The sun barely lit the mansion when Clara went down to the kitchen. Her skin was still warm from Isabela's accidental touch the day before—and from what she had done the night before falling asleep—and now every gesture from her mother seemed charged with intention. The morning coffee tasted bitter; her mind was elsewhere, on Isabela's hands, on Ricardo's intense gaze, on the sensation of being constantly watched.
"Good morning, Clara," Isabela said, coming closer with her cup of coffee. "Today we can talk a bit more calmly. The children are at school."
Clara swallowed. The invitation sounded innocent, but something in the way Isabela looked at her made her feel like prey caught in someone else's game.
They sat in the main living room, with the morning light filtering through the stained-glass windows. Isabela leaned toward her, so close that Clara could smell the intense perfume surrounding her.
"Last night you were very quiet…" Isabela said in a low voice. "I felt you were distracted, as if you already knew that something here was going to change your life."
Clara looked away, trying not to blush, but her fingers trembled slightly.
"I don't know…" she murmured. "I'm just trying to get used to everything."
Isabela deliberately let her hand fall over Clara's, with a gentle but firm pressure. The heat of that contact went through Clara like a heartbeat straight to her chest.
"You don't have to get used to anything you don't want," Isabela whispered, leaning even closer. "Sometimes what we feel is too big to ignore."
Isabela let her hand fall onto Clara's thigh and squeezed. She began to slide her hand upward until it reached Clara's skirt, never taking her eyes off hers.
Clara felt a shiver. Her body responded to something her mind knew was forbidden. She let Isabela's hand move higher, up to her panties. With a gentle motion, Isabela moved them aside and…
Before Clara could recover, the door opened and Ricardo entered the living room. His presence filled the space with instant tension. He looked at Clara and then at Isabela, with dark, penetrating eyes, and Clara felt an impossible circle closing around her.
"Good morning," he said in a deep tone. "I see we're starting to get to know each other a bit too quickly..."
His gaze seemed to measure Clara's every reaction, and she felt she couldn't breathe normally. Isabela slowly withdrew her hand, but the tension between them did not disappear; on the contrary, it seemed to multiply.
"We're just talking, Ricardo," Isabela said with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Just talking."
But Clara knew it wasn't just a conversation: it was a game, a silent duel in which she was trapped.
At midday, Isabela took Clara for a walk through the garden. The rain from the night before had left bright puddles on the grass, and the scent of damp earth filled the air. Isabela walked close to Clara, accidentally brushing her arm, playing with her hair as she moved it away from her face.
"Don't feel guilty," Isabela said softly. "What we feel can't always be controlled."
Clara felt her knees give way. Her heart was pounding, and the forbidden attraction was becoming harder to ignore. Every gesture Isabel made was deliberate, and the sense of danger mixed with desire kept her on the edge of an emotional abyss. Isabel took her by the waist and kissed her, tenderly but firmly. Clara let herself go. They began to kiss—at first tenderly, getting to know each other little by little, and then with tongue. Their bodies came together...
Suddenly, Ricardo appeared among the trees in the garden, watching them. His presence was silent, but Clara could feel the intensity of his gaze: jealousy, desire, control. For the first time, she understood that she was at the center of something she could not control—an impossible and dangerous triangle.
Upon returning to the house, Clara received a message from her boyfriend, full of concern: "Are you okay? I'm worried about you…". Her heart broke between guilt and excitement. She knew she was crossing boundaries she had never imagined, and every look, every touch heightened the sense of risk.
That night, as she got ready for bed, Clara thought about Isabela's hands, Ricardo's intense gaze, and her own forbidden desire. She felt fear, but also an addiction that was consuming her: she was trapped in a game that could destroy her life.
Clara couldn't shake the feeling that Isabela and Ricardo were competing for her, each in their own way.
The envelope with photos and notes was still in her room, reminding her that there were secrets she did not yet understand, and that her attraction to the mother and the tension with the father were dragging her toward an abyss from which she might not be able to escape.