Chapter 8
VIII. The Unmasked Reception
A year later, Alexandre hosted another reception. Not for politicians. Not for investors. But to officially inaugurate the Cecília Morelli Foundation, dedicated to women who were victims of financial violence, unlawful imprisonment, and domestic abuse.
The mansion was illuminated, but in a different way. Less ostentation. More warmth. There was live Brazilian music—a guitar and a voice singing old songs. The aroma of pão de queijo, coffee, corn cake, and fresh flowers replaced the suffocating perfume of Viktor's grand events.
Cecília appeared wearing a blue dress. Still thin. Short hair. Vibrant eyes. When she entered the room, everyone stood up. She didn't like it. "Sit down, for heaven's sake. I spent ten years sitting down; now I'm the one who wants to stand." The room laughed. Alexandre did too.
Sofia, now wearing a simple but elegant outfit, stood near the entrance, watching. Alexandre approached her. "You should be up there at the front." "I don't like the stage." "You didn't like locked hallways either, and yet you faced one."
She smiled. "That was a low blow." "It was high gratitude."
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In his speech, Alexandre spoke briefly. "For years, I thought power meant controlling everything. Today, I know that power without truth is just fear well-dressed." He looked at his mother. Then at Sofia. "My family was saved not by money, a last name, or influence, but by a young woman who heard a voice behind a door and decided that no amount of silence was worth more than a life."
Sofia tried to hide her tears. She couldn't. Cecília raised her glass of juice. "To open doors." Everyone repeated the toast. "To open doors."
