A bucket of water falls on my head, soaking me, and I regain consciousness. I feel the electricity coursing through every pore of my skin. I have convulsions and can't control my body. When I manage to open my eyes, I discover that I am on my knees. My hands are tied with ropes behind my back. Luke throws another bucket of water at me. I look around and place myself; we are in the aircraft hangars near where Luke lives, right next to the slave population. The last time I entered this place was when I was a child, running around without really knowing where I was going. I was fascinated by those aeromobiles that Greg drove. The shelves are filled with parts and spares for the aeromobiles, as it is used as a workshop. This is what makes Luke valuable: he knows about electrical mechanics. If it weren't for that, I'm sure his position would be mine. Slaves cannot legally study and learn a trade since I believe we are the only ones who know how to do everything we are asked to do. I don't worry much about it, and I punish myself for it because, if I had the opportunity, I know I wouldn't have studied much.

My ears alert me that Luke is approaching. He lifts my face towards him, making me see, from my position, that disgustingly thick beard of his. He smiles maliciously.

—How dare you force her? She's the owner's daughter!

—And what does that have to do with anything?

—You are a dirty, disgusting, and dreadful slave. You are far below her level.

—I am still a person with my needs. And, by the way, I don't think I forced her, what were you hearing? Pleasure moans or cries for help?

He crouches down so that our heads are at the same height. He keeps smiling. He spits in my face and boasts about it. Then he punches me and splits my lip. I taste blood in my mouth. I've had enough. I need to teach Luke a lesson, and this time, he'll learn it. I move my hands insistently, but the rope is tightly tied. I try to stand up. My knees buckle because I still have electric spasms in my muscles. If only I could... Luke comes back towards me, lifts me, and punches me in the stomach. I spit blood and fall to the ground again on my knees.

—I should do this more often. You don't know the tension it relieves—he says proudly. The two times you laid hands on me, not only did you hurt me, but you also undermined my authority over nobodies like you. And I won't allow it to happen again. So, slave, think twice before doing anything foolish. For every rule you break, I'll be there to punish you.

—Are you scared, Luke? One would think you envy me. Sophie always preferred me to you—I say. Yes, I don't know where these words come from either, but I say them. One of these days, I'm going to end up in trouble. In situations where I feel most compromised, my cocky side always comes out.

—Envy of a slave?

He kicks me repeatedly in the side. I can't even protect myself because my hands are tied. I bend over and cough hard because it hurts a lot. He better kill me right now because if I come out of this alive, I'm going to hang him from the tallest poplar tree in the forest behind the plantation. I'm so angry that killing him wouldn't quench this thirst for revenge.

—Stop it. Stop it! —Sophie's voice rings out.

She kneels, placing herself between Luke and me to stop him from hitting me. She's dressed again, and she's crying because she knows it's partly her fault, too. She helps me up, clumsily untying the ropes that bind my hands. My head is spinning, my mouth is bleeding, my side is throbbing, and I don't even have the strength to hold Sophie's hands as she holds me in her arms like a baby.

Luke heads to his aeromobile and returns. I glance outside, through the open gate, and see Greg standing in the doorway. He looks older than ever. His face is now covered with a white beard, and his eyes are sunken. He wears a hat that covers his bald head. He leans on a dark wooden cane for support and to walk. He gestures with his hand, directed at his daughter. He's telling her to leave me alone. Sophie obeys and stands behind her father.

—Mr. Gordon, I found them... —Luke interrupts one of the principles of etiquette by speaking before the older landowner.

—Bring him to my house, but don't you dare lay a hand on him again. Is that clear?

—Yes, sir.

He doesn't even look at me. Greg doesn't even look at me as if I don't exist. He saved me, but he didn't even see me. Maybe he's pained to find me in this shameful situation, but what does it matter? I'm a slave, and I don't matter. I mean nothing to him. Sophie takes her father's arm, and they turn around, leaving the aircraft workshop and returning to their mansion.

—You're lucky—, Luke says to me as they leave, referring to the fact that he would have kept torturing me. —I don't know what they've seen in you all along, but I'm afraid dear Eric, that this time you have no escape.

I feel like punching Luke in the mouth, but I restrain myself. First, because I don't even have the strength to walk, between the electric shocks and the beating, I can't even move. Second, I don't want to get into more trouble. Even though I want to answer him, I know damn well that Luke is right. Everything I've done so far pales in comparison to what I just did. I've shattered a family's honor, me, a slave, has frolicked with the owner's daughter, to whom I belong, and to top it off, she's engaged to the most famous man in the United Provinces.

Shivers run down my spine at the thought of what Greg has in store for me. No one visits him in his own house, no one of lower social rank, and certainly not a slave from his plantation. But I'm going to. And that's because something important, and probably bad, is going to happen to me. A death sentence would be too harsh, I think. Most likely, he'll sell me to another owner or put me up for auction in the Province. Everyone—the slaves—knows that Greg Gordon is a good owner since having accumulated so much wealth already, he doesn't exploit his slaves as much as other owners do. I don't want to go to the olive fields to pick olives nor to the vineyards or the orange groves. I'd hate to harvest wheat. Cultivating the staple foods for all the Provinces is too hard. I'd die soon. It wouldn't be bad to go to a smaller town and work in a factory. It would be much better than the countryside.

I think about Mr. and Mrs. Hall. They are the only two people I would miss. In the tavern, there are only stubborn men, and no lady has been able to steal my heart in this place, although I don't deny that one or two have left me speechless at times. On the other hand, I would leave behind the only place that connects me to my mother. Here I have the few memories I keep of her: her perfume and her smile. Walking through the plantation's settlement comforts me sometimes because I know I'm following in her footsteps. After all, she walked here before me. If I think about it carefully, I only have ethereal memories of her left, and sometimes I don't know if they really happened or if I just made them up in an attempt to create something happy to hold on to.

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Not everything has to be bad. Although, well, if the sentence is death, I don't think there's anything worse. I say this because if they auction me off, if they sell me, at least I'll change scenery. I'll see other people, get to know them, work, and do business with them. I'll see the world, something I desire with all my soul. I'll leave many things behind here; that's undeniable, but at least I'll find monotony elsewhere.

—Move.

These are Luke's words, who had been organizing and closing the workshop while I cleaned the blood with a dirty rag he offered me and regained the strength I would need. If it weren't for Luke approaching and grabbing me by the shirt and lifting me, pulling me, I wouldn't have been able to move. When I'm standing, he starts pushing me on the way to the Gordon mansion. Every time he pushes me with his hand, I stagger, and it's a miracle I don't fall. In one of those pushes, I can lift my head. First, I look behind me. I see, in the distance, the beginning of the slave village of the plantation. I think of them. They're still working hard in the blazing midday sun. Those are the worst hours when you feel most tired. Then I look forward. I follow a path of well—placed stones among nature. A few meters away, I have the wall that surrounds and separates the world of mortals from the Gordon's most private property.

Luke presses a button that makes a strange noise and allows us to enter through the iron gate. One day, many years ago, Sophie explained to me that it was called a doorbell. I got used to using it to enter that house, but it seems so distant to me now that I don't even remember it. We enter the garden, immense, where several workers are busy with various tasks. We keep walking, passing by a fountain located in front of the main entrance, which depicts tigers spouting water from their mouths. The animals are around a young woman, carefully and meticulously sculpted. I also remember that Sophie and I used to play there, splashing each other with water in the summer when it was hot. To be honest, numerous childhood memories were repressed in my consciousness and are now emerging. The facade of the house is immense and white. To access it, we have to climb stairs flanked by two columns. It has many windows and a very large balcony. I stand still, admiring what I once failed to appreciate.

—Walk! —Of course, Luke is much more than a cretin. He just gave me the beating of his life and still demands. Whatever destiny Greg chooses for me, Luke will get what's coming to him. No matter the cost.

On the threshold of the door, Mac awaits us, one of the domestic slaves, who is in charge of directing the service and is the visible head to the master. He is dressed impeccably. Although that is distinctive of belonging to a higher social class, that damn suit makes him even more of a slave, although he seems to have gotten used to it. He must be around fifty. I say that because of his white beard, which contrasts with his dark complexion and the wrinkles on his face. He has a good position because, despite being a slave, he doesn't work as hard as we do and has his family well—fed. You could say he's a lucky slave.

—Mr. Gordon wishes you to freshen up first and then accompany him and his daughter to the table for lunch. —He says, addressing me.

—Get out of the way, Mac. You don't know what has happened. —Luke, who has taken a liking to shoving, puts his hand on the servant.

—I'm sorry, Mr. Luke, but those are Mr. Gordon's orders. Eric must freshen up and accompany him for lunch.

—That's impossible!

—Envy again, Luke? —I say, strutting—Do yourself a favor and check it out because it can't be good.

He grabs me by the chest and lifts me in the air, intending to punch me. He stares at me, showing his dirty beard and yellow teeth pressed against his lips. Mac clears his throat. Luke lets go of me and walks away.

I watch him leave as Mac shows me the way. Not everything is as it was in my memory. The entrance has changed with extravagant decorations, although I know Greg changes them according to the season and urban fashion. The two staircases, which join together at the top and give access to the second floor, are still equally imposing. Mac hands me a neatly folded towel and appropriate clothing for the room I'm in and directs me to one of the bathrooms on the third floor.

How different life is depending on your luck or misfortune at birth. If I were Greg's son, I would have everything I desired in life. Food of all kinds on my table every day, free time, I could play soccer, and above all, I could shower with hot water every day, I could have a mirror like that... In reality, it wasn't the big things that attracted me to the life of the upper classes but also the small details. Those things you don't notice, but sometimes they turn out to be more important.

I hurry to wash myself. The truth is, I need it. The hot water falls on me in torrents, and I can lather up with the gel. Showering is fun if done this way and not in the middle of the street or in an old shack in the bathroom with a tub and cold water. I take advantage of the moment to think, and no matter how much I try, I don't understand it. I, too, have been surprised by Mac's words, Luke hasn't been the only one. I start to think that my destiny is at the gallows because Greg is being overly generous with me. Stepping into his house and his bathroom is much more than a privilege. If he behaves like this, it's because he's going to condemn me to death and wants me to enjoy my last hours, or, on the contrary, he's going to sell me. What I'm sure of is that I'm not going to stay on this plantation much longer. I've earned it, I know it, and I accept it. One must take responsibility for their actions, know when they've done wrong, and endure the punishment. That's what they teach us: slaves from a young age.

As I dry myself, I'm careful because I have several bruises on my side. Besides, my head hurts, and I have a wound on my lips, which is still bleeding, although much less than before. I put on the black and tight pants and lace up the boots of the same color. The top is a very thin, completely white T-shirt and, on top of it, a black sweatshirt made of a fabric I don't know, like the pants. It has a very bizarre artistic design that I don't know why, but it looks very good on me when I look in the mirror. Used to stiff pants and shirts, this clothing is a delight to the sense of touch.

—Are you ready? —There's a knock on the bathroom door. It's Sophie.

I open it and see her in the same bright purple dress as before. I remember her passionate kisses and my hands between the curves that are now hidden behind that dress. She smiles at me and looks at me.

—Eric... you're... more... —She continues admiring my figure. Surely it's because I'm clean, because of the clothes. I won't look like myself, the dirty and hardworking slave. That's what appearances do. —Much more...

I avoid responding to the compliment. I grimace because I also have to avoid putting on a smile or a happy face. It's as if she hadn't been surprised with me in the middle of the job, as if those moments hadn't existed. But they had, and now I'm going to pay for it. She, of course, wouldn't be to blame. I'm the one with the reputation of a seducer and womanizer. It will be my fault, and she will be absolved, even if she undressed in front of me.

I let her go down the stairs first. The last thing I want is for Greg to see that besides saving me and showing me his hospitality, I still want to hit on his daughter, who, if that weren't enough, is engaged. What there was—or had been—between Sophie and me is nothing more than a friendship. When you grow up with someone, especially if it's of the opposite sex, hormones eat away at your body and, above all, your brain, and you feel like experimenting, getting to know, and what better way to do it than with someone you trust a lot. Sophie is that. To which I must add the years we've been apart. The days when I thought of her seeing others, regretting not having told her something else. Now I understood it. All of that had been nostalgia, that feeling that makes you idealize everything that has happened to you, no matter how bad it is, as if it were truly the best in the world. The contained passion and nostalgia between Sophie and me had exploded that morning. We were going to separate again, and this time, it could be forever. We couldn't leave with unfinished business. And we haven't, even if we didn't finish it. But was it worth it? I'm about to face the biggest obstacle life will throw at me, and I think it was. For Sophie, for a woman like her, it was worth it. To be honest, it would have been worth it for any woman. That's how I am.

I reach the main hall and see the hustle and bustle of several domestic slaves carrying and bringing dishes to the large table where lunch is being prepared. Greg is sitting on one of the sofas facing the fireplace. He holds an ancient book in his hands, which he reads. He takes off his glasses when he hears my arrival and looks at me. He stands up and observes me. He circles me, and I stay still. Then he bursts out laughing.

—Sir, I...

—You'd better shut up and sit at the table, Eric.