flash
The hangover hit Mateo like a freight train at sunrise. Sunlight filtered through the velvet curtains of the luxury hotel suite, burning his eyes. Beside him, Valeria was still asleep, smelling of cheap neon cocktails and expensive perfume. Mateo groaned, reaching for his phone on the nightstand. / Chapter 1 / 20

Chapter 1 - The Cold Morning After

The hangover hit Mateo like a freight train at sunrise. Sunlight filtered through the velvet curtains of the luxury hotel suite, burning his eyes. Beside him, Valeria was still asleep, smelling of cheap neon cocktails and expensive perfume. Mateo groaned, reaching for his phone on the nightstand.

He flipped off airplane mode, expecting a flurry of naggy text messages from Camila whining about her swollen feet or demanding midnight cravings.

Instead, his screen froze.

Over ninety notifications flooded in at once. Missed calls from unknown numbers, urgent alerts from his home security company, and twenty-four frantic messages from his own mother. But right at the top, highlighted in red on his emergency contact log, were seventeen rejected calls from Camila, followed by a final, single outgoing call from her phone to Alejandro Vance.

Mateo’s stomach did a sickening flip. Alejandro? Why was his wife calling his sworn enemy in the middle of the night?

He practically kicked Valeria off the bed as he threw on his trousers. "Get up," he barked, his voice hoarse. "We're leaving."

Twenty minutes later, Mateo pulled his Mercedes into the iron gates of his San Pedro mansion. The gates were wide open, hanging off their electronic tracks. Two police cruisers and an unmarked black SUV were parked in the driveway.

Panicking now, Mateo stormed through the grand double doors. "Camila! What the hell is going on here?!"

He stopped dead in his tracks.

At the base of the white marble staircase, the floor was stained with dried, dark red blood. Forensic officers were taking photos. And standing in the center of the foyer, wearing a crisp dark suit with his hands calmly folded, was Alejandro.

"You're late, Mateo," Alejandro said, his voice dropping like an anvil in the quiet room. "She bled for forty-five minutes because you were too busy whoring around."

"Get out of my house!" Mateo screamed, lunging forward. "Where is my wife?! What did you do to her?!"

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Isabella’s artificial tears gleamed under the soft golden chandeliers of the private VIP suite, her hands trembling with a performance worthy of a grand stage. She gestured wildly toward Khloe, who lay crumpled on the cold marble, her white silk dress torn and stained with drops of spilled champagne. Marcus stood frozen in the doorway,

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Two police officers instantly grabbed Mateo’s arms, slamming him against the wall. Alejandro didn't even flinch. He slowly pulled a document from his coat pocket and stepped closer to Mateo's ear.

"She’s in intensive care, fighting for her life," Alejandro whispered coldly. "And as of three hours ago, you no longer own this house, your company, or anything in it."

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