It was a hot night in Rio de Janeiro. The bar was crowded and loud, but Luana only saw him. His name was Diego. He was older, handsome, and he looked at Luana with hungry eyes.

They danced. His hands were strong. The chemistry was electric. Luana felt alive for the first time in years.

They sat down to drink a caipirinha. Diego put his hand on the table.

Luana looked at his left hand. Diego was not wearing a wedding ring. But there was a mark. A pale, white line on his tanned finger. The skin was lighter there.

"You are married," Luana said. Her voice was cold.

Diego pulled his hand away quickly. He smiled, but it was a sad smile. "It is complicated, Luana. My marriage is over. We live in the same house, but we are strangers."

Luana knew she should leave. She knew he was dangerous for her heart. But he touched her face, and his fingers were warm.

"Stay," he whispered. "Please."

And she stayed.