He Called Me a "Fat Idiot" in Front of Everyone—Without Knowing I Owned His Business and Paid His Salary Every Month

The rain began to fall in heavy, warm sheets over Guadalajara as Ricardo and Javier drove toward Mariana's corporate headquarters.

Javier had spent the last two hours trying to reach Mariana through her lawyer, but Alejandro had been clear: All communications must go through my office. Do not attempt to contact my client directly.

But Javier was desperate, and Ricardo was terrified. They weren't going to let a lawyer stop them.

They arrived at the sleek, modern office building in the financial district. The sign on the glass entrance read Grupo DulcePro.

Ricardo had been to this building twice before to meet with Sofía, but he had always assumed DulcePro was owned by some wealthy, anonymous investment group from Mexico City. He had never once connected the dots. To him, Mariana was just Javier's wife who ran a few cute bakeries and liked to bake cakes in her spare time.

They walked past the security guard, who recognized Javier and allowed them up to the penthouse suite.

When the elevator doors opened on the top floor, they were greeted by the rich, comforting scent of vanilla and warm sugar—the signature aroma of Dulce Rincón's test kitchen.

At the reception desk, Sofía was standing, reviewing some documents with an assistant. When she saw Javier and Ricardo walk out of the elevator, her expression darkened instantly.

"Javier," Sofía said, stepping forward to block their path. "You shouldn't be here. Mariana has made it very clear that she does not want to see you."

"I don't care what she wants, Sofía!" Javier snapped, trying to push past her. "This is my wife we’re talking about. I have a right to speak to her!"

"Actually, you don't," a calm, clear voice echoed from the hallway.

They both froze.

Mariana walked out of her corner office. She looked stunning. She was wearing a perfectly tailored emerald-green suit, her hair styled elegantly, and her makeup flawless. There was no sign of tears, no sign of exhaustion. She looked like a woman who had just woken up from a long, peaceful sleep.

Ricardo stepped forward, his hands trembling. "Mariana, please. You have to help me. Your company... I mean, DulcePro, they terminated my contract this morning. I know you have influence here. You’ve been working with them for years. Please, tell them to reconsider. My business is going to go under!"

Mariana looked at Ricardo. She didn't look angry. She looked at him with the mild curiosity one might reserve for an insect on a windowpane.

"Why would I do that, Ricardo?" she asked softly.

"Because we’re family!" Ricardo cried out, his voice cracking with desperation. "I’m Javier's best friend! I’ve known you both for years! I know I say stupid things sometimes, and I am so sorry for what I said last night. I was drunk, I was being an idiot. It was a terrible joke. Please, don't let my family suffer because of my big mouth."

Mariana walked over to the large, mahogany conference table in the center of the room. She stood beside it and tapped the polished wood.

"Come inside, gentlemen," she said. "Let’s have a talk."

Javier and Ricardo quickly followed her into the room, hope suddenly flaring in their chests. They sat down quickly, like schoolboys waiting to be scolded but hoping for a pardon.

Mariana remained standing. She opened a folder on the table and pulled out a series of documents.

"Ricardo, you want to speak to the majority shareholder of DulcePro, correct?" she asked.

"Yes! Yes, please," Ricardo said, leaning forward. "If you could just introduce me, or give me their contact—"

Mariana slid a document across the table. It was the original corporate registration for Grupo DulcePro, dated six years ago.

Ricardo picked it up. His eyes scanned the legal jargon, looking for the names of the founders.

At the very bottom of the page, listed as the sole director and 100% owner of all shares of Grupo DulcePro, was one name:

Mariana Gómez Castillo.

Ricardo stared at the paper. The words seemed to blur. He shook his head, his face turning a sickly, pale white.

"This... this is a mistake," Ricardo stammered. "You... you don't own DulcePro. DulcePro is a massive holding company."

"I founded DulcePro six years ago to manage the real estate and corporate contracts for Dulce Rincón," Mariana said, her voice echoing in the silent room. "I did it to keep my personal assets separate from my marriage, and to ensure my business could grow without interference."

She leaned forward, placing both hands on the table, looking directly into Ricardo’s terrified eyes.

"For six years, Ricardo... every single month, 80,000 pesos of my money was transferred into your bank account. I paid for your office lease. I paid for your employees' Christmas bonuses. I paid for the expensive watch you wear and the trips to Puerto Vallarta you like to brag about."

She turned her gaze to Javier, who was sitting completely paralyzed, his face devoid of color.

"And you knew, Javier. You knew the entire time."

"Mariana..." Javier choked out, his voice trembling. "I... I didn't think—"

"No, you didn't think," Mariana agreed. "You let your best friend humiliate me, mock my body, and call me a fat idiot, week after week, year after year. And you sat there and told me to be quiet, to not make a scene, while you both lived off the wealth I created."

"I didn't know!" Ricardo screamed suddenly, tears of panic finally spilling over his cheeks. "Mariana, I swear to God, I didn't know you were the one paying! If I had known, I would have never... I would have never said those things!"

"I know," Mariana said, her voice dropping to a whisper that felt colder than ice. "You only respect people when you think they have power over you. You only treat people with dignity when they are paying your salary. When you thought I was just a defenseless, quiet woman, you treated me like trash."