the blueprint on which she was meticulously drawing the facade of one of the houses. She rubbed the bridge of her nose tiredly. «Good evening, Miguel. And what do you suggest?» Her voice sounded a bit hoarse after a long day on the site.

Miguel beamed. «Invite a specialist who will talk about the new rules and technologies. You know, so much new stuff is appearing now… Modern scaffolding, safety systems, even hard hats with impact sensors!» He was clearly enthusiastic about this topic.

Aurora raised an eyebrow. «Hard hats with impact sensors? That’s something new.» A thought about the cost of such helmets flashed in her head, but she immediately dismissed it. People’s safety was paramount. «Great idea, Miguel. Go ahead. Let’s do it tomorrow.»

Miguel literally shone. «I knew you’d like it! I’ve already started preparing the program. I’ll invite a health and safety engineer from Lisbon, Manuel Pereira. He’s considered one of the best in the country. Can you imagine, he even consulted on the construction of the Vasco da Gama Bridge!»

Aurora smiled back, but a spark of irony flashed in her eyes. Miguel was always a bit of a perfectionist. «Wonderful. Just remind him that we’re building a residential complex, not a bridge. And that the main thing is simple and clear instructions for the workers.»

«Of course! I’ll explain everything to him. But still, new technologies are cool!» Miguel persisted, continuing to list all the advantages of modern safety systems.

Aurora smiled. She knew that with such reliable and enthusiastic assistants as Miguel, she could handle any difficulties and build not only beautiful houses but also a safe workplace for her employees. A huge responsibility lay on her shoulders, but she was ready to bear it. Because she knew that behind every house she built were people’s lives. And she had to do everything possible to ensure those lives were safe.

Chapter 4

Crossroads

Aurora spent the rest of the day as if she had declared a personal war on pixels. She stared intently at the monitor, furiously studying the latest safety technologies, as if the fate of the world depended on it — or at least the integrity of every unsecured bolt on the future construction site. Obsessive thoughts: «If even one child falls from this slide, I’ll personally carry them in my arms for the rest of their days!» — crept into her head, preventing her from concentrating.

Memories of her mother, who for years had bent her back in a factory reeking of machine oil, where the risk of injury was so commonplace that even the local cats wore hard hats (well, almost), gave her no peace. Aurora knew what «production necessity» was — a euphemism behind which negligence, cynical disregard for human life, and a desire to save on everything except the director’s salary usually hid.

She read about «smart concrete» with self-healing microcapsules (who would have thought concrete could be smart?!), motion sensors that reacted even to a butterfly’s breath (she wondered how they distinguished a butterfly from a little thief?), and fire suppression systems that, according to advertising brochures, could flood an entire stadium with foam in a matter of seconds (the main thing was not to flood the spectators along with it).

In the evening, when Kenan dropped her off at the entrance, gently touching her temple with his lips, Aurora felt squeezed out like a lemon. He, with his perceptive gaze, immediately noted the shadows under her eyes, too noticeable even in the semi-darkness of the car’s interior. «You need to rest, Aurora,» he said, and his voice held a sincere concern that she valued but simultaneously feared a little. She was afraid he would see in her not a successful architect, but that little girl who hid in a corner from her drunken stepfather.

Stepping into the spacious, honey-lit living room, Aurora hoped to cast aside all thoughts and simply collapse on the sofa. The parquet under her feet was polished to a shine, the fire crackled cozily in the fireplace, creating an atmosphere of warmth and calm. But then her gaze treacherously caught on a stack of blueprints sprawled defiantly on the table. It was her obsession, her personal crusade — the concept of the «ideal home» for those less fortunate than her.

«I can’t right now,» she whispered, addressing the stack of paper rather than herself. Fatigue weighed on her shoulders like a concrete slab. «Sleep is for the weak, and I… I’m just a very, very efficient architect,» she thought, sarcastically imitating a favorite phrase of one of her former bosses. But her conscience, that eternal nag, wouldn’t let her postpone the task. Sighing like Sisyphus before another push of the stone, she turned on the desk lamp, casting a cozy yellow light, and sat down at the table.

The blueprints teemed with details, lovingly drawn by her hand: compact but functional kitchens (no bigger than an airplane cockpit, but everything necessary would fit!), bright rooms with huge windows (so that even on the cloudiest day it would seem the sun was shining), common areas for socializing and play (no dreary playgrounds with peeling paint!). Aurora dreamed of creating not just housing, but a kind of sanctuary where people would feel safe, know they were valued, and could finally straighten their shoulders.

And then her gaze caught on one of the blueprints. It was a sketch of a children’s room. A small, almost prison-like window facing the inner courtyard. Aurora suddenly felt a sharp, almost physical pain. Her own childhood… A tiny room in an old house where she had lived with her mother and stepfather. The window was almost always boarded up, and she felt she was suffocating from the stale air and the feeling of hopelessness. She even remembered the pattern on the wallpaper — yellow daisies, faded and somehow melancholy. «Daisies can be depressing too,» she thought with a bitter smirk.

Her heart constricted painfully. Impulsively grabbing a pencil, she began furiously redoing the blueprint. She doubled, tripled the size of the window! Made it not just a window, but a kind of glowing wall. She wanted the children living in these houses to feel free, like birds in the sky. To see not dreary walls, but a world full of possibilities. To know for sure: life is not just yellow daisies on faded wallpaper.

Absorbed in creating the perfect blueprint for the children’s room, Aurora didn’t notice how time dissolved in the semi-darkness of her study. The clock hands had long passed midnight, and only the lamp on her desk, like a beacon, pulled her concentrated face out of the thick darkness. She forgot about fatigue, about the obsessive feeling of guilt that had pursued her since youth, about the burdensome past from which it seemed impossible to escape. Now she was just an architect, a creator, in whose hands a dream was being born — a dream of a better world for those who needed it most.

For a moment, her fingers froze over the blueprint. A thought crossed her mind: «What do I, in essence, know about children? About children living in poverty?» She remembered her first room — a tiny, damp closet with a window barred to protect against thieves. In that room, instead of bright wallpaper, there were shabby walls, and instead of toys — fragments of old furniture. But even there, in that wretched corner, her mother managed to create an atmosphere of warmth and love. «The main thing is for children to feel safe,» she would say, covering Aurora with an old, patched blanket. «Then they can grow up to be good people, no matter what.»

Suddenly feeling a chill, Aurora threw a warm plaid, knitted by her grandmother long before her birth — the only thing reminiscent of family, over her shoulders. Approaching the window, she gazed at the nighttime Sintra. The city slept, covered with a velvet blanket of darkness. Only rare streetlights flickered below, resembling a scattering of stars that had accidentally fallen from the sky. Aurora loved Sintra for its soothing silence, its winding streets preserving the spirit of history, the feeling of safety she experienced here, far from the hustle and cruelty of the big world.

But even in this quiet corner, memories found loopholes. An image of her mother arose in her head, working at the factory for twelve hours a day to feed her, exhausted but always finding the strength to smile and hug Aurora. She remembered the fear of her stepfather, whose unpredictability kept them in constant tension. His every appearance in the house was like a harbinger of a storm.

Aurora knew that her success was largely due to her mother. It was she who taught her to value work, to be strong and never give up. She often repeated: «You have a talent, Aurora. Use it to make the world better.» And that was precisely why Aurora felt such a huge responsibility towards those in need. She wanted to give them a piece of the warmth and love she herself had lacked so much in childhood.

Returning to the table, Aurora again took a pencil in her hands. She wanted these houses to be not just beautiful and functional, but truly «alive,» filled with light and warmth. So that within these walls people would feel protected and happy, could rest from daily worries and gather strength for a new life. She pondered that a children’s room is not just a place for sleep and play, it’s a whole world where a child’s personality, their values and dreams, are formed.

Suddenly, it seemed to her that she heard a quiet whisper — her mother’s voice, full of love and support. «You’re doing everything right, my girl. Don’t stop.» Aurora smiled through her tears. She knew her mother was always with her, in her heart, guiding and inspiring her.

She continued working until the first rays of the sun broke through the night gloom, coloring the sky in delicate pastel tones. Tired but satisfied, Aurora leaned back in her chair and looked at the blueprints. The children’s room now looked completely different. A huge window flooding the room with sunlight, light walls visually expanding the space, cozy furniture made from natural materials. Everything was there for children to feel happy and protected.

Aurora knew this was only the beginning of a long journey. Much more work lay ahead before her dream would become a reality. But she was ready for any difficulties. A fire burned in her heart that would not let her give up. She poured herself a cup of strong coffee, took a fresh pastry from the local bakery, and went out onto the balcony to greet the dawn. Sintra was waking up, filling with the sounds of life. Aurora smiled. Today would be a good day, and she would do everything to make this day beneficial for those in need.

Chapter 5

Dream Homes

The affordable housing project, named «Hope,» had become for Aurora not just a job — but a personal crusade against injustice. An obsession? Perhaps. A fixed idea, akin to the one that haunted Captain Ahab? Most likely. But this obsession was her shield and sword, allowing her to forget, at least for a while, about the ghosts of the past.

Aurora drew up plans as if weaving protective spells. She worked around the clock, surviving on coffee from a thermos and random snacks, forgetting about sleep and a normal schedule. Kenan, her Eastern prince-businessman, was beginning to worry seriously. Once, finding her at three in the morning over another blueprint, he tried to pull the tablet from her hands, muttering something about the dangers of overwork and the benefits of a hammam.

— Kenan, please, — Aurora exhaled wearily, — you know how important this is to me.

— Important? More important than healthy sleep? Or, perhaps, more important than me? — he asked with feigned indignation, but his eyes showed genuine concern. — Listen, you’re an architect, not Mother Teresa in a hard hat!

She smiled. Kenan knew how to bring her back to earth.

For Aurora, «Hope» was not just square meters. She dreamed of creating a place where children could draw rainbows on the walls without fear that the paint would last a lifetime (and who would wash it off later?). A place where parents could afford a cup of coffee in the café across the street, instead of frantically counting the cents left until payday (though, admittedly, Aurora herself couldn’t always afford it during her student years).

Every detail was thought out to the smallest things: from a convenient layout (so that even in a «one-room» you could dance the tango alone, if the neighbors didn’t mind, of course), to eco-friendly materials (so you wouldn’t have to explain to your grandchildren why they have three arms). She wanted to use solar panels on the roof (as in the best European projects) to reduce electricity bills (and so the residents could boast to their friends that they lived in a «green» house).

She dreamed of a courtyard where children would play football, not sit on their phones (though, admittedly, Aurora herself sometimes got stuck on social media). She wanted to create a community center where they could hold movie nights (showing old good comedies so everyone would laugh until they cried, not modern «dark» films that make you want to howl at the moon).

Sitting over the plan for the playground, Aurora suddenly remembered her own «yard» — a abandoned wasteland behind the house where she grew up. The only entertainment there was the game «Build Your Own House.» They, dirty and ragged, imagined themselves as architects and builders, erecting whole palaces from garbage and ruins. Cardboard boxes became walls, torn rags — curtains, and shards of glass — sparkling chandeliers. It was their refuge, their fantasy world where they could forget about hunger, beatings, fear.

Aurora shuddered, pushing away the intrusive memories. Now she had her own, real home. A spacious apartment with an ocean view, expensive furniture, paintings by contemporary artists. Everything she had dreamed of as a child. But sometimes, looking at this luxury, she felt like an impostor, as if she had stolen this life, as if she didn’t deserve it. And then she would dream of the wasteland again, dirty and ugly, but so familiar and dear.

Tears welled up in her eyes. She quickly wiped them away, scolding herself for sentimentality. She would not allow a single child to repeat her fate.

Suddenly, the phone rang. The screen showed the name Marcos, her eternal assistant, who constantly lost, forgot, and confused things, but was devoted to her to the core.

— Aurora, we have a… slight hitch here, — Marcos mumbled, — The developer… well, this fat cat… he decided… uh-uh… in short, he refuses to finance the project! Says it’s too expensive.

Aurora’s heart sank somewhere in the region of her stomach. «Hope» — on the verge of collapse?

— Thank you, Marcos, — Aurora replied, trying to remain calm, — Call him. Tell him I want to meet with him today. And yes, Marcos, this time, please, don’t leave my phone on the table at the café.

Aurora leaned back in her chair. The «fat cat» had decided to play the greedy monopolist. Well, let the game begin. Aurora Pereira never gave up without a fight.

Aurora knew António Ferreira inside out. Beneath the glossy mask of a successful developer hid a ruthless businessman ready to do anything for profit. His charity events were just carefully thought-out PR moves designed to mask cynicism and greed. In his soul, he despised those who were not part of his narrow circle of the chosen — those not born with a silver spoon in their mouth, those who couldn’t boast a lineage tracing back to the very roots of Portuguese nobility.

She had met with him before on other projects, but each time she felt almost physical disgust at his slippery, condescending tone, at the lecherous gaze that slid over her figure as if appraising goods at a market.

The meeting was scheduled in his luxurious office on Avenida da Liberdade — a street that itself was a symbol of Lisbon’s luxury and the power of money. Aurora deliberately dressed in her strictest suit — a dark blue trouser set from Rosa & Teixeira, which perfectly emphasized her slender figure but gave no occasion for frivolous comments. She wanted him to see her as a professional, an architect with principles, not just a beautiful woman. After all, gender discrimination still flourished in Portuguese society, especially in the conservative world of construction and real estate.

Ferreira met her at the entrance to his office with a strained smile and exaggerated cordiality. His ironed Armani suit fit impeccably, and the expensive Patek Philippe watch on his wrist spoke eloquently of his status.

— Aurora, dear! How glad I am to see you! Come in, sit down. What will you have — coffee, tea, perhaps something stronger? Porto? — his voice held a cloying sweetness.

— Coffee, thank you, — Aurora replied dryly, trying not to show her irritation. — Let’s get straight to the point, António. Marcos informed me that you are refusing to finance the «Hope» project. May I know the reason?

Ferreira leaned back in his huge Poltrona Frau leather chair and folded his hands on his stomach, as if appraising her. Behind his back opened a panoramic view of Lisbon, as if the city lay at his feet.

— The reason is simple, dear. Money. Dinheiro, as we say in Portugal. Your project is too expensive. I am a businessman, not a philanthropist. I need my investments to bring profit. After all, I am responsible to my shareholders.

— But we discussed the budget at the initial stage! You agreed to my terms. What changed? — Aurora felt her voice becoming firmer.

— Circumstances changed. The real estate market is like the ocean, Aurora. Calm today, storm tomorrow. I found more profitable projects, — Ferreira replied evasively, avoiding direct eye contact. — But I am ready to offer you a compromise.

Aurora became wary. She knew nothing good could be expected from Ferreira. This «compromise» would most likely turn into another humiliation and an attempt to cut her project beyond recognition.

— What compromise? — her voice held steel.

— I am ready to continue financing, but with some changes, — Ferreira took a thick folder from the desk drawer and handed it to Aurora. A predatory gleam flashed in his eyes. — First, we cut the budget by twenty percent. Second, we abandon the eco-friendly materials and solar panels. Third, we simplify the apartment layouts and reduce the area of the children’s playground. Fourth…

Aurora didn’t even bother to listen to the end. She quickly scanned the documents. Ferreira wanted to turn her dream — a complex of affordable housing designed with soul and care for people — into a faceless box, devoid of any individuality and comfort. He wanted to turn her «Hope» into another ghetto where poor people would live in cramped and squalid conditions.

— You want me to build a ghetto, António? — she asked with contempt, looking him straight in the eyes. — I didn’t sign up for that.

— Don’t be dramatic, dear. It’s just business. No need to be such an idealist. If you don’t agree, I’ll find another architect who will be more accommodating. There are plenty of them. After all, the crisis has forced many architects to lower their appetites.

— You think I’m scared? — Aurora resolutely rose from her chair. — You don’t know me well, António. I’d rather refuse the project than betray my principles.

— That’s your choice, — Ferreira shrugged, displaying complete indifference. — But remember, Aurora, in this city everything is connected with money. Dinheiro, as I already said. Without it, you are nobody. You can be talented, beautiful, smart, but without money you are just dust underfoot.

— I prefer to be nobody than to be like you, — with these words Aurora turned around and left the office, leaving Ferreira alone in his luxurious cage.

She walked along Avenida da Liberdade, feeling everything inside boiling with anger and indignation. She felt betrayed and used. But even stronger was her determination to fight for her project, for her dream.

What would she do next? How could she save the «Hope» project from the greed and cynicism of António Ferreira?

Suddenly, her gaze fell on the window of the David Rosas jewelry store. Inside, diamonds, rubies, emeralds, and gold sparkled like stars in the night sky.

Aurora froze in front of the jewelry boutique window as if hypnotized. Diamonds, sapphires, emeralds… Precious stones of all shapes and sizes sparkled under the bright light, shimmering with all the colors of the rainbow. She had never felt an attraction to jewelry, considering them a symbol of superficiality and ostentatious wealth. But today, looking at this dazzling brilliance, a thought crossed her mind: what if her salvation lay precisely in this world of luxury?

A memory flashed in her mind, like a spark igniting a long-abandoned hearth. A dusty, old leather-bound chest hidden in the attic of her grandmother’s dilapidated house on the outskirts of Porto. There, among yellowed photographs and lace doilies smelling of naphthalene, lay treasures she had long forgotten — her mother’s jewelry.

She remembered her grandmother’s vague stories that these jewels had some value, that they were once worn by ladies from high society. But as a child, Aurora was more interested in fairy tales than her grandmother’s memories. Now, in a desperate attempt to find a way out of the financial dead end her project was in, she realized that these forgotten treasures could be her last hope.

Aurora resolutely turned and headed to the nearest café. She urgently needed to make a plan to avoid making any impulsive decisions. «Impulsiveness is a bad advisor,» her grandmother used to tell her in childhood. Ordering a double espresso, she took out her phone and began frantically googling «jewelry auctions Lisbon.»

A few hours later, Aurora sat hunched over her blueprint-cluttered desk, illuminated only by the dim light of a desk lamp. On the laptop screen, a page from the Christie’s auction house glowed. Her heart was beating wildly in her chest, tapping out an alarming rhythm.

She found a suitable auction — «Exquisite Jewels,» scheduled to take place in two weeks. The lot list featured names that sounded like music: Art Deco diamond necklaces, ruby earrings by Cartier, emerald brooches that once belonged to Portuguese aristocrats… Treasures that could fetch a fortune.

Aurora took a deep breath, trying to calm the trembling in her hands. «This is madness,» she whispered to herself. She could lose everything — not only the project into which she had poured her soul, but also the memory of her mother, enclosed in these old jewels. But she also knew she couldn’t calmly watch her dream crumble, watch families in need of affordable housing remain without hope for a better life.

The decision ripened instantly, like a fruit overflowing with ripeness. She would put her mother’s jewelry up for auction. It was her desperate, crazy, but only possible chance to save the «Hope» project.

At that moment, there was a knock on the door. Three short, confident knocks.

— Come in, — Aurora said, trying to sound confident, though everything inside was trembling with fear.

Kenan stood on the threshold. His eyes showed anxiety mixed with love.

— Aurora, what happened? Marcos said you left Ferreira’s office, slamming the door and shouting something about moral principles. Is everything alright?

Aurora looked at Kenan. He was her anchor, her quiet harbor in the stormy ocean of life. She knew she could trust him as herself. He had always supported her ambitions. But she was afraid to tell him about her plan. Afraid he would think her insane, say it was too risky.

— Everything’s fine, Kenan, — she tried to smile, but it came out as a strained semblance. — Just a little professional discussion with Ferreira. Nothing serious.

Kenan frowned. He knew Aurora too well to believe this lie. He approached her, took her hands in his, and felt how strongly she was trembling.

— Aurora, I see that something is wrong. You can’t hide it from me. Please, tell me what happened. I’m here to support you.

Aurora looked into his eyes. They reflected unconditional love, care, and a readiness to share any burden. She realized she could no longer hide the truth.

Haltingly, stammering, she told Kenan about the meeting with Ferreira, his cynical offer, and her crazy decision to auction her mother’s jewelry.

Kenan was silent, only squeezing her hands tighter. When she finished, he pulled her to him and hugged her tightly.

— I understand, Aurora, — he said quietly, stroking her hair. — I understand how important this project is to you. I’m proud of you for not giving up. You are the strongest woman I know.

Aurora felt the tears she had been holding back for so long finally stream down, burning her cheeks.

— But, Aurora, — Kenan continued, pulling back and looking into her eyes, — I don’t want you to do this alone. I want to help you.

— But how? — Aurora sobbed. — I have no more ideas.

Kenan smiled mysteriously.

— I have something you don’t know about. Let’s look at these jewels together, and I’m sure we’ll find a way out. You’re not alone in this, remember?

Aurora nodded, a lump in her throat preventing her from uttering a word. She allowed Kenan to gently lead her deeper into the room, to the old velvet-lined walnut chest that held her mother’s treasures. «Treasures» — a strong word, of course, but for Aurora these trinkets were priceless.

Kenan lifted the lid, and the room filled not so much with a bright glitter, but with a soft, time-muted shimmer of antique gold and the restrained radiance of precious stones. It was as if a little fairy was sleeping in the chest, sending out rays of light to soothe the troubled mistress. Kenan picked up one of the necklaces, a thin gold chain with a pendant in the form of a Maltese cross inlaid with small rubies.

— They are beautiful, — he said quietly, as if afraid to wake that very fairy, — But are you sure you want to do this? These aren’t just trinkets, it’s… memory, you understand?

Aurora hesitated. Yes, she was burning with her project, dreaming of creating affordable housing that would become an oasis of hope for the needy, but was she ready to part with the only thing that connected her to her mother? With the things she remembered from childhood? It was like selling a piece of her soul at auction.

— I have no other choice, — she whispered, feeling tears gathering in her eyes.

Kenan set the necklace aside and turned to Aurora, squeezing her palm in his hand.

— Perhaps there is, — he said with a mysterious smile that made butterflies flutter in Aurora’s stomach. «Full of surprises, as always,» she thought, rolling her eyes. — You know, my grandfather was a hereditary jeweler in Istanbul. He passed on to me not only the family business, which I, by the way, shamelessly abandoned for IT, but also some useful knowledge. Let’s take a closer look at these things. I have a feeling there’s more here than just gold and stones.»

Aurora looked at Kenan with growing hope. Sometimes it seemed to her that he was not just her boyfriend, but some kind of Eastern genie ready to fulfill any wish.

— What do you mean? — she asked, crossing her fingers for luck.

— I think, for starters, we should get a proper appraisal, not run headlong to the first pawnshop. It might turn out that this necklace is from the time of Queen Maria II, and this bracelet belonged to some Turkish princess! Who knows what stories this little chest holds. And maybe I have a couple of phone numbers of collectors for whom such artifacts are not just luxury items, but real works of art. They are more likely to buy all this for a fabulous sum than some reseller.

Kenan took her face in his hands, gently looking into her eyes.

— Besides, darling, — he added, squinting slyly, — I’ve always said I’d invest in your project. And if necessary, I’m ready to pull out of my wide trousers… that is, from my bank account, a tidy sum so you don’t have to part with these family heirlooms. After all, every self-respecting businessman should have some charitable venture.»

Aurora felt her heart fill with warmth and gratitude. She didn’t know what she would do without Kenan. He was not only handsome and successful, but also incredibly kind and generous.

— You’re ready to do that for me? — she asked, looking into his eyes, full of love and admiration.

— Silly, — he replied, smiling tenderly. — I’m ready to do anything for you, Aurora. You remember? And for your brilliant architectural ideas, of course.

He gently kissed her forehead, and at that moment Aurora felt that everything would definitely be alright. She had Kenan, who would always support her, she had her beloved project, which she would definitely bring to life, and she had hope, burning in her heart brighter than ever before.

Chapter 6

Family Heirlooms

Aurora buried her face in Kenan’s shoulder, seeking comfort in his embrace. His warmth spread through her body like a sip of spicy Turkish coffee on a cold day. «You’re the best,» she whispered, feeling tears welling up.

Kenan snorted smugly but immediately hugged her tighter: «I know, darling. But, as they say in my homeland, ’tears are good fertilizer, but they shouldn’t be overused.» Let’s finish with this treasure, and you can get back to your blueprints. I’m already dreaming about this ’ideal house’ of yours!»

He sighed theatrically and stepped back from Aurora, opening the ancient chest made of darkened wood. The velvet lining inside, once scarlet, had now faded to the shade of old wine. Inside, like Ali Baba’s treasures, gold necklaces, bracelets with sparks of precious stones, pearl earrings resembling frozen tears, and rings with patterns as if from Eastern fairy tales shimmered.

«Wow!» Kenan whistled, picking up a massive gold necklace adorned with turquoise. «Your grandfather had a taste for shiny things! Although, wait… This is turquoise! Aurora, darling, are you sure he wasn’t a pirate? Or maybe a smuggler?»

Aurora gave a weak smile. Memories washed over her like a tidal wave. As a child, she often examined these treasures with her mother. Mom told stories associated with each piece — legends about mysterious owners, about travels and incredible events.

This sapphire necklace, the color of a cloudless Lisbon sky, her mother wore to her wedding. «You know,» she used to say, «when I put it on, I felt like I was wearing not just jewelry, but a blessing from the heavens.» And this ruby bracelet, the color of blood and passion, her grandfather gave her for her birthday. «He said that rubies bring luck and protect from evil forces,» Mom recalled. And these pearl earrings, simple and elegant, she wore almost without taking them off. «Pearls are tears of joy,» she used to say, «may your life have many such tears.»

Aurora took the earrings in her hands, feeling the coolness of the smooth pearls. It suddenly seemed to her that she could hear her mother’s voice again, feel her warmth and love. Tears pricked her eyes, and she turned away to hide her weakness.

Kenan, noticing her state, gently put his arm around her shoulders. «Everything alright, darling? You look like you’ve seen a ghost…»

Aurora wiped her tears. «Yes, everything’s fine. Just… memories. Mom loved these things. Each of them is like a piece of our life.»

Kenan sighed. «I understand. It’s hard. But remember, Aurora, your mother wanted you to be happy. And I’m sure if selling these jewels helps you realize your dream, she would only be happy. Well, and of course, she’d pick out something new for herself at the heavenly auction!»

Aurora, sniffing, laughed. «You’re right. She’d definitely find something extravagant there.»

«That’s great! — Kenan took a monocle out of his pocket, like a real Sherlock Holmes, and put it on his nose. — Okay, let’s see what we have here. Maybe among these trinkets there are a couple of diamonds for my favorite architect!»

Kenan carefully examined each piece of jewelry, muttering something to himself in a mixture of Turkish and English, checking against some notes in his notebook. He twisted the jewelry in his hands, held it up to the light, examined it through a magnifying glass, like a scientist studying strange insects.

Aurora watched him with curiosity. She knew Kenan was a successful businessman, but she had never suspected his knowledge of jewelry.

«So,» she asked when Kenan finished his examination. «Is there hope we won’t be left with just memories?»

Kenan took off the monocle and looked at Aurora with a sly smile. «Oh, darling, there’s news. And, I dare assure you, it’s excellent. Your grandfather, it seems, was not only a man of excellent taste but also a true connoisseur of treasures! There are several specimens here that could easily be worth a small island in the Pacific Ocean!»

Aurora held her breath. «It can’t be!»

«Oh, it can! — Kenan raised a finger. — For example, this sapphire necklace… It seems it was made for some Russian princess at the end of the nineteenth century. The sapphires are just incredible. And these pearl earrings… I think, if we dig into history, we can find out that they were worn by Empress Sisi herself!»

Aurora looked at Kenan with disbelief. «But where did my mother get such treasures? She never said anything!»

Kenan shrugged. «History is a dark and tangled lady. Maybe your grandfather was a secret agent? Or robbed banks? Who knows! The main thing, Aurora, is that you have a chance not just to build a complex of affordable housing, but to create a real masterpiece! Imagine, houses worthy of kings and princesses!» He winked. «And I, as your personal financier, will make every effort to get you a worthy sum for these things. I think I have a couple of antiquarian acquaintances in Istanbul who would be happy to participate in this business.»

Aurora looked at the chest of jewels and felt warmth and hope spreading in her soul. Yes, the past was heavy and full of pain, but perhaps thanks to these treasures, she could build the future she had always dreamed of — a future in which those in need would get a home worthy of a human being.

«Well,» she said, smiling, «it seems we have a profitable deal ahead!»

Aurora’s gaze caught on a modest piece — a thin gold chain with a tiny heart-shaped pendant. It looked almost orphaned against the pomp of the other jewelry.

«My mother gave me this chain for my sixteenth birthday,» Aurora said quietly, examining the pendant. «She saved up for a long time then, worked two jobs to buy me something. She said every girl should have her own little treasure. And to me, a treasure was when there was food on the table.»

Kenan came over to her and gently hugged her. «You know, in Turkey they say: „What is bought cheaply cries, what is expensive rejoices.“ But, looking at this chain, you understand that the greatest value is the love and care invested in it.»

Aurora swallowed the lump in her throat. She really didn’t want to part with this chain, but she knew that the money from the sale of the jewelry would help realize her dream. «Sometimes, to build something new, you have to part with the old,» she whispered, as if persuading herself.

«I’ll think about it,» she replied, hiding the chain in her pocket. «But now we need to make a list of all these ’valuables,» as Ostap Bender would say, and appraise them. I’m afraid we can’t manage without your connections in the world of antiquarians.»

Kenan nodded. «Don’t worry, I have an acquaintance, a real «Indiana Jones’ in the world of antiques. He can tell a fake from an original with his eyes closed. I’ve already called him. He’s ready to fly to Lisbon tomorrow. Although, he has one quirk — he always carries a magnifying glass the size of a saucer. Says it’s better for seeing the ’soul’ of an item.»

Aurora sighed. «I hope he doesn’t disappoint us. I so want this project to become a reality. For people who find themselves in a difficult situation to get a chance at a decent life.»

«It will definitely become a reality,» Kenan said confidently. «I promise you. We will build the best affordable housing complex in Portugal together. And your mother will be proud of you, looking at us from heaven. And also, imagine, we can name one of the houses after your mother! How do you like that idea?»

Aurora smiled and pressed against Kenan. He always knew how to find the right words and support her in a difficult moment. Thanks to him, she felt strong and confident in her abilities. «You know how to cheer me up,» she whispered.

«I will always be here,» Kenan replied, kissing her hair. «And now let’s get down to business. We need to prepare all these treasures for the arrival of our „Indiana Jones.“ And, by the way, don’t forget to make him coffee. They say antiquarians love good coffee.»

Together they laid out the jewelry on the table and began compiling a detailed list, describing every detail: material, weight, dimensions, presence of precious stones, etc. Kenan carefully studied each piece, using his magnifying glass (of normal size, fortunately) and making notes in his notebook. Aurora helped him, recalling the stories associated with each item.

«Look, what a funny frog brooch,» Aurora said, showing Kenan the jewelry. «Grandma said it brings luck. But, in my opinion, luck bypassed us.»

«Maybe the frog was only working part-time,» Kenan joked.

The work took several hours. By evening, they had finally finished compiling the list. They had several pages of detailed description of the jewelry, each of which had its own value and its own story.

«Well,» Kenan said, putting down the pen and stretching. «It seems we’re ready for tomorrow. I hope the antiquarian appreciates all this. And, most importantly, let him not start haggling like in a Turkish bazaar. I won’t survive that.»

Aurora nodded, feeling excitement and hope. Tomorrow could change her life forever. «I hope he’s in a good mood,» she said. «Otherwise, he might decide it’s all fake, and we’ll be left with nothing.»

Kenan put his arm around Aurora’s shoulders and looked into her eyes. «Everything will be fine, darling. I’m sure we’ll succeed. We’re together, and that means we can handle any difficulties.»

Aurora smiled and pressed against Kenan. She felt good and calm next to him. She knew he would always be there, supporting and helping her in difficult moments. Together they could overcome any obstacles and realize all their dreams.

The morning in Lisbon greeted Aurora with gloomy, inclement weather. Heavy, leaden clouds hung over the city, as if foretelling prolonged melancholy. «This doesn’t bode well,» Aurora thought, remembering a Portuguese omen, and her heart constricted with a premonition. It was as if she was waiting for the rainy weather to be reflected in her soul, reminding her of the events she still had to experience.

The doorbell interrupted her thoughts. Kenan, always gallant, opened the door, letting into the apartment a short but stately man wrapped in a crumpled raincoat, as if he had just jumped out of a noir film. On the man’s head was a wide-brimmed hat pulled down over his eyes, hiding his gaze. In his hand, he held not an ordinary magnifying glass, but rather a magnifying glass the size of a soup plate. It was Ahmed, an expert on jewelry and an old friend of Kenan’s.

«Ahmed,» the guest introduced himself with a barely perceptible Eastern accent, shaking Kenan’s hand. «Good to see you, old friend! Heard you’ve got something interesting going on? I hope my knowledge can help you.»

Kenan greeted Ahmed warmly and introduced him to Aurora. Ahmed, bowing slightly, glanced around the room, his gaze lingering for a moment on the neatly arranged jewelry.

«So, let’s get down to business,» Ahmed said, taking glasses out of his pocket and putting them on over those already on his face. He resembled a mad scientist from an old film, ready to plunge into his research. «Show me your treasures! Ready to immerse myself in a world of glitter and mysteries!»

Ahmed seemed to turn into a real detective embarking on an exciting investigation. He began to carefully study each piece of jewelry, as if artifacts holding ancient secrets were before him. Using his giant magnifying glass, he examined them from all sides, holding them up to the light to catch the play of reflections, as if trying to read a message encrypted in the precious stones. Ahmed even slightly opened his mouth, as if tasting them — he admitted it was an old jeweler’s trick to determine the authenticity of stones.

Aurora and Kenan froze, watching this performance, holding their breath, afraid to interrupt such concentrated work. Ahmed, immersed in his research, muttered under his breath: «Interesting… Very interesting… There are real masterpieces here! But, alas, there are fakes too. Well executed, but still…»

Ahmed continued his work for several hours, asking Aurora questions about the history of each piece. Where did they come from? What secrets do they hold? How did they end up in her family? Aurora tried to answer honestly and in detail, hoping it would help the expert determine the true value of each item. She felt a mixture of excitement and hope, understanding that her dream of building affordable housing depended on this analysis.

Finally, Ahmed finished the inspection. He took off his glasses, rubbed the bridge of his nose, and looked at Aurora and Kenan with a tired expression. He reminded them of an investigator who had finally finished a long and difficult case and was ready to announce the verdict.

«Well, I have two pieces of news for you: good and bad. I’ll start with the bad: a third of the jewelry are fakes. Not the most expensive, but… Fakes,» Ahmed said with sadness. «Now for the good: the remaining jewelry represent significant value. Especially this Art Deco necklace and this bracelet with filigree carving. They might be worth a fortune!»

Ahmed announced the total value of the jewelry, stating a sum that was still less than Aurora and Kenan had calculated, but still sufficient to start construction.

«Thank you, Ahmed, you’ve been a great help,» Kenan said, shaking his friend’s hand. «We really appreciate your expertise.»

«Don’t mention it! I’m always happy to help old friends. But remember, money isn’t the main thing. The main thing is what you do with it. I hope you use it for good deeds,» Ahmed said with a smile, hinting at Aurora’s noble plans.

Ahmed said goodbye, leaving Aurora and Kenan alone. Aurora, looking at Kenan, smiled, her eyes shining.

«Well, it seems we’re on the right track,» she said optimistically. «Now we need to find a buyer who will pay a decent price, and most importantly, one who isn’t as eccentric as our friend Ahmed.»

Kenan laughed. «Don’t worry, darling. I know a few collectors who would be happy to acquire these treasures. And I assure you, they don’t carry magnifying glasses the size of saucers, although they might have their own quirks.» Kenan hugged Aurora, letting her know they would manage.

Chapter 7

A Deal with a Shadow

The search for a buyer was dragging on like a Portuguese saga of seafarers, Aurora thought, nervously fiddling with a keychain shaped like a miniature «Elétrico 28» tram. Only instead of the treasures of India, they were hunting for a buyer of family jewels. Kenan, as promised, had leveraged all his connections, calling collectors, antique dealers, and even a couple of auction houses, but no worthy offers had materialized. It seemed the Lisbon antiques market had frozen, bracing for a crisis or, more likely, the end of the world.

«Everyone’s holding back, hoping to drive the price down, like seagulls swarming a tourist’s forgotten baguette,» Kenan said irritably, putting his phone down. They were sitting in «Pastéis de Belém,» a restaurant Kenan loved not only for its seclusion but also, let’s be honest, for its incredible pastéis de nata. For Aurora, despite her sweet tooth, even her favorite treat today tasted as bland as a life without inspiration.

«Maybe we should try a foreign auction house? Sotheby’s, for example?» Aurora suggested, mechanically tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

«That’s a long and expensive process, like building the Vasco da Gama Bridge. Commission, transportation… And no guarantee they’ll offer more. You know, they have their own quirks, like Salvador Dalí,» Kenan frowned, drumming his fingers on the table. «There is one option, but I don’t like it. Let me be clear — I really don’t like it.»

«What is it?» Aurora looked at Kenan intently, feeling a knot of anxiety tighten inside her.

«There’s a collector, or rather, a dealer named Ruben. They say he has connections… with people who aren’t always diligent about taxes or showing respect for the law. He pays quickly and generously, as if he has his own printing press. Where he gets his money and how he earns it — it’s better not to know. Rumors say he’s not above dealing in smuggled goods or tax evasion. In short, a man with a dark past and shady schemes.»

Aurora fell silent. She understood it was a risky move, but time was pressing in on her like Queen Maria I’s corset. She wanted to start construction as soon as possible, to see her dream rise from the ashes like a phoenix.

«Let’s at least hear his offer,» she said, meeting Kenan’s gaze with determination. «We’re not obligated to accept.»

Kenan sighed, as if bidding farewell to the last remnants of common sense. «Alright. But I’ll be right there with you, like a bodyguard for a pop star. And no deals without my knowledge. Remember: I am your shield and your sword. And if it comes to it, I know a few self-defense moves my grandfather taught me in Istanbul.»

The meeting was set in Lisbon’s old Alfama district. The wind from the Tagus River cut to the bone like the needles of a skilled tattoo artist, and the dilapidated buildings and narrow streets created an oppressive, film-noir atmosphere.

Ruben, the dealer whom people called «The Bloodsucker» behind his back (rumoredly for his appetite for others’ possessions), met them in the semi-darkness of a abandoned warehouse that had probably once stored sardines. He was a large man, who looked more like a nightclub bouncer than an art connoisseur. His heavy-lidded gaze and the tattoos on his hands — snakes or perhaps dragons — did nothing to inspire trust. His face seemed carved from stone, devoid of any emotion, like a cemetery statue.

Ruben silently took the jewelry box, pulled out a loupe (much more modest and dustier than Ahmed’s), and meticulously examined each piece. His movements lacked a collector’s passion, only the cold calculation of an appraiser.

«Art Deco, filigree… Good pieces. Antiques. I’ll give you for everything…» He named a sum significantly higher than other collectors had offered. Almost obscenely high.

Aurora and Kenan exchanged glances. The amount was tempting, like a devilish whisper, but the atmosphere of the deal was frightening, like an encounter with a ghost in the Jerónimos Monastery cemetery at night.

«Where does that kind of money come from, if it’s not a secret?» Aurora asked directly, trying to hide the tremor in her voice.

Ruben smirked, revealing large, slightly yellowed teeth. «That’s none of your business, senhora. You need money? I’m ready to pay. Quickly and without unnecessary questions. Business is business, you understand?»

Kenan frowned, clenching his fists. «We want to know these jewels won’t be used for criminal purposes. That they won’t be melted down into bullion to fund some dirty deal.»

Ruben shrugged, as if swatting away a bothersome fly. «I’m a collector, not a criminal, though I admit I sometimes have to deal with… various people. I simply appreciate beautiful things. And I’m willing to pay for them.»

Aurora felt the lie hiding behind his words. She hesitated, as if standing on the edge of an abyss. Risk it and get the money now, turning a blind eye to her suspicions, or continue the search for a more reliable buyer, risking time and her chance to start construction?

Suddenly, like lightning in the night, she noticed a ring on Ruben’s finger. An antique, massive piece with a large ruby in the center, cut in the shape of a teardrop. It looked vaguely familiar, like the melody of an old song. She looked closer and froze, as if filled with ice. It was her grandmother’s ring, the one that had gone missing years ago, along with other family heirlooms.

«Where did you get that ring?» Aurora asked, her voice trembling as she felt the blood drain from her face.

Ruben was taken aback for a moment, as if caught red-handed, but quickly regained his composure, like an experienced card sharp. «I bought it at an auction a few years back. So what? A pretty trinket, isn’t it?»

«That’s my grandmother’s ring! It was stolen! Along with other family jewels!»

Ruben smirked, adjusting the ring on his finger. «Prove it, senhora. Words are cheap. Where are your witnesses? Your documents? You have nothing. So, save your fairy tales.»

Aurora was at a loss. She had no proof, only a burning sense of recognition that seared her from within like a brand. But she was sure it was her ring. She felt it in every fiber of her being.

«We will not be making a deal,» Aurora said decisively, looking Ruben straight in the eye. «You are a thief! And I’m sure you’ve stolen more than just my grandmother’s ring.»

Ruben’s face darkened, like the sky before a storm. «You will regret this, senhora. Deeply.»

Kenan, sensing danger, took Aurora by the hand and pulled her toward the exit. They ran through the narrow streets of Alfama as if pursued by the devil himself, feeling Ruben’s heavy gaze burning into their backs.

«What now?» Aurora asked, breathless from running, as they emerged onto the embankment.

«Now we’re in serious trouble, like Don Quixote tilting at windmills,» Kenan replied, catching his breath. «But I won’t let that thief profit from your family. And we will get your grandmother’s ring back, whatever it takes. I promise.»

Aurora leaned against the flaking stonework of an old building, taking deep breaths of the tangy, salty air from the waterfront. Her heart, like a trapped bird, fluttered wildly in her chest. Fear, cold and clammy, iced her veins, but it was mixed with a boiling rage — rage against Ruben, the vile vulture who had violated something sacred; against the system that allowed his kind to profit from others’ grief with impunity; against her own helplessness, which made her grind her teeth in frustration.

Kenan, like an experienced tamer, gently put his arm around her shoulders, trying to calm the storm of emotions. He was always there for her, a reliable anchor in a storm. «It will be alright, my Aurora. We’ll manage. The main thing is to breathe deeply, and let’s think of a way out of this mess.»

«What can we do? We have no proof! He’ll just brush us off like annoying gnats. And if he really is connected to the mob, we’re in for hell.» Aurora ran her hand over a scar on her arm — a reminder of another, much older, hellish experience.

«Calm down, Aurora. I promise, we’ll get the ring back. It’s a memory of your grandmother, and we’ll do everything to get it back.» He saw how important this relic was to her, how her eyes had shone when she spoke of her grandmother, of her care and love. Kenan knew he was ready to do a lot for Aurora.

And then, like a bright flash of lightning in a dark sky, a thought struck her. «I have old photographs! Grandmother was wearing that ring. They’re in the old house in Porto!»

«Then we pack up and go to Porto, amor. The sooner, the better. We can’t let that… Bloodsucker revel in his impunity.» Kenan, as always, was resolute. A fire burned in his eyes, ready to consume anyone who dared hurt his beloved.

They caught a taxi heading to the Santa Apolónia station. Three hours to Porto — three hours during which Aurora sank into her thoughts as if into a bottomless well. She remembered her grandmother, the woman dear to her heart, with incredibly kind, gentle eyes and a voice that sounded like a tender melody. Her grandmother knew how to tell stories, immersing her granddaughter in a world of fairy tales and secrets. Aurora remembered her stories about the family jewels, carefully passed down from generation to generation, like pieces of a soul. The ruby ring — the most precious of them all — was for her a symbol of family history, of love and devotion.

«What are you thinking about so deeply?» Kenan, noticing her pensive state, gently stroked her hand.

«About Grandmother. She treasured that ring so much. It wasn’t just jewelry to her; it was a part of her life, a memory of her ancestors, of family. I have to get it back, Kenan. I have to do it for her, for her memory.» Tears welled up in Aurora’s eyes. Kenan held her close, trying to comfort her. He knew that for her, this was not just a piece of jewelry; it was a part of her soul.

In Porto, they were met by a sharp, cool wind from the Douro, saturated with the damp smell of port wine — the city’s signature scent. This aroma, simultaneously intoxicating and tart, mixed with the smell of fish and salt from the Ribeira waterfront, creating the unique fragrance of Porto. Aurora shivered. The wind cut right through her, despite her warm jacket, reminding her of the cold that had always permeated her childhood.

They got into an old Mercedes taxi that reeked of cigarettes and cheap cologne. The driver, a sullen man with a thick gray mustache, silently nodded at the address and jerked away from the curb. The taxi sped across the Dom Luís I Bridge, a masterpiece of engineering connecting Porto with Vila Nova de Gaia, home to the famous port wine cellars. Aurora automatically looked up at the majestic arches of the bridge and remembered how, as a little girl, she had been afraid of heights and would always close her eyes when the bus crossed it.

The city changed outside the window. From the gleaming shop windows of modern stores, they entered the narrow, winding streets of the old town, paved with cobblestones. The houses here were shabby and dilapidated, with peeling paint and sagging balconies. Laundry dried on clotheslines strung between buildings, creating a sense of chaos and clutter. But within this chaos, one could feel a special, unique life.

«Nothing has changed here,» Aurora whispered, looking at the familiar streets.

«You remember this neighborhood?» Kenan asked.

«I remember,» Aurora replied. «Every stone.»

Finally, the taxi stopped in front of an old, dilapidated house with crooked windows and peeling plaster. Silence reigned around the house, broken only by the cries of seagulls from the river. This was the very house where Aurora had spent her childhood years. The house she had tried to forget.

The house greeted them with the empty, broken eye-sockets of its windows and flaking paint, like a starving ghost from the past. The paint on the walls was peeling like an old man’s skin, revealing layers of faded, patterned wallpaper beneath. The house itself seemed to breathe its last, exhaling scents of decay and damp leaves — smells Aurora remembered from childhood. The smell of abandonment. Aurora, taking out the key, fumbled for a long time, trying to remember where it was hidden. Under which stone? All the stones by the porch looked equally gray and rough. She remembered how, as a child, she had thought this key was a passport to another world, a world of adventure and fantasy. Now it just felt like a heavy burden, a reminder of the past.

Finally, her fingers found a familiar ledge. There it is. Click… The door creaked open, letting them inside. The creak was so loud it echoed through the entire house, like a greeting from an old friend (or foe?). Stagnant air hit them with the smell of dampness, dust, mold, and years of sorrow. This smell, ingrained in the walls and furniture, felt tangible, like a heavy blanket thrown over their shoulders. Aurora felt nausea rising in her throat.

Inside, it was dim. Sunlight barely penetrated the dirty glass, creating bizarre shadows on the walls. Aurora turned on her phone’s flashlight, dispersing the darkness in the rooms. The beam of light picked out shabby furniture covered in a thick layer of dust, old photographs in faded frames, and broken toys lying in a corner. Everything here was marked by the seal of time, as if preserved in the past.

«Everything is still here… as if time has stopped,» she whispered, her voice trembling. Room by room, she recognized every corner of this house. The worn-out sofa in the living room where she and her mother had watched old movies on TV. The kitchen with its peeling tiles where they had cooked simple, tasty meals. The bedroom where she had fallen asleep to the quiet sound of her mother’s voice telling stories. It was as if she had left this house only yesterday, not many years ago, running from her past. And that past seemed to be waiting for her here, ready to pounce and swallow her whole.

They went into the living room. The old, dusty furniture, like forgotten relics in a forgotten room, was shrouded in a pall of dust. It seemed that if someone sneezed, the dust would rise and choke them both. I wonder if anyone has cleaned here since my «evacuation»? Aurora thought with irony. Kenan winced in disgust and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket to cover his nose.

On the walls, like ghosts, hung faded photographs. Mostly portraits of relatives whom Aurora barely remembered, or didn’t remember at all. Stern faces looking at the camera with silent reproach. Seems I have a very «cheerful» family, Aurora thought, looking at another uncle with a severe gaze.

Aurora began methodically examining the photographs, hoping to find the cherished image of her grandmother with the ring. It was the only thing connecting her to the past, the only thread she could grasp. She went through the photos one by one, as if turning the pages of an old, forgotten album. Here was her mother, young and beautiful, with a naive smile on her face. I wonder what she was dreaming of then? Did she know what awaited her? Here she was herself, a little girl with big, sad eyes, looking at the world with distrust and fear. I wonder when I forgot how to smile?

Suddenly Kenan sneezed, breaking the silence. «Sorry,» he said, wiping his eyes with his handkerchief. «I’m allergic to dust. Maybe we should wear masks?»

Aurora gave a wry smile. «I’m afraid masks won’t help here,» she said. «We need a team of exterminators.»

Kenan sighed. «Alright, let’s finish with the photos and go to the hotel. I think I’m starting to suffocate.»

She looked through dozens of photographs, but — alas! — nowhere was the one picture that could prove her right. Despair, like poisonous ivy, began to entwine her soul. She could already feel its roots digging into her heart, sapping her will to fight. Perfect. It seems my family tree has decided to play hide-and-seek with me.

«Maybe the photos are in another room? Don’t give up, amor! We’ll find them!» Kenan tried to encourage her, but his voice also sounded tired. Apparently, his dust allergy was acting up.

They searched the entire house, looking in every corner, every crevice. It seemed the photographs were deliberately hiding from them, playing some cruel game. Aurora, having lost all hope, sat down on the old sofa and buried her face in her hands. Imagine, this sofa has survived three generations of cockroaches and two world wars, and it’s still here… Just like my problems.

«I don’t know what to do… It seems I’ve hopelessly lost everything.» Her voice sounded hollow and desperate.

Kenan sat down beside her, carefully putting his arm around her, trying to warm her with his presence. He felt her despair, her pain. «Don’t you dare say that. We’ll think of something. Maybe you just forgot where you put them? Don’t be upset, Aurora, everything will be alright now. Come on, focus, remember everything you know… You’re an architect, not some random person. Remember where your grandmother kept her treasures! Surely not in a Swiss bank?» He tried to joke to lighten the mood.

And suddenly, like lightning piercing the darkness, it hit her. «Wait! Grandmother always kept her most valuable things in an old chest, in the storage room. The photos must be there! That’s it!»

They found the chest in the storage room. Heavy, covered in dust, it seemed to have been waiting for its moment for centuries. It seemed even the spiders were afraid to approach it. Kenan, grunting, helped Aurora open it.

Inside the chest lay old letters, yellowed documents, lace doilies smelling of mothballs, jewelry, and stacks of photographs, as if history itself was guarding its treasures. Aurora began to sort through them, like an archaeologist hoping to unearth something important. I wonder how much dust one has to inhale to find the truth?

And then, at one of the most unexpected moments, her gaze fell on an old leather-bound photo album. Her heart began to beat like a trapped bird in anticipation. She opened the album, turning its pages, trying not to breathe so as not to scatter the fragile memories.

And there it was! On one of the old, yellowed photographs was her grandmother, dressed in a beautiful dress, smiling elegantly at the camera. And on her finger — the very ruby ring they were looking for! Aurora took out the photograph, holding it up to the light as if it were a holy relic. Finally! At least someone in this family decided to help me!

«Here it is! Proof! Now we can prove that this ring belonged to my grandmother!» She rejoiced like a child who had found a long-awaited toy.

Kenan, beaming with joy, hugged and kissed her. «I knew you could do it, my dear! You are the best woman in the world! And the most stubborn.»

But their triumph was short-lived. Suddenly, like a harbinger of trouble, the sound of breaking glass echoed through the house. What the hell? Someone was in the house…

Chapter 8

The Trembling Tram

Aurora and Kenan froze in each other’s arms, like two startled deer in a forest. Or, rather, like two frightened cats caught off guard. They both heard it: a faint creak coming from somewhere deep within the old house. As if someone was cautiously stepping on a squeaky floorboard, hiding in the gloom.

In the house that Aurora thought would be her refuge from the nightmares of the past, a new anxiety had now taken root. It was an ominous silence, thick and sticky, like the Portuguese «Mel de Bragança» honey they had tried at the fair last week. That honey, viscous, golden, with a subtle scent of heather, now seemed a symbol of something clinging and dangerous. A silence in which only the ticking of grandfather’s clock in the hall could be heard, counting down the last seconds of their peace, and the persistent cracking of old floorboards, as if the house was complaining about the weight of time, about being disturbed.

Kenan carefully held Aurora tighter. He could feel her trembling. «It’s alright,» he whispered, «probably just the wind.» But the wind, of course, had nothing to do with it.

«Who’s there?» Aurora whispered, her voice shaking like Lisbon’s Tram 28 on a steep climb in Alfama. That tram, conquering the steep slopes, had always seemed to her a symbol of courage and perseverance, but now she felt just as fragile and defenseless. The fear familiar from her childhood was rearing its head again, like a snake from a basket. And it wasn’t just fear; it was a cold, clammy horror, paralyzing her will and making her heart beat in a frantic rhythm. She remembered all the scary stories she had been told as a child, all the ghosts and monsters inhabiting old houses. And it seemed to her that they were here, nearby, in the dark.

Kenan slowly moved Aurora behind him and looked in the direction of the sound. He knew better than to underestimate the danger. «Stay here,» he said in a quiet but firm voice. He bent down, picked up a heavy vase of flowers from the table, and, ready for a fight, cautiously moved towards the hall. Aurora, afraid to move, waited, pressed against the wall, trying to catch her breath. The most terrible thoughts swarmed in her head. What is it? Burglars? A ghost? Or… him again?

Like a knight without fear or reproach, Kenan moved slowly, trying not to make a sound, towards the suspicious noise. Aurora, holding her breath, watched him, clutching the old photograph of her grandmother in her hand — her only connection to the past she didn’t want to lose. Her grandmother in the photograph looked like a true silent movie star, with a mysterious gaze and an elegant dress. Fear gripped her heart with an icy grip, like Portuguese ivy clinging to old walls.

Kenan reached the living room. He peered inside, trying to appear calm, like a sardine merchant at the Mercado da Ribeira. The room was empty… almost. The large window overlooking the garden was broken, and the floor was littered with sharp shards of glass, like icy daggers.

«There’s no one here,» he said, returning to Aurora with feigned calm. «Looks like it’s just vandals. Maybe they wanted to steal your grandmother’s silver service. You know, vandals do worse things.»

But Aurora didn’t believe a word he said. She felt someone’s presence in the house, someone’s malevolent, clinging attention, like cheap wine. «I don’t think it’s vandals,» she objected. «I feel like someone is here… someone who knows about us.»

Kenan sighed, cursing his habit of being an optimist in any situation. He understood that Aurora was frightened and that now was not the time for sarcasm. «Alright, let’s check the whole house, together,» he suggested, taking her hand. «Like real detectives, like Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson. Only we don’t have a pipe or a magnifying glass.»

They slowly, cautiously, went through all the rooms. The house was dark, like the Portuguese Alcátara cave, and every rustle seemed a sinister threat. In one of the rooms, they discovered signs of real chaos. Things were scattered on the floor as if dumped from a truck. The dresser drawers were pulled out, their contents lying around like trash after a street carnival.

«They were looking for something,» Aurora whispered, looking at the mess. «But what? Grandmother’s recipes for pastéis de nata?»

«Perhaps they were after the family jewels,» Kenan suggested, picking up an old mother-of-pearl-inlaid box from the floor. «You said your grandmother had a diamond brooch she received as a gift from some countess.»

«But how did they know about them?» Aurora asked, frowning. «No one knew about the jewels except me and my grandmother.»

Kenan shrugged. «Maybe it’s just a coincidence. Maybe someone overheard a conversation in a café or saw you on the street.»

Aurora shook her head. «I don’t like this,» she said. «I have a bad feeling. I think we need to get out of here. Right now.»

Kenan agreed without hesitation. He too felt uncomfortable in this house, as if someone was watching them from the darkness. «Alright, let’s go,» he said. «But first we need to call the police. And order a pizza. Because after such stress, we’ll need something tasty.»

Kenan, without hesitation, nodded. A vague fear hung in this house, as if an invisible observer was lurking in the shadows. «Yes, we’re leaving,» he said curtly, taking Aurora’s hand. «But first, the police. And… perhaps pizza. After such a nervous shock, we need something to restore the taste for life.»

He hugged Aurora, holding her close, and she felt his body trembling. Quickly dialing the police number, Kenan reported what had happened, clearly and concisely, trying to hide his agitation. Hanging up, he looked at Aurora, his dark eyes, as always, expressing boundless devotion. «It’s alright, my love. Everything will be fine. Let’s pack up and… go home.»

A few minutes later, they were leaving the house, hastily locking the door behind them. The fresh air hitting their faces seemed to wash away the remnants of the oppressive atmosphere. Kenan, carefully leading Aurora to the car, was already dialing the pizzeria. They were heading home, to where coziness and safety awaited them, and where nightmares seemed just a distant echo of the day that had passed.

In the semi-darkness of their apartment, which more closely resembled an art gallery with a view of Lisbon, the air smelled not of art, but of the quite prosaic scent of pepperoni. On the low table, its surface adorned with a chaotic mosaic of Venetian glass fragments (ironic, given Aurora’s past), a huge pizza was steaming, its aroma competing with two glasses of ruby-red wine. Kenan, as always, was striving to create the perfect atmosphere: subdued lighting, soft pillows, and a playlist featuring Frederica Mompalle, a famous Portuguese Fado singer — the music of the soul, as it’s called here.

Aurora sat on the sofa, her legs tucked under her — a pose in which she seemed both vulnerable and stubborn at the same time. Her gaze was fixed on the panorama of the night city. The lights, like diamonds scattered on black velvet, could not dispel the storm raging inside her. «Lisbon Syndrome,» she thought, recalling the tourist phenomenon where the city’s beauty induces bouts of melancholy in impressionable souls. Apparently, she had her own, personal «Sintra Syndrome.»

«Everything alright, meu amor?» Kenan sat down beside her, his warm, tan hands encircling her shoulders as if trying to protect her from an invisible danger. He knew perfectly well that «alright» was the last word to describe Aurora’s state when she stared into the distance like that, as if seeing something inaccessible to others. His business acumen never failed him, but now he felt it wasn’t about business, but something much deeper and more personal. He felt her pain, her fear, her despair. And he understood that what she needed now was not his solutions, but his support, his love.

Aurora took a deep breath, causing a strand of chestnut hair to fall across her face, as if trying to hide her eyes, which reflected a whole universe of pain and memories. She looked at the old house, at its scuffed walls, its broken windows, and saw not just a building, but a living entity, breathing with the past. «I don’t know, Kenan. This house… The one we’re building… It’s like it’s stirred something up inside. Dragged forgotten… things into the light.» Her voice trembled like fragile glass, ready to shatter at any moment.

«I thought I’d forgotten it all. I thought I’d left it all in the past. But it’s back. It always comes back, Kenan. No matter how hard I try to run.» She spoke quietly, almost in a whisper, as if afraid the walls would hear, that the past would hear.

Kenan pulled her closer. His success in the IT business was built not only on his knowledge of code but also on his ability to «read» people. He saw how Aurora avoided talking about the past as if it were a dangerous minefield. Yet today, it seemed she was ready to take the first step. Or, rather, some unknown forces were compelling her to.

«You can tell me everything that’s troubling you, vida minha,» he said softly, using her favorite Portuguese expression. «I’m here. Always.»

She was silent for a long time, as if gathering her courage. «This house… It reminded me of that apartment. Of that room…»

A shadow crossed Kenan’s face. He knew Aurora hadn’t grown up in luxury, but the details of her childhood remained a mystery to him. She was good at building not only buildings but also walls.