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© Madina Fedosova, 2025
ISBN 978-5-0068-1779-1
Created with Ridero smart publishing system
Author’s Foreword
In this book, you will not find simple answers or easy solutions. There are no perfect heroes or unequivocally evil villains. There is life – as it is – with its pain, joy, losses, and gains.
«The Final Blueprint» was born from my own experience of overcoming. I know what it’s like to live in the shadow of the past, to fight the voices of the past, and to search for the light at the end of the tunnel. I know how it feels to carry guilt for something you aren’t responsible for, and how difficult it is to forgive those who have hurt you.
Aurora Pereira is not my copy, but she contains a part of me. Her scars are my scars. Her fears are my fears. Her hopes are my hopes.
I do not want to teach you about life. I simply want to share with you the story of a girl who found the strength not to break under the weight of circumstances and to build her life anew.
«The Final Blueprint» is a story about how even after the darkest night, dawn always comes. About how forgiveness is not a weakness, but a strength. About how love and compassion can change the world.
I dedicate this book to everyone who has survived abuse, who struggles with depression, who searches for the meaning of life. Remember, you are not alone.
Thank you for choosing this book. I hope it finds a resonance in your heart.
May this story warm you.
With love,
Madina Fedosova
Prologue
The cold tiles burned her bare feet. The smell of dampness and mustiness had seeped into her lungs, causing nausea. She remembered this room down to the smallest detail, even though more than twenty years had passed since then. The green wallpaper, once adorned with naive little flowers, was now torn and covered in crude graffiti. The cracked ceiling with peeling paint pressed down from above as if ready to bury her alive.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw this picture before her: the shattered glass, the shards scattered across the floor like icy stars. She remembered how her stepfather, in a fit of rage, had thrown the glass against the wall, and how the shards had embedded themselves in her arm, leaving bloody cuts. The pain was unbearable, but the fear was even stronger. Fear of his anger, of his cruelty, of what he could do to her.
She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to ward off the intrusive memories. But they were relentless, like ghosts of the past haunting her everywhere. She heard his screams, felt his touch, saw his malicious face, distorted by hatred.
Aurora shuddered and opened her eyes. She was standing on the balcony of her luxurious apartment in Lisbon, breathing in the fresh sea air. Below her, the city sprawled, bathed in the lights of street lamps. In the distance, the ocean was visible, endless and alluring. It seemed nothing could disturb her peace and well-being.
She looked around her apartment: a spacious living room with panoramic windows, expensive furniture, paintings by contemporary artists. Everything here spoke of her success and prosperity. She had achieved everything she had dreamed of as a child. She had managed to escape poverty and violence, build a career, and become a respected architect.
But, despite all her achievements, she did not feel happy. The past would not let her go. It was always nearby, like a shadow following at her heels. It reminded her of who she really was, where she came from, what she had been through.
She had Kenan in her life, a loving and caring man, ready to do anything for her. He had accepted her as she was, with all her scars and secrets. But even to him, she could not reveal the whole truth about her past. It was too painful to remember, too frightening to share her nightmares.
She had friends, loyal and devoted, ready to support her in any situation. But she always kept a slight distance, afraid to let anyone get too close. Afraid they would see the real her, see her weakness, her pain.
She loved her work; it gave her a sense of freedom and independence. She created beautiful and functional buildings that pleased the eye and benefited people. But even in her work, she could not completely forget the past. Every time she designed a new house, she remembered that room where she had spent her childhood, the cold walls, the smell of dampness and despair.
An envelope with an unfamiliar address trembled in her hand. She was afraid to open it because she knew: inside was a message from the past that would turn her life upside down.
She slowly ran her finger over the rough surface of the envelope. On the back, there was no name, no surname, only some unfamiliar address in Porto. What could it be? Who could be writing to her from that city?
Something tightened painfully inside. Aurora knew she could not avoid this. The past had caught up with her, and she would have to face it.
She took a deep breath and tore the envelope open. Inside was a small sheet of paper, covered in unfamiliar handwriting. She began to read, and with each line, her heart beat faster and faster.
«Aurora Pereira,» the letter began, «I know you aren’t expecting any news from me at all, and you probably curse the day I was born. But I had to write to you before I leave this world forever. I know I caused you unbearable pain, left you all alone, and I can never atone for my guilt. But I want you to know: I have always remembered you, always watched over you from afar, and always, every minute, regretted what happened, that I couldn’t become a real father to you…»
Aurora froze as if doused with ice water. She couldn’t believe her eyes, couldn’t believe the words she was reading. «What? Father?» raced through her head. «What father? This is some terrible mistake! This simply can’t be!».
But the lines on the paper continued to stubbornly form words, burning her consciousness like a red-hot brand:
«I am dying, Aurora, my dear daughter. I have very little time left, just a few weeks, maybe days. And I want to ask you for one last favor, one small request which I hope you cannot refuse me, despite all the pain I have caused you. I want you, my talented daughter, to design my final house. Not a luxurious mansion, not a chic villa, but just a modest, quiet refuge where I could meet my end in peace and tranquility. If you want to talk to me, hear my story, find out why I acted this way and not another, why I wasn’t there for you all these years, call me at this number…»
Aurora, as if struck by lightning, dropped the letter from her trembling hands. A fine shiver wracked her body, as in a severe fever. The words from the letter spun in her head like a broken record: «I am dying… final house… caused you so much pain…» She stepped back until her back pressed against the balcony railing, as if seeking protection. The world around her suddenly swam, colors mixed in a chaotic whirlpool, sounds became muffled as if someone had turned off the volume. She felt she was about to lose consciousness and fall into a black, hopeless abyss.
Father. A word she had almost forgotten, crossed out of her life like an unnecessary thing. A man she had never seen, never known, never felt his love or care. A man who, she believed, had ruined her life even before it began, by abandoning her mother to her fate.
The anger, accumulated in her soul for years like a restrained dam, suddenly broke loose, sweeping away everything in its path like lava from an erupting volcano. Beside herself, she grabbed the crumpled letter and with fury threw it into the corner of the room, as if it were the culprit of all her misfortunes.
– I hate you! – she whispered with her lips alone, feeling tears choking her, not letting her breathe. – I hate you for what you did to my life! I hate you for abandoning me! I hate you for appearing now, when I had almost learned to live without you!
She stood on the balcony for a long time, looking at the night city, trying to calm down. But the anger and resentment would not release her. She felt as if someone had reopened an old wound that had almost healed.
Part One
Behind Closed Doors
Chapter 1
Scars and Blueprints
Sintra breathed the coolness of the early evening. Aurora stood on her balcony, wrapped in a light cotton robe, and looked at the city spread out below. The smell of pine trees, mixed with the salty breeze from the Atlantic, tickled her nose but brought no peace. Sintra, with its palaces drowning in greenery and narrow cobbled streets, should have been soothing, but today it only emphasized her inner turmoil.
The sun had almost disappeared below the horizon, painting the sky in a whimsical mixture of scarlet, orange, and purple tones. This hour she had always loved the most – the hour between light and darkness, when the world freezes in anticipation of something new. But today, this anticipation held a sinister note.
Aurora shivered, though she wasn’t cold at all. She ran her fingers over the ridge on her left arm, almost mechanically. The scar. Rough, uneven, it reminded her of the past she so desperately tried to forget. The shards of a broken glass, the stepfather’s rage, the fear that had saturated every corner of that cramped apartment on the outskirts of Lisbon.
She closed her eyes. Mustn’t think about that. Not now. But the memories were insistent, like annoying flies buzzing around her ear. She saw that room again, with its peeling wallpaper and tiny window overlooking a gray courtyard. She smelled again the cheap tobacco and sweat emanating from her stepfather. She heard again his drunken screams.
Forcing her eyes open, Aurora looked at her hands. These hands created beauty, transformed space, gave people homes. She was an architect, one of the best in Portugal. Her projects were distinguished by elegance, functionality, and attention to detail. She was building a bright future for others but couldn’t build one for herself.
Aurora’s gaze fell on a roll of blueprints lying on the balcony table. It was the project she had been working on lately – a complex of affordable housing for low-income families in one of Lisbon’s most disadvantaged neighborhoods. She had invested not only her talent but also a piece of her soul into it. She dreamed of creating not just cheap apartments, but a real home where people would feel safe, where they would have a chance to start a new life.
This project was more than just work for her. It was her way of atoning for her guilt. Guilt for having managed to escape that quagmire when many others had not. Guilt for her luck, while they remained there, in the darkness.
She took one of the blueprints and unrolled it. On the paper was the facade of one of the houses. Beautiful, modern, with large windows and balconies entwined with greenery. Aurora looked at this blueprint for a long time, as if trying to find in it an answer to her question: would she ever be able to truly rid herself of her past? Could she build not only houses for others but also a happy life for herself?
At that moment, the phone rang. Aurora flinched in surprise. She didn’t want to talk to anyone, didn’t want anyone to disturb her solitude. But the phone continued to ring insistently.
She looked at the screen. Kenan. Her heart fluttered. She loved him, but was afraid to let him get too close. She was afraid he would learn the truth about her and be disappointed.
Reluctantly, she answered the call.
– Aurora? Where are you? – she heard his soft, velvety voice.
– I’m home, – she answered quietly. – On the balcony.
– You seem strange today, – Kenan noted. – Is everything alright?
Aurora was silent for a moment. Should she tell him about her dark thoughts? Should she confide in him?
– Yes, everything’s fine, – she finally answered. – Just a bit tired.
– I see. Listen, I was thinking… Maybe we could meet tonight? Have dinner somewhere?
Aurora hesitated. She wanted to be alone, to sort out her feelings. But she also knew that Kenan was the only person who could support her.
– Alright, – she said. – Where shall we meet?
– I’ll pick you up in an hour, – Kenan replied. – Dress nicely.
Aurora hung up and looked at herself in the mirror. She saw a beautiful, successful woman confidently looking towards the future. But she also saw a little girl in it, frightened and lonely, hiding from a terrible past.
She sighed and went to the bedroom. She needed to collect her thoughts and put on a mask of carefreeness so Kenan wouldn’t suspect anything. She needed to become Aurora Pereira again – the successful architect, the self-confident woman. But how long could she keep pretending?
The bedroom was in semi-darkness, like an old photograph faded by time and memories. Aurora touched the switch of the antique floor lamp brought from her grandmother’s family estate. The room filled with a soft, amber light, casting whimsical shadows on the walls. The light, like herself, tried to hide what was better left in the dark.
She approached the walk-in closet, which more closely resembled a museum of high fashion, and began sorting through her outfits. Dresses from Dior, blouses from Yves Saint Laurent, skirts from Chanel – every item was carefully selected and fit her figure impeccably. She always watched her appearance with manic attention. It was her personal «zen» – one of the few ways to control the elusive reality, to create a fragile illusion of order in the chaos that raged inside her, like a Lisbon tram during rush hour.
She settled on a little black dress made of flowing silk. The simplicity of the cut was deceptive: the perfect fit emphasized her shapely figure, which Aurora had worked on like a sculptor, cutting away everything superfluous with grueling workouts at the gym. Putting on the sheerest stockings, she admired the play of light on the flawless smoothness of her legs.
In the mirror, she was met by the reflection of a woman confident in herself, who knew her worth. A businesswoman. A free spirit. A femme fatale. But she knew that this was just a carefully constructed mask, behind which hid a little girl, scared to death of life. A mask, like in fado, where behind a beautiful melody lies a deep sorrow.
Applying her makeup, Aurora wielded brushes like a professional artist, hiding the traces of fatigue and anxiety on her face. A light layer of La Prairie foundation with a radiant effect, Diorshow mascara making her lashes look like butterfly wings, Chanel Rouge Coco lipstick in a delicate «Mademoiselle» shade – and now she looked almost flawless.
Almost… The scar on her left arm, barely visible under the layer of foundation, betrayed the truth.
Her gaze fell on a gold chain with a tiny pendant in the shape of a drop – an exact copy of a tear frozen in time. It was a gift from Kenan for their anniversary. The pendant was handmade in a workshop of hereditary jewelers in Bahrain – Kenan always knew how to surprise. Aurora took the chain in her hands and felt the warmth of the metal, like the touch of a loved one. Kenan… He was kind, caring, loving. He saw in her what she didn’t see in herself: strength, beauty, potential. He loved her not for the mask, but for what lay beneath it. Or so she wanted to believe.
But fear shackled her like chains. She was afraid that he would learn the truth about her past and stop loving her. Afraid that he would see the real her – broken, wounded, incapable of true intimacy. Afraid that he would see in her that little girl whom her stepfather had locked in a dark room.
She put on the chain, and the pendant touched her skin like a gentle caress. The gold glittered on her neck like a beacon, reminding her of the love she so desperately wanted but was afraid to accept.
At that moment, the doorbell rang, sharp and demanding, like a gunshot. Aurora flinched as if caught off guard. Kenan had arrived earlier than she expected. She took a deep breath, trying to calm the trembling in her hands, and went to open the door. «Come what may,» she whispered like a prayer.
On the threshold stood Kenan, as if he had stepped off the pages of GQ magazine. Tall, stately, with hair black as coal and piercing brown eyes that reflected the stars. He looked incredibly elegant in his impeccable Brioni suit and a snow-white shirt with onyx cufflinks. A light scent of Terre d’Hermès emanated from him – the smell of confidence and success.
Seeing Aurora, he gave her an appraising look, and a fire of admiration ignited in his eyes.
– You look amazing, – he whispered, extending his hand to her. His voice was low and velvety, with a barely perceptible Eastern accent.
Aurora took his hand, and the warmth of his palm burned her skin. She smiled back, trying to hide her anxiety.
– You too, – she said, feeling her heart begin to beat faster.
Kenan pulled her to him and kissed her gently, as if tasting her. Aurora returned his kiss, but an icy wall of fear remained in her heart. She knew she couldn’t hide the truth about herself for long. Sooner or later, she would have to tell Kenan about her past. But she feared that moment more than anything in the world.
They left the apartment and headed for the elevator, like actors playing their roles on stage. The whole way, Aurora was silent, immersed in her thoughts. Kenan noticed.
– Is something wrong, my love? – he asked, looking at her with concern. His eyebrows came together on the bridge of his nose, forming a small wrinkle.
Aurora shook her head, trying not to look him in the eye.
– Everything’s fine, – she answered, trying to sound confident. – Just a little tired.
Kenan didn’t believe her but decided not to press. He knew Aurora didn’t like to share her problems. He knew she needed time to open up. He knew how to wait – a quality he valued in himself most of all.
They exited the elevator and headed towards the black Maybach waiting for them at the entrance. The driver in uniform respectfully opened the door for Aurora, and Kenan helped her in.
– Where shall we go? – he asked, getting behind the wheel. He always drove himself when they were alone – he liked to be in control.
Aurora shrugged, trying to look carefree.
– I don’t know, – she answered. – Wherever you want.
Kenan smiled, and his eyes sparkled.
– Then I’ll take you to a place you’re sure to like, – he said, starting the engine. – A place where all sorrows are forgotten.
He pulled the car out onto the night streets of Sintra, and they sped off into the unknown. Aurora looked out the window, trying not to think about what lay ahead. She knew that sooner or later she would have to tell Kenan about her past. But she hoped that this night would be an exception, and they could forget all their problems for at least a few hours.
The black Maybach, like a predatory beast, glided along the winding roads of Sintra. Against the backdrop of ornate villas and manicured gardens, the car seemed like a foreign body, a symbol of power and wealth, alien to the town’s bohemian atmosphere.
Aurora felt herself relaxing as she watched the silhouettes of pines and eucalyptus trees flash by the window, emitting a pungent aroma. The night coolness rushed into the car’s interior, mixing with the expensive scent of leather, sandalwood, and the barely perceptible notes of oud from Tom Ford’s Oud Wood, Kenan’s favorite.
Noticing her pensiveness, he took her hand and gently kissed her fingertips. On his fingers gleamed a massive signet ring with onyx, a family heirloom passed down through generations in his family.
«Don’t think about anything, my love. Just enjoy the moment,» he whispered, without taking his eyes off the road. In the headlights’ glare, a scar on his cheek flashed by, a barely noticeable reminder of a past he rarely spoke about.
Aurora nodded, but Kenan’s words couldn’t completely dispel the anxiety that had settled in her heart. How long could she hide her truth? And what would happen when he found out? She felt like a crystal vase in the hands of a rich man – beautiful, but so fragile.
Half an hour later, the Maybach stopped in front of an inconspicuous wooden fence that seemed random against the wild nature. Kenan turned off the engine, and silence, broken only by the whisper of the wind and the surf, crashed down upon them. He looked at Aurora with a mysterious smile that held anticipation and confidence that she would like the surprise.
«We’re here,» he said, getting out of the car and walking around to open her door. His movements were smooth and confident, like a predator who knew his worth.
Aurora followed him, looking around. No signs of civilization, only the sound of the surf and the rustle of foliage. She felt lost in a fairy tale where everything could be both beautiful and dangerous.
Kenan opened the gate, its creak breaking the silence, and led her along a narrow path strewn with pine needles, leading to the ocean. The air was filled with the smell of salt and wild herbs.
Suddenly, a stunning picture opened before them: a small sandy beach, illuminated only by moonlight and the twinkling of stars. A silver path of the moon stretched across the water, as if inviting them into the unknown. In the distance, the lights of fishing boats were visible, like little fireflies floating on the night sea.
A bonfire burned on the sand, built from driftwood thrown up by the ocean. Around the fire, soft pillows and Berber carpets were arranged, creating an atmosphere of coziness and warmth. On a small table stood a bottle of Portuguese Vinho Verde and several glasses.
«Surprise!» Kenan exclaimed, putting his arms around Aurora’s shoulders. «I knew you’d like it here.» His voice was filled with pride at having been able to surprise her.
Aurora was amazed. She had never seen anything like it. She was accustomed to luxury, but this simplicity, this closeness to nature, touched her to the core. This place seemed detached from reality, a quiet, secluded corner of paradise where one could forget all problems.
«This… this is incredible,» she whispered, feeling warmth kindling in her heart, thawing her frozen memories.
Kenan smiled, pleased with the effect produced, and led her to the fire. There, an elderly Portuguese man with a guitar and a bottle of wine was waiting for them. His face was etched with wrinkles, like a map of a life lived.
«Good evening, Senhor and Senhora,» he said, smiling welcomingly and revealing a few remaining teeth. «I am happy to welcome you to this secluded spot. My name is João.» His clothes were simple but clean, and his eyes shone with kindness.
Kenan said something to him in Portuguese, and João began to play a quiet, melodic Fado tune, sad and poignant, like the very soul of Portugal. Aurora sat on a pillow, watching the dancing flames. She felt the tension gradually leaving her body, as if dissolving in the night air.
Kenan poured her some wine and sat down beside her. They silently watched the fire, listening to the music and the sound of the surf. Aurora felt strange: on one hand, she was happy to be here, with Kenan, in this beautiful place. On the other hand, she couldn’t shake a feeling of anxiety, as if she was waiting for something bad.
«Tell me something,» Aurora asked, breaking the silence. «Something about yourself.» She wanted to know him better, to understand who he really was.
Kenan was silent for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts. He looked at her with a long, intent gaze, as if trying to read her thoughts.
«What do you want to know?» he asked.
«Everything,» Aurora replied. «About your childhood, your family, your dreams.»
Aurora sat, wrapped in a blanket, feeling the cool night breeze bringing with it the salty smell of the ocean. The fire crackled, casting whimsical shadows on the sand. João, the local musician Kenan had hired for the evening, quietly strummed his guitar, creating a serene atmosphere. Kenan, sitting beside her, sipped the tart red wine brought from the Douro Valley.
«My childhood was happy,» he began, breaking the silence. «I grew up in a large, close-knit family in Istanbul, in the Beyoğlu district. It was an incredibly cosmopolitan area where cultures and religions mixed – Greeks, Jews, Armenians, Turks lived side by side. My parents always supported me and believed in my abilities. We had a house with a small but cozy garden on the shore of the Bosphorus. Can you imagine, Aurora, every morning I woke up to the cries of seagulls and the horns of ferries sailing to Asia.»