Chapter 1: The Price of a Wife

—He takes two thousand five hundred dollars and disappears.

Mateo held out the thick wad of bills from the top of the stairs of his mansion, while Elena stood motionless beside her black suitcase. The white light from the glass entrance illuminated her tailored suit, her small gold earrings, and the face of a woman who had just discovered how much twelve years of marriage were worth to her husband.

Elena looked at the money.

Then she looked at the man with whom she had shared her bed, her dreams, and even the debts that he swore they would one day pay off together.

—Is that all you have to say to me, Mateo?

Mateo let out a dry laugh and pushed the bills against his hand.

—Don’t start with your scenes, Elena. You’re a grown woman now. You know how these things work.

She slowly closed her fingers around the money. Not because she accepted it as payment for her marriage, but because she needed to feel the paper in her hands to remind herself that this was really happening.

Behind Mateo, his mother, Margarita, watched from the doorway, wearing a champagne-colored satin dress. Her silver hair was perfectly styled, and she wore a pearl necklace that Elena had chosen for her one Christmas.

Beside Margarita stood Clara, a woman in her early thirties, dressed in pale pink. Her brown hair fell over her shoulders, and one hand rested, with insulting familiarity, on Mateo’s back.

Elena noticed that detail.

Clara didn’t look like a guest.

She seemed to own the place.

“After everything I did for you?” Elena asked, her voice barely breaking. “After staying with you when you couldn’t even afford an apartment?”

Mateo clenched his jaw.

—That was years ago.

—And when I was working until the early hours to help you with the accounts of your first company?

—I didn’t ask you to do it.

Elena blinked.

For a moment, the night vanished. She saw again the small kitchen of her old apartment, the bills piled up next to the refrigerator, and her own hands making coffee at four in the morning before going to work. She remembered Mateo promising her that one day they would have a big house, huge windows, and a garden where they could sit when they were old.

She had believed every word.

Now she stood in front of that house, with a suitcase and money in her hand.

“I didn’t ask you to do it,” Elena repeated, tasting the words as if they were something bitter. “Of course.”

Margarita intervened from the doorway.

—Daughter, don’t make this more difficult than it needs to be. Mateo is trying to be generous with you.

Elena turned her head.

-Generous?

—Many women leave with less.

Clara lowered her gaze, but not quickly enough to hide the smile that appeared on her lips.

Elena saw her.

“Since when?” he asked.

Mateo frowned.

—Since when what?

—How long has she been here?

Clara lifted her chin.

—That’s none of your business.

Elena watched her in silence. There was something particularly cruel about hearing that answer inside the house where she herself had chosen every lamp, every painting, and even the curtains in the master bedroom.

“You’re right,” Elena replied. “I don’t care anymore.”

Mateo seemed surprised by the calmness of her voice.

—Perfect. Then go and don’t come back.

Elena looked one last time at the curved glass doors. Through them, she could make out the marble foyer, the floating staircase, and the enormous chandelier she had spent months searching for, looking for a piece that wouldn’t seem ostentatious.

Everything was exactly where it should be.

Except for her.

She bent down, grabbed the handle of her suitcase, and began to descend the steps.

Her heels clicked against the stone.

No one offered to help her.

When he reached the driveway, a luxury black sedan pulled up beside the curb. The driver got out immediately and opened the rear door.

“Good evening, Mrs. Elena,” he said respectfully.

She nodded.

Before going upstairs, he turned his gaze back towards the mansion.

Margarita was smiling.

Mateo had his arm around Clara.

Elena settled into the back seat and closed the door. Through the spotless glass, the three of them continued to watch her as if they had just won a war.

Then Elena took out her phone.

Her fingers were no longer trembling.

He dialed a number he knew by heart.

“She did exactly as we expected,” she said with a serenity that would have surprised the man who had just fired her.

A man’s voice answered from the other end.

—Did you confirm that I would deliver the money to you personally?

-Yeah.

—And what if your mother-in-law was present?