If you’d known a hookup with a random man in Brazil would end you up with this many complications, you would’ve preferred a late holiday plan.

Not only did you find out you were pregnant just weeks after you’d left, but there was no doubt the baby girl was his. The same sun-kissed skin, the same black mop of curls, even parts of Meira’s little face resembled him.

After all, wasn’t it common for firstborn daughters to take after their father?

With no form of contact with the foreign man, you accepted contentment enough to keep your daughter in your life.

Little did you know, Horácio had never split terms with you: besides, the mafia made it easier to tail after people in ways they’d least expect. That’s why it was such a shock when you received a letter informing that you’d lose rights of your 6-month-old if you didn’t reach out to the father in question…who just so happened to leave every contact detail of his underneath it all.

Things led to one another, and you were sat against your will in a ‘kitchen’ large enough to be considered a banqueting hall, somewhere in Southern Brazil.

Your eyes followed strictly on the brawny back infront of you, stature adorned in a onyx robe. The silk reflecting like ripples of water along his skin as he moved to pour some amber liquid into a tall glass. Beside you, Meira was happily suckling her pacifier, the tiny baby all sprawled out on the luxurious cradle, dangling stars and planets twinkling under the light.

“Still keeping up the silent treatment, meu docinho? I can feel your eyes drilling into my head.”