Chapter 2 - The March of Wrath
The string quartet was playing a soft, romantic melody, trying to ease the growing tension among the two hundred high-society guests. In the front row, Mateo’s business partners and Valeria’s wealthy family whispered among themselves.
At the altar, Valeria stood perfectly still. Her breathing was shallow, and her grip on her bouquet of white orchids was so tight her knuckles had turned white. When she saw Mateo emerging from the villa’s grand archway, her heart skipped a beat.
He was walking alone.
But he wasn't running back with apologies. His stride was slow, heavy, and deliberate. His face, usually warm and welcoming, was a mask of cold stone. His dark eyes were locked onto hers with an intensity that made her shiver despite the warm afternoon heat.
Valeria forced a bright, apologetic smile for the crowd, stepping forward to meet him as he reached the altar.
"Mateo, darling," she whispered, her voice laced with sweet poison, though her eyes flashed with warning. "Where have you been? You had everyone worried. We have a schedule to keep, and the photographers are waiting."
Mateo did not answer immediately. He stood on the altar, looking at her. He looked at her flawless makeup, her custom-made designer gown, and the sparkling diamond ring on her finger—a ring paid for by the estate of his late wife, Elena.
"Where is Sofía, Valeria?" Mateo asked, his voice low, but carrying an edge that cut through the music.
Valeria chuckled softly, a well-rehearsed sound. "Oh, you know how children are, love. She got overwhelmed by the crowd and decided she wanted to rest in the villa. My maid is looking after her. Now, let’s finish this, shall we? The priest was just about to—"
"Your maid?" Mateo interrupted, his voice rising slightly. The officiant blinked, startled by the groom's tone. "Or did you lock her in the second-floor bathroom yourself, Valeria?"
The smile on Valeria's face stiffened. The color drained from her cheeks, leaving her looking ghostly beneath her heavy makeup. "Mateo... what are you talking about? You're making a scene. Let's talk about this privately."
"Privately?" Mateo laughed, a cold, humorless sound that echoed across the quiet garden. The guests stopped whispering. The string quartet slowly stopped playing, their bows hovering over their instruments. The silence that fell over the estate was absolute.
"Mateo, please," Valeria’s mother, a formidable matriarch of the Cuernavaca elite, stood up from the front row. "What is the meaning of this? You are embarrassing our family!"
"Embarrassing your family?" Mateo turned to face the crowd, stepping away from Valeria. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the crumpled piece of paper. He held it high for everyone to see. "I think you should be much more worried about what your daughter has done."
Valeria lunged forward, her elegant facade slipping for a split second as she tried to snatch the paper from his hand. "Give me that!"
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But Mateo was faster. He stepped back, his eyes burning with disgust. "Don't touch me. Don't ever touch me or my daughter again."
With two hundred of the most influential people in the country watching, Mateo was about to pull back the curtain on a horror no one saw coming.
