Chapter 2 - The Doorbell at 6:48 AMThe shrill chime of the doorbell echoed through the apartment at 6:48 AM. An hour earlier than Ofelia had promised.
Renata stood in the hallway, completely composed. She wore a simple charcoal sweater and jeans, her dark hair tied back in a clean ponytail. Beside her on the kitchen counter, her phone was already recording, hidden behind a decorative vase. Another device was live-streaming a private feed to a secure cloud drive.
She looked at the small monitor of the video intercom.
Standing on the threshold was Ofelia Salgado, dressed in a sharp maroon suit, her expression cold and triumphal. But she wasn't alone.
Standing directly behind her was a tall man in a navy blue trench coat. He had a harsh jawline, slicked-back gray hair, and a distinct scar running across his left cheekbone.
Renata’s heart gave a sudden, violent thud—not out of fear, but out of sudden, terrifying recognition.
Héctor Prado.
He wasn't just a family acquaintance or a random real estate agent. Five years ago, when Renata worked security risk assessment for high-profile corporate clients in Mexico City, Prado’s name had come up in a major money-laundering investigation involving fake housing developers. He was a professional extortionist who specialized in targeting middle-class women, using weak-willed men as bait.
Mauricio wasn't just an abusive coward, Renata realized instantly. He was the bait.
"Open the door, Renata!" Ofelia’s shrill voice cut through the intercom speaker. "Don't pretend you're sleeping! We know Mauricio set you straight last night!"
Behind Renata, Mauricio crept out of the bedroom, his eyes bloodshot, his face pale. The wrist Renata had locked the night before was swollen and bruised. He looked terrified—not of Renata, but of the people waiting outside.
"Who... who is with her?" Mauricio whispered, his voice trembling. "She said she was coming alone..."
"You really don't know, do you?" Renata murmured, her eye fixed on the screen. "You think you're the mastermind, Mau, but you're just a pawn in your mother’s game."
Renata walked calmly to the front door, unlocked the double deadbolts, and pulled it wide open.
Ofelia stepped inside immediately, her heels clicking aggressively on the hardwood. She smelled of cheap lavender perfume and stale cigarettes. She didn't even look at the shattered plates or the dried red stain of the pozole on the tile.
"Look at this place," Ofelia sneered, sweeping her eyes over the living room. "A mess. I see my son had to discipline you properly."
"Good morning, Señora Ofelia," Renata said, her voice smooth as glass. She didn't flinch. She didn't bow her head.
Ofelia’s eyes narrowed. She turned to Mauricio, who was cowering near the hallway. "Mauricio! Why isn't breakfast on the table? Did you get her payroll card like I told you?"
Mauricio swallowed hard, shifting his weight. "Mom... wait..."
"Shut up, Mauricio," Ofelia snapped, turning back to Renata with contempt. "Let me make one thing clear to you, girl. You are marrying into the Salgado family. You don't own this apartment—my son allows you to live here. And starting today, every peso you earn at that little gym of yours belongs to us."
The man in the trench coat, Héctor Prado, stepped into the foyer and closed the door behind him with a heavy thud. He crossed his arms, his icy blue eyes fixing on Renata.
"And who is your guest, Ofelia?" Renata asked, stepping slightly to the side to ensure the hidden camera captured Prado’s face in full lighting.
"This is Señor Prado," Ofelia said smugly, folding her arms over her chest. "He represents the financial group that will be managing your joint assets. You will hand over your bank login details, your salary cards, and sign the power of attorney documents he brought with him."
Prado pulled a thick manila folder from his leather briefcase. "Miss Renata, let's make this simple. You sign the transfer papers for the title of this property and grant Señora Ofelia administrative control over your accounts. If you cooperate, we won't have to get... complicated."
Renata tilted her head, a faint, dangerous smile touching her lips.
"Complicated?" Renata repeated softly. "Señor Prado... or should I say, Señor Prado-Garrido, former director of the bankrupt Inmobiliaria Vanguardia?"
Prado’s smug expression froze instantly. The color drained from his face.
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"What did you just say?" Prado growled, taking a step forward.
"I said," Renata replied calmly, taking a slow step toward him, "that you picked the wrong woman to rob."
