Chapter 2 - The Mask SlippedTomás stepped closer, his heavy shoes echoing against the polished marble floor of the foyer. The warmth in his voice from moments ago was completely gone, replaced by a cold, menacing hum. Mariana instinctively took a step back until her spine hit the hallway wall. The cold compress she had been holding dropped onto the rug, forgotten.
“I asked you a question, Mariana,” Tomás said softly, tilting his head. He unbuttoned his collar, loosening his tie with deliberate slowness. “What did you tell that old man? Why was he asking me about shipping manifests and cold-storage logistics in El Salto? Did you open your pathetic mouth to him?”
“No! I swear I didn’t!” Mariana gasped, her voice trembling as she held her hands up in front of her chest. “He just... he’s an engineer, Tomás. He asks everyone technical questions. It’s just how he talks!”
Tomás stared at her for five agonizing seconds. Then, without warning, his hand shot out, clamping around her chin. He squeezed her jaw tight, forcing her to look directly into his darkened eyes.
“Listen to me very carefully,” he whispered, his hot breath smelling faintly of whiskey and expensive mints. “Your uncle thinks he’s a big shot because he spent a decade in the Middle East pretending to build infrastructure. But in this city, he is nothing. I control this house, I control your life, and I control every single peso that enters your bank account. If you embarrass me in front of your family again, you won't just end up with bruises on your arm. Do you understand me?”
Mariana choked back a sob, nodding rapidly. “I understand. I’m sorry.”
He released her chin with a sharp shove, causing her to stumble back into the console table. He pulled a silk handkerchief from his pocket, wiped his fingers as if he had touched something dirty, and threw it onto the floor beside her.
“Clean up this mess and go to bed,” he growled, turning toward his home office. “I have business to attend to. Important business. Not that a failed finance manager like you would know anything about real money.”
He slammed the office door shut, the heavy deadbolt clicking loudly into place.
Mariana collapsed onto her knees, pressing a hand over her mouth to muffle her weeping. The pain in her side radiated up to her ribs, but the shame hurt far worse. She looked down at her wrist—the purple and blue marks left by his fingers stood out like a cruel bracelet against her pale skin.
“I’ll pretend I believe you... just for tonight.”
Her Uncle Julián’s words repeated in her head like a lifeline. He hadn’t been fooled. Not for a single second.
From inside Tomás’s locked office, Mariana heard the muffled sound of her husband’s voice. Usually, when he spoke on the phone, he adopted a loud, boisterous tone meant to sound authoritative and wealthy. But tonight, his voice sounded frantic, hushed, and strained.
Determined to understand what was happening, Mariana wiped her tears, slipped off her shoes, and crept silently toward the office door. She pressed her ear against the cool wood.
“…I told you I need another three weeks!” Tomás was hissed into the receiver. “The bank hasn’t cleared the line of credit yet… What do you mean, ‘the syndicate won’t wait’? I’ve given you millions in collateral!… No, don’t call that number! My wife’s family knows nothing about this! If you contact her uncle, the whole deal falls through!”
Mariana’s heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. Syndicate? Collateral? Bank loans?
Tomás always claimed he made over three million pesos a year managing logistics for international transport firms. He drove a brand-new BMW, bought designer clothes, and insisted they live in one of the most expensive high-rise apartments in Guadalajara. But as Mariana listened closer, a terrifying truth began to crystalize.
“I have eighty thousand dollars coming in tomorrow!” Tomás pleaded, his voice cracking with genuine panic. “Just give me until Monday! If the port authorities in Manzanillo hold the containers, I’m finished! You’ll get your eight hundred thousand dollars, I swear on my life!”
Mariana staggered back from the door, her hands flying to her mouth to stifle a gasp.
May you like
Eight hundred thousand dollars. Over fourteen million Mexican pesos.
Her husband wasn't just abusive. He was drowning in an unfathomable ocean of illegal debt—and he was using her and her family as his ultimate escape hatch.
