PART 2
The first man stepped forward — a towering giant named Tomás, the strongest field slave on the plantation.
His massive frame blocked the lantern light as the heavy door slammed shut behind the group.
Helena’s scream died in her throat as rough hands seized her.
What followed was a nightmare that would scar her soul until her last breath.
Viscount Rodrigo did not leave.
He sat in a velvet armchair in the corner like a king observing a ritual, his face impassive while his daughter was systematically broken.
One by one, the seven chosen men took her.
They were exactly as he had selected them: enormous, virile, and merciless under orders.
Helena’s world became a blur of pain, sweat, tears, and the relentless invasion of her body.
Each man was bigger and stronger than the last, their grunts and the Viscount’s cold commands echoing through the opulent room.
“Harder,” Rodrigo ordered at one point, his voice devoid of humanity.
“She must carry strong seed.
”
By dawn, Helena lay motionless on the ruined silk sheets, her body bruised and trembling, her spirit shattered.
The seven men filed out silently, never looking back.
Only her mother, Dona Mariana, dared approach, covering her daughter with a blanket and weeping bitterly.
“You are now the vessel of our future,” the Viscount said as he stood, straightening his coat.
“Pray that your womb proves fruitful.
”
Helena did not speak for three weeks.
She wandered the halls of Vale dos Anjos like a ghost, her eyes hollow.
The servants whispered behind her back.
The women pitied her.
The men feared the Viscount’s growing madness.
Then came the confirmation: Helena was pregnant.
The news should have brought joy to the family, but it only deepened the horror.
As her belly grew, so did the rumors.
Some said the child belonged to one of the seven.
Others whispered it might be twins — or even more.
The Viscount, however, was ecstatic.
He paraded his daughter like a prize mare, forcing her to attend public gatherings despite her visible trauma.
But darkness always demands balance.
Captain Eduardo, the frail 10-year-old heir, died of fever just as Helena entered her sixth month.
The Viscount’s grief turned to rage.
He blamed his wife’s weakness, then turned his obsession toward Helena’s unborn child.
“It must be a boy.
Strong.
Worthy.
”
The emotional toll on Helena was devastating.
She spoke to her unborn child every night in secret, apologizing through tears.
“I did not want this for you… but I will love you.
I will protect you from him.
”
Dona Mariana, finally breaking free from years of fear, confronted her husband one stormy night.
“You have destroyed our daughter! God will punish us all!”
The argument ended in violence.
The Viscount struck his wife so hard she fell down the grand staircase, dying instantly on the marble floor below.
Now a widower, Rodrigo’s madness deepened.
He began planning for Helena to repeat the ritual after the birth — “to ensure multiple strong heirs.
”
The night of reckoning came during a violent thunderstorm in April 1874.
Helena went into labor in the same cursed bedroom where her nightmare had begun.
The pain was excruciating, but something fiercer burned in her eyes — a mother’s rage finally awakened.
With the help of a loyal midwife and two house slaves who pitied her, she delivered not one, but two healthy boys.
Strong.
Loud.
Clearly carrying the powerful blood of the men who had fathered them.
When the Viscount burst into the room demanding to see his grandsons, Helena made her stand.
“You are no longer my father,” she whispered, voice trembling but resolute.
“You are a monster.
”
In the chaos of the birth, one of the slaves — Tomás, the first man who had taken her that terrible night — had returned.
He had never forgotten the girl he was forced to violate.
Guilt had eaten him alive.
Now, he stood in the shadows with a hidden blade.
A final, brutal confrontation erupted.
The Viscount lunged for the newborns, screaming that they were his legacy.
Tomás struck first, driving the knife into Rodrigo’s chest.
The two men fought savagely across the blood-stained floor as Helena clutched her babies, screaming for them to stop.
In the struggle, a lantern crashed to the ground.
Flames erupted, racing across the curtains and wooden floors.
As the grand house burned, the Viscount, mortally wounded, cursed his daughter with his final breath: “You… have killed us all.
”
Tomás carried Helena and the twins to safety through the servants’ passages.
The once-mighty Vale dos Anjos plantation was consumed by fire that night.
Four deaths — Dona Mariana, Eduardo, the Viscount, and one of the seven men who tried to save the house — marked the end of the Tavares de Andrade empire.
Years later, in a small house far from the Paraíba Valley, Helena raised her twin sons under new names.
The boys grew tall and strong, their features a haunting blend of their mother’s beauty and the raw power of their unknown fathers.
Helena never fully healed.
The nightmares never left her.
But in protecting her children from the poison of their grandfather’s legacy, she found purpose.
She taught them compassion, strength, and the true meaning of family — something their bloodline had never known.
On quiet evenings, as she watched her sons play under the sun, Helena would whisper to the wind:
“I survived the monster… so you would never become one.
”
The ruins of Vale dos Anjos still stand today — blackened walls covered in overgrown coffee plants — a silent monument to a father’s greed and a daughter’s unbreakable will.
The End.
Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction created for entertainment purposes. Any resemblance to real persons, events, or places is coincidental.
