“Precisely because I’m proud. I need more capital.” I’m already diverting money from your company to my account: cost overruns, fictitious projects. You’ll see.
Once we have saved enough for the house and the business,
I’ll leave her like an old sock. I’m sick of pretending to be nice to her. She’s controlling. You’re better… you’re submissive.
Laura giggled quietly.
“And is the house in Segovia safe? Won’t Sofia claim it?”
“It’s safe,” she replied. “The deed isn’t in my name yet, but Sofia is naive. She thinks the house is empty. She doesn’t know that the ‘poor friend’ she’s helping is the queen in her husband’s heart.”
They laughed together—a bright, carefree, merciless laugh.
My grip tightened around the basket until the handle cut into my skin. I wanted to burst through the door. I wanted to tear his hair out, slap him until he forgot how to lie.
But a voice—an old piece of advice I had heard long ago—cut through my fury:
If an enemy attacks, don’t fight impulsively. Attack when they least expect it. Destroy the foundation, then bring down the entire structure.
My shaking hand slipped into my pocket. I pulled out my newest phone, switched it to silent, and began recording. Slowly, I aimed the camera through the narrow gap.
I captured everything.
For illustration purposes only
Ricardo kissing Laura’s belly. Their “secret marriage.” His confession about siphoning money from my company. His laughter at my generosity. Every word—clear and merciless—in 4K.
Five minutes that felt like five lifetimes.
Then I stepped back and walked away, one step at a time, swallowing the sobs clawing at my throat. In an empty waiting room, I finally sat down, staring at the video replaying on my screen.
Tears came, briefly.
I wiped them away with the back of my hand.
Crying was useless.
“So all this time…” I whispered, my voice trembling as love turned to ice, “…I’ve been sleeping with a snake.”
Laura—the friend I treated like a sister—was nothing more than a smiling parasite. I remembered her fake tears when she claimed she had no money for food, and how I had handed her an extra credit card.
I remembered Ricardo’s excuses about “too many hours of work,” hours that were probably spent in the house I owned, with the woman I was sheltering.
The pain hardened into ice.
I opened my bank’s app. I had full access to everything, including the trading account Ricardo “managed,” because I was the true owner. My fingers moved swiftly.
Check your balance.
€30,000 that should have been reserved for projects.
View transactions.
Transfers to boutiques. Jewelry. A gynecological clinic in Segovia.
“Enjoy your laughter,” I whispered. “While you can.”
“I won’t confront you in that room.” That would be too easy: tears, begging, excuses, cheap theater.
No.
He deserved suffering equal to the betrayal.
I stood up, straightened my jacket, and fixed my eyes on the hallway leading to room 305 as if it were a target.
“Enjoy your honeymoon in the hospital,” I murmured. “Because tomorrow… your hell begins.”
Outside, sitting in my car, I didn’t even start the engine before calling Hector, my trusted head of IT and security.
“Good morning, Hector,” I said in a calm voice that barely sounded like my own.
“Mrs. de la Vega? Is everything alright?”
“I need your help tonight. Urgent. Confidential.”
“Always, ma’am.”
First: block Ricardo’s platinum card. Second: freeze the trading account he manages, in case a sudden internal audit occurs. Third: alert the legal team so they can begin preparing asset recovery.
There was a brief pause. Hector was wise enough not to ask questions.
“Understood. When do we execute?”
Now. Immediately. I want the notification to appear right when I try to pay for something.
—I’ll take care of it.
“One more thing,” I added. “Find the best locksmith you can. And hire two strong security guards. We’ll go to the house in Segovia tomorrow morning.”
—At your service, ma’am.
For illustration purposes only
I ended the call, started the car, and glanced at my reflection in the rearview mirror.
The woman who had been crying in that hallway was gone.
Only Sofia—the general manager who had finally learned the cost of mercy—remained.
My phone buzzed with a WhatsApp message from Ricardo.
“My love, I’ve arrived in Valencia. I’m exhausted. I’m going to sleep. Kisses. I love you.”
I let out a soft, dry laugh without any joy.
Then I typed my reply with perfect calm.
“Okay, honey. Sleep well. Sweet dreams, because tomorrow you might wake up to a… surprising reality. I love you too.”
Send.
When the screen went dark, a crooked smile slowly spread across my lips.
The game had officially begun.
