Her voice was calm, but it carried something I had never heard before. Finality.
I sat.
She opened the folder slowly and slid the first photo across the polished wooden table.
It was me and Camila on the balcony of the Punta Mita suite. I was kissing her neck while she laughed, the ocean glowing behind us. The timestamp was 2:43 a.m. — exactly when Mauricio had called me.
My blood turned cold.
Mariana slid another photo. Then another. Receipts. Bank transfers from our joint account. Screenshots of the yacht reservation. Even a photo of the bracelet I bought Camila.
Every single proof of my betrayal laid out neatly like evidence in a trial.
“You told Mauricio the flights were canceled because of a storm,” she said softly. “There was no storm in Punta Mita that night, Alejandro. The weather was perfect.”
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.
Mariana leaned forward slightly, wincing from the pain of her surgery.
“While I was in the operating room fighting for my life, you were spending our money on another woman. While the doctor asked if I had any family present, you were drinking champagne and planning a yacht trip the next morning.”
Tears welled in her eyes, but she didn’t let them fall.
“I gave you eleven years of my life. I stood by you when you had nothing. I sold my mother’s gold earrings so you could pay your first investors. And this… this is how you repay me?”
I reached for her hand. She pulled it away like my touch burned her.
“Mauricio signed something,” she continued. “While you were busy betraying me, he helped me prepare everything. The company shares I co-signed for you. The properties. The accounts.”
