Gilded Chains

I don't know why I said yes.

Maybe it was the way he looked at me. Not through me, not past me, the way the other men in that room did. Matheuzinho actually *saw* me. The maid. The girl carrying empty glasses and dirty plates. The one who didn't belong.

Or maybe it was the money. Three thousand reais for one night. Three thousand reais that would keep my mother's landlord quiet for another two months, that would buy the antibiotics my little brother needed, that would make the difference between surviving and barely surviving.

Either way, I was standing in his apartment now. The penthouse. The one everyone in São Paulo whispered about. Floor-to-ceiling windows that made the city look like a circuit board of light. Furniture so white and clean it hurt to look at. And him. Leaning against the marble kitchen island like he owned the whole goddamn world.

Which he did. More or less.

"You're nervous," he said. Not a question.

I shook my head. "I'm fine."

"You're shaking."

I looked down at my hands. He was right. The champagne glass in my grip trembled, sending tiny waves across the surface of the liquid. I set it down on the counter before I dropped it.

Matheuzinho pushed off from the island and walked toward me. He moved slow. Deliberate. Like he had all the time in the world. Which he did. More or less.

He stopped a foot away. Close enough that I could smell his cologne. Something dark and expensive. Sandalwood and smoke. Not the cheap shit the boys in my neighborhood wore.

"Tell me your name again."

"Lara."

"Lara." He said it like he was tasting it. Let it sit on his tongue. "Lara, I don't want you to be afraid of me."

"I'm not afraid of you."

"Then what are you?"

I didn't have an answer for that. I was tired. I was desperate. I was a twenty-two-year-old woman who had spent the last four years taking care of everyone except herself. And now I was standing in a stranger's apartment, wearing a dress I couldn't afford, about to do something I couldn't take back.

"Can I touch you?" he asked.

The question caught me off guard. I'd expected him to just take. That's what rich men did. They took. They grabbed. They assumed.

But he was asking. Actually asking.

I nodded.

He reached out and brushed his fingers against my cheek. Featherlight. Like I was made of glass. His hand was warm. Calloused in places I didn't expect. This wasn't a man who spent all his time behind a desk.

"You're beautiful," he said. "Do you know that?"

I almost laughed. Beautiful. That's what men said when they wanted something. Beautiful was a transaction. A negotiation.

But his eyes weren't negotiating. They were just... looking.

"You don't have to say that," I told him.

"I know I don't have to." He let his hand drop to my shoulder. Traced the strap of my dress. "I want to."

The air between us felt thick. Charged. Like the moment before a storm breaks. I could feel my heart beating in my throat.

"Tell me what you want," he said. "Tell me what you need."

I swallowed. "I need you to not treat me like a whore."

The word hung in the air. Ugly. Raw. I regretted it as soon as it left my mouth.

But Matheuzinho didn't flinch. Didn't look offended. He just nodded, slow and serious.

"I won't," he said. "I promise you that."

He took my hand. Led me away from the kitchen, through the living room, down a hallway lined with art I didn't recognize. Paintings that probably cost more than my mother's house. More than my mother's whole street.

His bedroom was massive. A bed the size of a small car. More windows. The city glittering below like a fallen sky.

He stopped in the middle of the room. Turned to face me.

"I'm going to undress you now," he said. "Is that okay?"

Another question. Another choice.

"Yes."

His fingers found the zipper of my dress. Pulled it down slow. The sound of it was loud in the quiet room. The fabric loosened around my body. I felt exposed. Naked. Even though I was still covered.

He slid the straps off my shoulders. The dress pooled at my feet. I stood there in nothing but my underwear. Black lace. Cheap. The best I could afford.

Matheuzinho looked at me. Not like he was inspecting a product. Not like he was calculating value. He looked at me like I was something worth seeing.

"You're shaking again," he said.

"I know."

"Can I hold you?"

I didn't answer. I just stepped forward. Pressed my body against his. Let his arms wrap around me. Let his warmth sink into my skin.

He held me for a long time. Just held me. His hand stroking my back. His breath in my hair. The city outside kept spinning. The world kept turning. But in that moment, standing in the arms of a stranger, I felt something I hadn't felt in years.

Safe.

"You don't have to do anything you don't want to," he murmured against my ear. "We can just stay here. We can talk. We can sleep. Whatever you need."

I pulled back. Looked at his face. Really looked.

He wasn't handsome in the obvious way. His nose was slightly crooked. A scar cut through his left eyebrow. His jaw was too sharp. But his eyes. God, his eyes. Dark and deep and full of something I couldn't name.

"Why me?" I asked.

"What do you mean?"

"At the party. There were other women. Richer women. Prettier women. Why did you pick me?"

He was quiet for a moment. Then he reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.

"Because you looked like you were drowning," he said. "And I know what that feels like."

I didn't know what to say to that. So I kissed him instead.

It wasn't a gentle kiss. It was hungry. Desperate. All the things I was trying not to feel poured into the press of my lips against his. He responded in kind. His hands found my waist. Pulled me closer. The heat between us built fast.

But then he stopped. Pulled back. His forehead resting against mine.

"Not like this," he said. "Not when you're still scared."

"I'm not scared."

"You are. And that's okay." He took my hand. Led me to the bed. Sat me down on the edge. "Let me take care of you tonight. That's all I want. Just let me take care of you."

I looked up at him. This stranger. This man who had everything. Who could have anyone. And he was looking at me like I was the only person in the world.

I didn't understand it. I didn't trust it. But God help me, I wanted to believe it.

"Okay," I said. "Okay."

He smiled. A real smile. One that reached his eyes.

And for the first time that night, I felt like maybe I hadn't made a mistake.