Edgar Galvez

"Don't touch anything," the woman in the white dress said in an impersonal tone, as if she were talking to a piece of furniture.

She looked down. The marble gleamed as if it had just been polished with liquid diamonds, and the air smelled of expensive lavender, the kind that only comes in cut-glass bottles.

First rule of becoming the Gálvez family's new assistant: disappear without moving.

Her first day at the mansion was more a parade of silences than tasks. The maids spoke in whispers. The walls seemed to hear them. And, at the center of it all, was Édgar Gálvez, the eldest son.

Owner of a face sculpted by perfect genetics and a gaze that weighed like lead.

"Are you the new one?" he asked when he saw her one afternoon in the library.

Inés nodded. She didn't raise her head. He wasn't just the heir to the Gálvez Group: he was also a constant source of news, a recurring scandal, and possessed of an arrogance so elegant it hurt.

—You don't need to act like I'm going to bite you.

"I'm not acting," she said, without thinking.

Edgar glanced at her. A faint smile crossed his face.

-Interesting.

And from that moment on, he started looking for her.

She didn't understand why.

She came from a different world: one of public transportation, night schools, and low-paying jobs. She joined as an assistant because she needed to pay for her mother's surgery. Her plan was simple: work, save, and disappear.

But Edgar seemed to have other plans.

"Do you read Murakami?" he asked her one day, surprising her as she was tidying away bookshelves. When I can —And what are you doing here, surrounded by empty books? —They are decorative. —Exactly. Like everything in this house. His usually cold eyes shone with a nostalgia that clashed with his designer suit. She thought he was joking, but he wasn't. "Do you know what it feels like when everyone loves you, but no one sees you?" he said, almost as if it were a secret.

.