Chapter 7 - TEARING UP THE CONTRACTI looked at the man standing a few feet away from my hospital bed. Just twenty-four hours ago, I had loved him. I had believed his empty promises, excused his toxic behavior, and excused his mother’s cruelty because I wanted to believe our family would be different.
Now, looking at him, I felt nothing. No anger. No sadness. Just profound pity.
“We built nothing, Arturo,” I said softly, my voice carrying clearly across the sterile room. “You built a cage, and your mother held the key. I was just supposed to be the ornament sitting inside it.”
“That’s not true!” Arturo cried, taking a desperate step forward, though Mateo’s heavy hand on his chest kept him pinned in place. “My mother… she’s just traditional! She didn’t mean to stress you out! We can fix this, Mariana! We can leave Puebla, go to Europe, start over—just drop the legalfreeze on my accounts! Please! Without those funds, the bank is going to repossess everything!”
Rodrigo slowly stood up from his chair, adjusting his suit jacket with absolute calm. He walked over to the metal tray table, picked up a thick legal document, and flipped it open to the final signature page.
“Mr. Fuentes,” Rodrigo said in a voice cold enough to freeze boiling water. “You might want to check your corporate holdings right now.”
Arturo frowned, pulling his shuddering smartphone out of his pocket. As he unlocked the screen and opened his banking app, the color drained completely from his face. His knees buckled, and he grabbed onto the back of a visitor chair to keep from collapsing.
“Zero…” Arturo whispered, staring blankly at the screen. “All our accounts… frozen and transferred to the emergency trust…”
“That’s correct,” Rodrigo smiled thinly. “Under the emergency marital protection clauses and your verified embezzlement of your wife’s independent land trust assets, a federal judge has granted Mariana full legal custody of all joint and individual corporate assets linked to the Fuentes estate.”
Arturo looked up, his eyes wide with absolute terror. He looked at Rodrigo, then at Mateo, and finally knelt right there on the hospital floor, looking up at me with tears streaming down his cheeks.
“Mariana… please. I’m begging you. Have mercy. I’m your husband.”
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I looked down at him, resting my hand gently over my belly where our baby was quietly kicking.
“You should have thought about that when you ripped my veil, Arturo,” I said quietly. “File the divorce papers, or Rodrigo will make sure you spend the next ten years in a federal prison. Your choice.”
