Five Years Ago…
Narrator
Growing up, Elizabeth had always been told she possessed godly gifts—rare talents and divine powers.
She could heal, save, prophesy, and even illuminate a bright future hidden within shadows. Her musical talents were as profound as her spiritual ones; she could play the cello, violin, guitar, flute, and piano with effortless grace.
But the irony? She couldn't see a vision for herself.
She could prophesy for others, but her own future was a blank canvas. She could change lives, yet couldn't cure herself of the asthma she'd suffered from since birth.
Elizabeth Serena Rodriguez Barros was a Brazilian-born woman raised in a God-fearing, deeply spiritual extended family in a modest province of Rio de Janeiro.
Though they weren't wealthy, her family was rich in values and joy. They lived a simple, peaceful life in an ancestral mansion and worked a large plot of farmland where they raised animals and cultivated crops—maize, legumes, grains, fruits, even coffee beans.
Due to the demanding manual labor and minimal income the farm generated, affording university was a luxury they couldn't manage. In their family, once someone graduated high school, the path was clear: either learn a trade or join the family's farming business.
Elizabeth was an only child, though you'd hardly know it. Her extended family was large and loving—cousins, uncles, aunts, godparents, and grandparents—all living under one grand, old-fashioned roof.
She was far from a burden. In fact, she'd learned tailoring from her mother during high school. She could craft clothes, shoes, slippers, and bags with precision. Sometimes, she spent her entire day sewing in the family shop. Other times, she was in the fields helping her father, uncles, and cousins.
But Elizabeth wasn't widely known for her tailoring.
She was known for her beauty.
Her beauty was mesmerizing—radiant, like the morning sun breaking over the horizon.
She stood out, both in her family and in her church. At Sunday school, she was among the best teachers. Her father, a church elder and respected deacon, was proud of her. Elizabeth had lived a holy life since birth, raised in righteousness and devotion.
At one point, she had even aspired to become a nun. But her father wouldn't hear of it.
"You are my only child—the bearer of my name," he would say. "I won't let my legacy end with you."
So instead, she took up the role of a convener in church events—still devout, but never fully cloistered. At times, she acted with the serenity of a nun. Other times, she carried herself with the boldness of a man.
This dual nature began when she realized her beauty was becoming a burden. Too many men tried to flirt or pursue her for her looks. It became uncomfortable. Alarming, even.
Eventually, she made the decision to relocate—and whenever she went out, she disguised herself.
She settled in Wrocław, Poland, where she met two kindhearted women who became her closest friends: Natasha and Bianca.
The three shared a cozy, self-contained apartment on the 60th floor of a modern condominium right in the city's heart—conveniently close to all their workplaces.
Natasha, an American and NYU graduate, wasn't a native of Poland but spoke Polish fluently. She worked remotely as an editor for The New York Times.
Bianca, from Spain, had graduated college two years earlier and moved to Poland after her father passed away. She worked as a bank cashier at one of Poland's top financial institutions. Though she only spoke Spanish and English, she was learning Polish through online classes.
Elizabeth, meanwhile, spent most of her time producing evangelism podcasts on Spotify. She had brought her recording equipment all the way from Rio. Her mission was simple: preach the Word, inspire change, win souls for Christ.
One sunny afternoon, just as she was preparing to record an episode, her phone rang.
It was the call she'd been waiting for—a job appointment she had booked a month earlier.
She hadn't expected much from it. She lacked formal qualifications. All she wanted was a platform to share God's Word and make a difference.
Still, she answered the call.
And when she returned home later, something about her was different.
She flung the door open and danced into the apartment, singing, "I feel good, la-la-la! I feel good, la-la-la!" as she spun around the room.
Natasha and Bianca looked up from their respective corners, puzzled and amused.
"Okay, did you just win an award?" Natasha teased, sipping her ginger lemon tea from an ottoman.
"No," Bianca grinned, typing on her laptop, "I think she just won the lottery. Or maybe it's her big day."
"Exactly, darlings!" Elizabeth beamed, glowing with excitement. She snatched Natasha's teacup and took a sip.
"Hey! That's mine," Natasha protested with a playful frown.
"Don't worry—you'll be drinking much fancier tea soon. Because right now, you're looking at the newest rich girl in town." Elizabeth flopped dramatically onto the couch.
"Wait… rich girl?" Natasha raised an eyebrow.
"Indeed," Bianca smirked. "What happened? Did someone from your podcast finally offer you a paycheck?"
Elizabeth threw a pillow at her. "Hey!"
Bianca caught it, laughing.
"Well, for the record," Elizabeth said as she pulled off her shoes and fake beard, "I'm grateful for any job, so long as it's legit and keeps me out of trouble."
"Oh, come on. I was just teasing," Bianca said, moving to sit beside her with an arm draped over her shoulder. Natasha joined them too.
"So… spill," Natasha grinned. "How did it go? Is your boss cute and sexy?"
"Ew." Elizabeth made a face. "Gross. My boss is a woman, thank you very much."
"Ooooh…" her friends chorused dramatically.
They often worried about Elizabeth's overly righteous lifestyle. Would she ever fall in love? Get married? Sometimes they grew tired of her constant preaching—yet other times, it was the very thing that uplifted and grounded them.
"So… is she hot?" Bianca nudged.
Elizabeth just shrugged. "Umm… kind of."
"What's the job title?" Natasha asked, still skeptical that someone with just an O'level could land a big position.
"A chauffeur."
"A… what now?" Bianca tried to stifle her laughter, but it was no use. Natasha and Elizabeth both shot her a glare.
"Sorry, sorry! But… a chauffeur? For who?"
"My boss, obviously," Elizabeth said, sitting straighter, proud of her position—even if it meant being a personal driver.
"What's your boss's name?" Natasha grabbed Bianca's laptop.
"Sharon Ayomide," Elizabeth replied, her Brazilian accent warm and rich.
Natasha and Bianca exchanged a look. "Wait… Sharon Ayomide?"
Natasha typed quickly and pulled up a photo. "Her?"
Elizabeth nodded. Bianca's jaw dropped. "Girl, that's Sharon Pelumi Omowunmi Felix Ayomide—daughter of business mogul Adedayo Felix Coker Ayomide."
Elizabeth blinked, unimpressed. "Okay… so?"
"So?" Natasha gaped. "Girl, do you even realize the kind of jackpot you've just landed?"
Elizabeth giggled sheepishly. "Of course it's a breakthrough, Tasha."
Bianca facepalmed. "This girl is too humble for her own good. Natasha, educate her, please."
Natasha brought up more images—family portraits. "This is her mom. That's her dad. And this—this is Sharon."
"She has a brother too," Bianca added, "but he's not in the photos."
"Why?" Elizabeth asked, surprising even herself.
"No idea," Natasha shrugged.
"Probably because he's part of a mafia group," Bianca joked.
Elizabeth's heart dropped. The word mafia brought back childhood memories of violent films—secret deals, underground justice, bloodshed. Fear gripped her.
"Are you okay?" Natasha asked, noticing her sudden change in demeanor.
"Is he… really her blood brother?" Elizabeth asked quickly.
"Of course," Bianca replied. "Hot sister, hot brother—it runs in the genes."
Elizabeth looked deeply unsettled. But suddenly, her gaze shifted—as if something divine passed through her.
"He's her stepbrother," she murmured.
"What?"
"How do you know that?"
She stood, picking up her shoes and oversized Bible. "Are you doubting me now?"
The two friends paused. Natasha finally spoke. "But everyone knows Sebastian is the biological son of Felix and Adira."
When Elizabeth spoke, they usually listened. Her words often came with a spiritual weight they couldn't explain.
She stepped into the kitchen for water. After taking a long gulp, she turned to them.
"You'll find out later," she said simply. "Now… is there any food in this house? I'm starving like a newborn."
"Yeah," Bianca replied. "I made spaghetti bolognese. There's still some left."
"Aww, thank you both. First, I need a quick shower before lunch."
"Good idea," Bianca smiled.
As Elizabeth hurried off toward the bathroom, Natasha called out, "Hey, are you coming with us to the bar tonight?"
Elizabeth peeked from the bedroom door, her face scrunched in a disapproving frown. "Are you serious right now?"
Of course not. That was never her scene.
Natasha chuckled and quickly backpedaled. "Relax, just kidding. Bianca and I will go on our own."
Elizabeth rolled her eyes and waved them off. "Have fun, sinners."