Chapter 3: The Alliance
You meet Andrés in a quiet, unassuming café in Roma Norte.
He is not the arrogant prince who told you to kneel. He looks older, humbled, stripped of the unearned armor his last name used to provide. He works as a mid-level consultant now. The luxury suits are gone, replaced by a simple gray jacket.
When he sees Mateo standing a few paces behind you, an unspoken shadow of a bodyguard, Andrés’s eyes drop. He recognizes a man who is everything he pretended to be.
You sit down. You do not order coffee.
"Your mother is trying to take my father’s company," you say, skipping the pleasantries.
Andrés rubs his temples. "I heard. She’s obsessed, Mariana. After the house was sold, she couldn’t let it go. She blamed you for everything. But I have nothing to do with it. I haven't spoken to her in a year."
"I don't need you to speak to her. I need you to open a door." You slide a piece of paper across the table. It has the Cayman routing number on it. "She used the Foundation’s reserve fund. To authorize this, she needed the second signatory. Your father’s old seal."
Andrés pales. "She kept that seal in her private safety deposit box at Banco Nacional."
"I need the ledger inside that box, Andrés. If Vargas takes Escalante, he will strip it for parts. But if I expose this, Mercedes goes to federal prison. And Vargas goes down for conspiracy."
Andrés looks at the paper. His hand shakes slightly. For a moment, you see the weak boy who let his mother ruin his life. You expect him to refuse. You expect him to protect her.
Instead, he looks up at you.
"She told me once," Andrés says softly, "that if I didn't frame you for the necklace, she would cut me out of the will. I did it because I was a coward. I lost my wife, my company, and my dignity because I couldn't tell my mother no."
He takes a breath.
"I still have access to the vault. I am still technically a co-signer on her personal accounts." He looks at Mateo, then back to you. "I’ll get you the ledger. Consider it my final debt paid."
That evening, you and Mateo wait in the SUV outside Banco Nacional. Andrés walks out, holding a brown leather portfolio. He hands it through the window to Ríos.
"It’s all in there," Andrés says. He looks at you one last time. There is a deep, final sorrow in his eyes. "You look happy, Mariana. You deserve to be."
You nod. "Goodbye, Andrés."
As the SUV pulls away, you open the portfolio. There it is. The signed transfer orders. The wire fraud. The smoking gun.
You let out a breath you feel you’ve been holding for three years. Mateo reaches over and gently takes the folder from your hands, setting it on the seat. Then, he takes your hand. His thumb brushes over the small, permanent scar on your palm—the scar from the glass table.
He doesn't ask about it. He just presses a soft, lingering kiss to the center of your palm.
May you like
"Tomorrow," Mateo says, his voice low, vibrating in the quiet car, "we burn her kingdom to the ground. But tonight, you rest."
You look at him, at the quiet strength in his eyes, and for the first time in your life, you allow yourself to lean against a man. Not to be carried. But to be held.
