High in the hills overlooking Madrid stood a lavish mansion, home to Alejandro Doval—a young, handsome businessman whose wealth seemed limitless. He was accustomed to getting whatever he desired: companies, luxury cars, gleaming gold watches. Yet for all his success, there was one thing money had never managed to give him—peace.

After a humiliating and highly public breakup with his fiancée, Alejandro shut himself off from the world. He grew distant, guarded, and deeply mistrustful. To him, kindness was no longer genuine; every smile felt like a transaction waiting to happen.

She was a 22-year-old maid from a quiet rural town. Her honey-colored eyes were soft, her voice gentle and shy. Having lost her parents, she desperately needed work. The mansion overwhelmed her—the soaring ceilings, velvet rugs, priceless artwork—but she never touched what wasn’t hers. She worked silently, carefully, and always left behind a polite smile.

At first, Alejandro barely registered her presence. But one chilly evening, as he sat alone beside the fireplace, a soft melody drifted down the hallway. Lucía was humming an old lullaby, the kind grandmothers sang before sleep. Something about the sound settled deep inside him. That night, for the first time in months, Alejandro slept without restlessness.

A few days later, a friend teased him, “Be careful with your new maid. Sweet faces can hide sharp intentions.”

Ever proud and wary, Alejandro decided to test her.

That night, he stretched out on the living room sofa and pretended to fall asleep. On the nearby table, he placed his most expensive gold watch, his wallet wide open, and a stack of cash. Lucía always cleaned in the evenings—and tonight was no different.

Around ten, the door creaked softly. Lucía entered barefoot, hair pulled back, holding a small lamp. She moved carefully, as if afraid to disturb the air itself. Alejandro watched through half-lidded eyes, waiting—expecting a glance, a pause, any hint of temptation.

Instead, she surprised him completely.

Lucía ignored the table. She gently placed a blanket over his shoulders. Then, barely above a whisper, she sighed, “I wish I weren’t so alone…”

She picked up the gold watch—not to steal it, but to wipe it tenderly with her handkerchief, as though caring for something meaningful. She returned it to its exact place.

Before leaving, she stopped and laid something small on the table—a dried daisy and a folded note.

Once she was gone, Alejandro sat up, unable to resist. The note, written in uneven handwriting, read:

“Sometimes, those who have everything need something as simple as being seen as good.”

The words stayed with him all night, aching and soothing all at once.

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The next morning, he watched Lucía from his study as she prepared vegetables in the kitchen. Her quiet wasn’t cold—it was calming. It wasn’t ambition—it was sincerity. Honest and unforced.

Days passed, and he couldn’t stop thinking about her. He repeated the test, pretending to sleep again.

Each time, she did the same—covering him softly, murmuring kindness, turning off the light before leaving.

One night, he couldn’t keep pretending. As she turned away, he opened his eyes and asked gently, “Why are you doing that?”

Lucía gasped, dropping her cloth. “Mr. Doval! I… I thought you were asleep.”

“I was pretending,” he confessed. “I wanted to see who you really are.”

Her gaze fell. “You tested me?” she asked.

He nodded. “I thought everyone wanted something from me. But you… you only leave flowers and kindness. Why?”

After a pause, she whispered, “Because someone once told me that when a person hides behind their wealth, they end up surrounded by things, but empty of people. And you… you look very lonely.”

He had no response. No one had spoken to him that honestly in years.

That night, they talked—for the first time. About her hometown, her grandmother, the scent of fresh bread. He spoke of his fears, his father’s pressure, his isolation. They talked until sunrise.

Weeks went by, and the mansion felt different. Warmer. Softer. Alejandro smiled more. He invited Lucía to breakfast, asked her thoughts on music, even shared the emails that irritated him. What grew between them wasn’t rushed romance, but something steady—mutual respect formed through honesty and quiet presence.

One afternoon, Alejandro stepped into the garden and noticed dozens of daisies drying in the sun.

“Why daisies?” he asked.

Lucía smiled. “Because even the simplest flowers can make someone who already has everything smile.”

Not everyone appreciated the change. A jealous business partner began spreading rumors, accusing Lucía of using Alejandro for money. Doubt crept in, and Alejandro let it. That single weakness cracked something fragile.

The next morning, Lucía was gone.

Only a note remained where the flowers once lay:

“Please don’t worry about me, Mr. Doval. I’ll always be grateful for our talks. But I’d rather leave before becoming another shadow in your life. Take care. — L.”

Alejandro searched everywhere. She had vanished.

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Months later, in a small coastal town, Alejandro noticed a bakery with a hand-painted sign: “Lucía’s Daisies.” He went inside.

Behind the counter stood Lucía, hair tied back, eyes glowing as she kneaded dough. When she saw him, her hands froze. The rolling pin fell.

“I thought I’d never see you again,” he said, voice shaking.

“Me too,” she whispered.

He stepped closer, pulled a dried daisy from his pocket—one he had carried all those months—and placed it on the counter.

“You never took anything from me, Lucía,” he said softly. “But you took away my fear of opening my heart.”

Tears filled her eyes. And for the first time, Alejandro didn’t pretend to sleep. He stood fully awake, facing the only person who had ever truly made him feel alive.