The night was quiet at the Verano mansion, but inside Leonardo’s room, a storm brewed restlessly.

He sat at the edge of the bed, holding the photograph Ysabel had returned to the drawer. An old memory—he and Anais, smiling, unaware that one day, neither of them would truly choose the other.

He called his private secretary, Ruth.

“Locate Anais Villareal for me. I want to speak with her. Personally.”

His secretary was stunned.

“Sir… are you certain?”

“Yes. Do it. ...