A Lesson in Loving You

Chapter 4 — The Gala Shadow

The rain had cleared by Thursday morning, leaving the courtyards of Colégio Anchieta glistening under a crisp, pale sun. Maitê sat at a concrete bench near the fountain, her leather planner resting on her knee, checking off items with methodical precision.

Yet, her focus kept wavering. Every few minutes, her eyes drifted toward the iron gates of the main entrance.

A sleek, black European sedan pulled up to the curb—a vehicle too understated for the Burlamaqui family's usual fleet, but instantly recognizable by its dark tinted glass. The rear door opened, and Henrique Burlamaqui stepped onto the pavement.

Maitê’s pen stilled.

Henrique looked like a older, colder version of Inácio. Dressed in a sharply tailored three-piece charcoal suit, his jet-black hair slicked back without a strand out of place, he moved with a rigid, calculated authority that made the surrounding students instinctively clear a path.

Inácio emerged from the side entrance of the humanities building, his blazer loosely unbuttoned as usual, a strap of his leather messenger bag slung across his chest. The moment he spotted his older brother, Maitê watched the change happen in real time.

The effortless, easygoing charm that Inácio wore like a second skin vanished. His posture straightened into a stiff, defensive line, his shoulders squaring as his jaw set into a hard, closed expression.

"Inácio," Henrique’s voice carried across the quiet courtyard, smooth, deep, and dripping with condescension.

Inácio stopped a few feet short of his brother. "Henrique. What are you doing here?"

"Father sent me to drop off the briefing materials for the Spring Gala next month," Henrique said, handing over a thick, cream-colored envelope. He didn't hand it over with warmth; he held it out like a summons. "And to remind you that your attendance isn't optional this year. You're expected to host the donor reception."

Inácio didn't take the envelope immediately. "I have capstone research deadlines."

Henrique let out a short, humorless laugh. "The capstone is a high school project, Inácio. Stop using it as an excuse to play academic games. Father expects you to project stability. Your little... distractions... aren't helping."

Henrique’s sharp, dark eyes shifted across the courtyard, landing directly on Maitê. The cold, calculating look in his gaze made a shiver run down her spine.

"Is that her?" Henrique asked, his voice dropping into a quiet, cutting register. "The girl Father had to buy a partnership for?"

Inácio instantly stepped sideways, his broad frame cutting off Henrique’s view of Maitê entirely. "Leave her out of this, Henrique."

"I’m just observing," Henrique replied, his lip curling into a faint, arrogant smirk that lacked any of Inácio's underlying warmth. "Make sure she doesn't get confused about her place. The Burlamaqui name isn't a charity platform for ambitious charity cases. Don't embarrass us at the Gala."

Without waiting for a response, Henrique turned on his heel and stepped back into the waiting sedan. The heavy door clicked shut, and the car pulled smoothly away into the morning traffic.

Inácio stood alone at the curb for a long, silent moment. His hands were clenched into tight fists at his sides, his head bowed slightly as he stared at the cream envelope in his grip. The arrogant, untouchable boy who ran the halls of Colégio Anchieta looked suddenly, terribly isolated under the cold morning sky.

Maitê didn't think; her instincts took over before her logic could stop her.

She closed her planner, stood up from the bench, and walked across the courtyard toward him.

Hearing her footsteps, Inácio shoved the envelope into his messenger bag and turned around. The moment his dark eyes met hers, he instinctively tried to pull his lazy, charming smirk back onto his face. "Vilanova. Come to tell me my tie is crooked?"

The deflection was so fast, so practiced, that it hurt to watch.

Maitê didn't mock him. She didn't deliver a sharp rebuttal or quote the honor code. She simply stood beside him, her hazel eyes searching his face, taking in the faint tremor in his jaw and the hollow look in his eyes.

"He's an i***t," Maitê said quietly, her voice flat and absolute.

Inácio blinked, catching his breath as if she had struck him. The fake smirk faltered, dying before it could fully take shape. "What?"

"Your brother," she repeated, looking out toward the main street where the black sedan had disappeared. "He talks like a corporate manual and moves like a statue. He's an idiot."

A silence settled between them—not the tense, electric silence of their library arguments, but something soft, heavy, and undeniably genuine.

Inácio stared at her, his dark obsidian eyes wide, completely unshielded for the first time since she had known him. Slowly, the tension in his shoulders began to bleed out. A tiny, breathless laugh escaped his lips—a real one, free of sarcasm or arrogance.

"He really is," Inácio murmured, running a hand through his raven hair. He looked down at her, the warmth returning to his gaze, deeper and far more dangerous than before. "You're terrible at comforting people, Vilanova."

"I wasn't comforting you," Maitê shot back softly, though her mouth tugged into a small, rare curve at the edge of her lips. "I was stating an objective fact."

"Right. Empirical rigor," he drawled, stepping an inch closer to her, his cedarwood scent catching the morning breeze. His dark eyes locked onto hers with an intense, quiet gratitude that made her pulse flutter against her ribs. "Thank you, Maitê."

Hearing her first name on his lips without a trace of mockery sent a strange, sweet ache through her chest. She looked away quickly, smoothing her blazer, but she didn't step back.

"Three o'clock," she said, her voice softer than usual. "Don't be late for our research review."

"Wouldn't dream of it, partner," Inácio whispered, watching her walk toward the building, the shadow of his family's legacy feeling just a little lighter

than it had five minutes before.