Chapter 3 - The Mistress’s Realization
The ballroom erupted into chaos. Flashbulbs blinded Adrián as reporters—who had originally come to cover the tech titan’s triumph—swarmed the stage like piranhas. Microphones were shoved into his face, capturing every twitch of his mouth, every bead of sweat rolling down his collar.
Mariana pushed through the circle of reporters, her face twisted in absolute horror. Her diamond necklace suddenly felt like a hangman’s noose.
“Adrián!” she screeched, grabbing his lapel and shaking him. “What is he talking about? What do you mean we’re bankrupt? You told me you owned this entire building! You told me Grupo Salgado was worth four hundred million dollars!”
Adrián slapped her hands away, his eyes wild and bloodshot. “Shut up! Just shut up, you greedy bitch! If you hadn’t insisted on coming to the gala, if you hadn't forced me to introduce you tonight—!”
“Me?!” Mariana shrieked, her voice cracking as the cameras captured every desperate, ugly detail. “You said your wife was a nobody from the provinces! You said she was easily discarded! You said she had no family!”
Paola tried to slip away toward the service elevator, her golden identification badge still pinned to her chest, but two of Sebastián’s men blocked her path, their massive shoulders forming an impassable wall.
“Where do you think you’re going, Paola?” a cold voice asked.
Paola spun around to find Sebastián standing right behind her, his expression devoid of any human warmth.
“I—I’m just an employee,” Paola stammered, her red lipstick smeared as she backed into a pillar. “I didn’t do anything! It was Adrián! He promised me the COO position once he got rid of Valeria!”
“Employee of a company that no longer exists,” Sebastián said, tossing a thick stack of printed emails and chat logs onto the floor at her feet. “We recovered your communications with Adrián from the corporate server before we wiped it. Embezzlement, insider trading, and corporate espionage. The federal police are downstairs waiting for you, too.”
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Mariana looked around the room, expecting someone—anyone—to come to their rescue. But the wealthy businessmen and socialites who had been kissing Adrián’s ring twenty minutes ago were now turning their backs, whispering frantically to their lawyers, distancing themselves from the sinking ship faster than rats fleeing a burning warehouse.
Adrián sank to the floor of the stage, his head in his hands, staring blankly at the glitter-covered scraps of paper that had fallen out of his pocket—fragments of the cardboard medal Camila had left behind when she fled.
