Valeria.
Or rather, Lihua Chan.
His real name.
The morning Tomás anonymously reported Valeria for allegedly using falsified documents, her past finally caught up with her. That afternoon, Enrique called her to his office, his face grim.
“Immigration is checking your papers,” he said. “Someone reported you.”
Valeria felt the floor open up.
She packed in under an hour. The usual. Light backpack. Nothing sentimental. Disappear before things got worse.
But Emiliano arrived at her apartment before she could leave.
—Enrique told me. You’re not going to run away alone.
“Yes, I will,” she replied firmly. “And you will stay away from me.”
He saw the backpack and understood that this had been going on for a long time.
—Then tell me straight. Who are you running away from?
Valeria closed her eyes for a second, like someone deciding to remove a bandage.
—From my family—he said. When I was seventeen, they sold me.
The phrase hit him like a punch.
She spoke plainly. Her parents had arranged her marriage to
Adrián Wong, heir to a fortune linked to maritime transport and shady dealings between Guadalajara and Hong Kong. They had received millions for the alliance.
Her grandfather tried to protect her, but they threatened to destroy her school and deport him if he intervened. Adrian didn’t want a wife; he wanted property. An exotic piece to display and control.
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