Chapter 2 - THE MISTRESS PARADED HER STOLEN LUXURY BAG, UNTIL THE REAL OWNER WALKED IN AND STRIPPED HER NAKED!
The grand ballroom of the St. Regis Hotel was blind with the flashbulbs of high-society photographers. It was the annual Latin American Luxury Retail Gala, an event where the elite gathered to flaunt wealth that could fund small nations.
Adrián Velasco stood near the champagne fountain, his arm wrapped tightly around Celeste’s waist. He felt like a king. In his mind, he had successfully discarded his "ruined" wife at the hospital, secured a forged agreement that gave him her modest apartment, and was now stepping into the big leagues.
Celeste was practically glowing. She held the black alligator Birkin prominently, ensuring every photographer caught the glint of the gold hardware.
"Look at them looking at us, baby," Celeste whispered into Adrián's ear, her lips brushing his collar. "Everyone who is anyone is trying to figure out who we are. Tomorrow, your logistics firm will be signed as the exclusive partner for the Montes Group's winter collection."
"It’s already a done deal," Adrián bragged, taking a deep sip of Cristal. "The regional director promised me the contract would be finalized tonight. That miserable bitch Valeria kept me anchored to mediocrity. If she had just signed the papers without a fuss, I wouldn’t have had to freeze her personal bank accounts. But hey, actions have consequences."
Suddenly, the murmurs in the ballroom died down. The heavy double doors of the ballroom swung open.
The paparazzi went into a frenzy, their flashes creating a wall of blinding white light. A woman walked in, flanked by four towering security guards in tailored black suits.
Adrián squinted through the light, his smile freezing on his face.
It was Valeria.
But it wasn't the broken, exhausted woman he had left bleeding in the hospital room forty-eight hours ago. She was wearing an emerald-green silk gown by Haute Couture that hid any trace of her recent delivery, her hair cascading in perfect, glossy waves. Her skin was radiant, and around her neck hung the Heart of the Andes—a flawless fifty-carat emerald necklace that hadn't been seen in public for three decades.
"What the hell is she doing here?" Celeste gasped, her grip tightening on her Birkin until her knuckles turned white. "How did she even get past the security gate? She looks... she looks rich, Adrián!"
"She probably slept with some old donor to get a ticket," Adrián hissed, his blood boiling. "She’s trying to embarrass me. Watch this."
Adrián stormed over to Valeria, blocking her path in the center of the ballroom. Dozens of socialites turned their heads, sensing the impending drama.
"Valeria, what kind of pathetic stunt is this?" Adrián sneered, keeping his voice low but dripping with venom. "Did you escape the charity ward just to beg me for child support? I told you, my lawyers will handle you. Get out before I have security throw you into the gutter where you belong."
Valeria stopped. She looked at Adrián, then let her gaze drift slowly down to Celeste, lingering on the black Birkin bag.
"You haven't changed your perfume, Adrián," Valeria said, her voice clear and carrying across the quiet room. "Still using the cheap testers from the office. And Celeste... that’s a beautiful bag. Truly. A shame it doesn't belong to you."
Celeste stepped forward, her face flushing crimson. "Don't be jealous just because your husband prefers a woman who can actually afford to look like a lady! This bag is an exclusive piece. You couldn't even afford the dust bag!"
Right on cue, an elderly man with a silver beard and a sharp tuxedo walked out from the VIP lounge. It was Monsieur Jean-Luc Picard, the global CEO of the luxury house that manufactured the bag.
"Ah, Madame Montes!" Jean-Luc exclaimed, ignoring Adrián completely and bowing deeply before Valeria. "We were devastated to hear you were indisposed at the hospital, but what an honor to have you tonight!"
The entire ballroom went dead silent. Madame Montes?
Adrián’s brain stalled. "Monsieur Picard, there must be a mistake. Her name is Valeria Velasco. She’s my ex-wife. She’s a nobody."
Jean-Luc turned a frosty glare toward Adrián. "A nobody? Young man, you are speaking to Valeria Montes, the sole heiress to the Montes Global Fortune. Her grandfather founded the conglomerate that owns sixty percent of my company’s shares."
Before Adrián could process the words, Valeria stepped closer to Celeste. She reached out and tapped the gold clasp of the Birkin.
"According to the global registry of our brand," Valeria announced, looking directly into a reporter’s camera, "this specific serial number—098-AZ—was flagged three hours ago as stolen property. It was leaked from our inventory via an illegal corporate lease structure authorized by a fraudulent logistics partner. Security?"
Two of Valeria's guards stepped forward. One of them smoothly pulled the Birkin right out of Celeste’s frozen hands.
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"Hey! That’s mine!" Celeste shrieked.
"It was a corporate asset," Valeria corrected smoothly. "And since your father’s company just went into default ten minutes ago because we pulled our shipping lines... I suggest you use your hands to cover yourself, Celeste. Because your dress? It was also bought on my company's promotional tab. Consider it revoked."
