The time for Libia to get off the plane had arrived, and she barely had a suitcase with her. This was her golden opportunity; with this deal, she would finally make her aunt take her seriously, and through this, they would see that she wasn't just a foolish little girl.

"Good afternoon," she greeted the airport guard.

She patiently waited for her luggage to be delivered. After getting everything ready, the young woman left the airport and took a taxi; her hotel was waiting for her.

When she arrived at the hotel, she introduced herself to the receptionist.

"I'm Libia Musso. I made a reservation four days ago."

"Identification and the reference number provided at the time of payment."

The young woman took her ID from her small purse and searched her phone for the email she received when booking the accommodation. It wasn't a five-star place; in fact, it was the most economical option she could find, all to make it to the meeting with Tiodor Lison, close the deal, and prove she had what it took to manage her father's companies.

"Can you repeat the number?" the receptionist asked.

Libia snapped out of her thoughts.

"Yes..."

Fifteen minutes later, she finally laid down on the single bed in her room.

In her mind, she pictured the cruel and terrifying Mr. Lison, a nearly two-meter-tall Brazilian with light brown skin and brown eyes so imposing that they made her tremble just thinking about him. The man couldn't have been more than thirty years old and was the CEO of a prestigious textile company in Brazil.

"Stay calm. You're just going to sign those papers, and everything will be fine," she told herself.

"Incompetent, spoiled brat" were the words Mr. Lison had used when they first met. Well, yes, she had mixed up the date of the meeting with her aunt Elena, and as he had shouted at her, she had wasted his time. But that wasn't her intention; she had just gotten distracted, and things went wrong.

Libia closed her eyes and fell asleep.

The next morning, the young woman suddenly jumped out of bed, remembering her appointment with Mr. Lison. She hurried into the bathroom, then got ready as best she could, applied makeup, and put on the most formal outfit she had.

She left the hotel, heading to the place where she was supposed to meet Mr. Lison. It was a luxurious restaurant in São Paulo.

The young woman got into her transport and went over all the points in the contract once more.

When she arrived at her destination, she got out of the car. She took a deep breath, looked at herself in her small pocket mirror—she looked terrible; she resembled a girl who had just raided her mother's makeup. Libia shook her head, stopped overthinking, and entered the restaurant.

She informed one of the waiters that she had an appointment there. Her Portuguese left much to be desired, but the man understood her. She gave her aunt's name, and the hostess checked her list.

"Elena Musso," the hostess said.

"Yes," Libia replied. Well, that wasn't her; but at least the last name was hers.

The hostess gave her directions and led her to her table. Next to her, there was a family composed of a happy couple and their two adorable children, who couldn't have been older than five. The man was holding his wife's hand, while the children kept playing with small teddy bears.

"How beautiful."

Once again, that desire surfaced in her mind—the dream of a happy family, finding the perfect man, and having beautiful babies…

Libia began to recall a vacation when her parents had suggested visiting Brazil. Melancholy overwhelmed the young woman. She missed her family so much, and in an attempt to fill the enormous void left by their loss, she had gotten involved with one or two idiots, from her married literature professor in college to one of Musso's business partners who was twice her age. She was a magnet for awful men.

One of the waiters asked if she wanted to order something.

"No, thank you," she replied, glancing at her wristwatch. Twenty minutes had already passed, and Mr. Lison had not arrived.

Libia checked her email on her phone to make sure there hadn't been any changes to the plans. She refreshed her inbox over and over. Nothing.

She checked her watch again; now forty minutes had passed. The young woman took the bold step of sending an email to Mr. Lison. As far as she knew, it was his direct email.

Five minutes later, with no response, she got up from the table and left the restaurant, feeling humiliated.

"Idiot," she muttered, sensing that nothing was going right.

Her aunt had taken away her opportunity to run her father's companies, her love life was a disaster, and her pathetic appearance made her look like she was eighteen when she was about to turn twenty-three.

Nothing could get worse.

Except for the black van parked on the corner of the street.

At that moment, the young woman remembered kidnapping movies, but that was just fiction, so she walked on without worry. The van started to move, getting closer to the young woman.

Libia kept telling herself that nothing was wrong, that this was just how people in Brazil were, and she was seeing things that weren't there. But then two young men got out of the van. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see that they were dressed in black and wearing dark sunglasses.

Libia continued walking. No taxi passed by. It was then that one of the men grabbed her tightly from behind, covering her mouth with one hand to keep her from screaming.

In less than a minute, they had forced her into the black van, without causing a scene. Libia, heiress to Musso Textiles, had been kidnapped.

…

Everything was dark; they had placed some kind of bag over her head. She was terrified. Her body was trembling, and her underwear was wet because she had peed herself out of fear. Her mouth was gagged, and in her mind, she feared that at any moment, the man who had kidnapped her could emerge from the shadows, kill her, and no one would ever know, since she hadn't given her exact location to anyone she knew. She had only mentioned her trip to Brazil briefly to one of her friends.

The young woman heard the sound of the van door opening. She felt two hands grab her by the shoulders and roughly drag her out of the vehicle. After that, they took her who knows where.

She couldn't stop crying.

Then, they left her lying on the ground, face down.

In the distance, she heard a male voice.

Someone removed the hood and untied her. Then, she looked up and saw him. His brown eyes were unmistakable.

"Mr. Lison, thank God you're here; we need to get out of here!" she exclaimed, immediately dropping to her knees.

"What are you doing here, you stupid, incompetent brat?" he demanded, gritting his teeth. In his right hand, he held a wooden cane.

At that moment, Libia realized that Mr. Lison wasn't just another victim of the kidnappers, much less a hero who had come to save her. In fact, he seemed to be the mastermind behind the whole crime.

She lay down on the ground, face down.

"If you let me go, I won't say anything, I swear," she pleaded.

Lison snorted, irritated and disgusted by the girl's foolishness.