For illustration purposes only
The tension peaked during a charity gala Santiago was forced to host at his mansion to polish his public image. The house sparkled with crystal chandeliers and white roses. Surrounded by senators and businessmen, Santiago searched only for a gray uniform. He found one near the fireplace, working quietly in the shadows. Nearby stood Doña Leticia Montenegro, a high-society woman famous for her arrogance, already on her fourth glass of champagne. After a careless gesture, Leticia’s glass slipped. Valeria reacted instantly, stepping forward to stop the wine from spilling onto the woman’s designer gown, taking the entire splash of red onto her own uniform.
Instead of gratitude, Leticia’s face burned with anger. “Useless! Look what you’ve done!” she shouted, drawing the attention of the entire room. Valeria lowered her head, silently accepting the insults. “And what is that garbage?” Leticia continued, grabbing Valeria’s wrist and exposing her hand. “You wear garbage as jewelry? Wire and broken glass, how pathetic.” She released Valeria’s hand with such contempt that the ring, loosened by twenty years of wear, slipped from her finger and dropped onto the marble floor.
Clink. The sound was tiny, yet to Santiago it thundered through the room. It sliced through the music of the string quartet and the murmur of the guests. He moved before thinking. Crossing the ballroom in a straight line, he ignored partners and investors. The crowd parted as they saw the storm in his eyes. Leticia was still shouting, unaware that the most powerful man in the room was heading straight toward her.
Santiago Garza—the untouchable, the iron man—knelt before everyone. The cold marble struck the knees of his tailored trousers. With hands capable of signing billion-dollar contracts, he picked up the small copper ring. From his pocket he pulled a silk handkerchief and gently wiped the dust from the glass with a reverence that bordered on devotion. The entire room fell silent.
He stood and looked at Leticia. “Mrs. Montenegro,” he said in a low, deadly voice. “You could buy this entire house. You could buy everything in it. But you don’t have enough money in all your bank accounts to buy the right to touch this ring.” He took Valeria’s hand, her eyes filled with tears, and slipped the copper ring back onto her finger. “The value of this ring exceeds all the assets your family has ever owned. Your car is waiting outside. I suggest you wear it.” Leticia turned pale and fled in humiliation. Santiago then faced Valeria, ignoring the cameras and the whispers. “Santiago…” she whispered. “Not here,” he replied hoarsely. “But soon.”
Valeria left before dawn. She placed a resignation letter exactly where she had always left the lemonade. “Mr. Garza, I’m sorry for the mess. The ring you recognized belonged to a boy I knew in Santa Esperanza. I didn’t come to collect on old promises, I just needed a job. I was wrong. You deserve to be happy.” Santiago crushed the letter in his fist, hurled it against the wall, and released a muffled shout. The silence of the house was no longer the calm Valeria had created; it was the hollow silence of an empty fortress. He searched her address in the files. It was a modest neighborhood on the edge of town, lined with peeling houses and the scent of street food. He drove his old Ford pickup—the first vehicle he had ever bought and kept hidden in his garage—and waited on the cracked sidewalk.
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