Inside the Mercedes-Benz, the air conditioning blew almost icy air, set around 18 degrees Celsius. Outside, the city baked under a sun that made the asphalt vibrate. Yet, for Julián Santoro, the real thrill came not from the air conditioning, but from the presence to his right.
Sabrina Montes, sitting in the passenger seat, spoke in a sharp voice, as if each word had to impose a rule.
« That’s unacceptable, Julián. Completely unacceptable. I told you clearly that the orchids had to be white. Pure white, a ‘winter white,’ not that bland creamy shade the decorator brought in. Are you even listening to me? »
Julián tightened his grip on the leather steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. Usually, his blue eyes shone brightly in boardrooms, quick and steady. Today, they seemed distant, lifeless, fixed on the endless red lights… while his mind drifted to memories he wished he’d never revisited.
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« I’m listening, Sabrina, » he replied mechanically.
“No. You never listen to me. Never,” she insisted, turning toward him, making the high-end leather creak. “In two weeks, it’s the wedding everyone will be talking about. My father has invited senators, foreign investors… Everything has to be perfect. And you’ve been wearing that funeral face for months. Do you even realize how lucky you are?”
A perfect couple… on paper
A familiar pain throbbed in Julián’s temples. « Luck. » To the world, the equation was perfect: he, head of a telecommunications empire, his fortune multiplied and his influence consolidated; she, heiress to a formidably powerful banking family. A brilliant union, a strategic alliance.
But for him, every detail of this perfection had the taste of a gilded cage.
« We’ll replace the flowers. I’ll call right away, » he said, using the weapon that calmed Sabrina’s storms the fastest: money.
— It’s not just about flowers. It’s about you. Your attitude. Sometimes I get the feeling you’re still thinking about her… about that girl with nothing.
A wedding planned as a public event.
Endless demands to satisfy an image.
A man who already seems to be somewhere else.
A past that no one has the right to name… except as a barb.
She hadn’t uttered the name, but it filled the space like a breath: Mariana.
Julián braked a little too abruptly, without even realizing it.
« Don’t touch it, » he warned in a low, harsh voice. « I’ve already told you not to talk about my past. »
“But you’re the one bringing it up, with your silences,” Sabrina retorted, annoyed. “That woman cheated on you, Julián. She just wanted your money. Luckily you saw through it in time. Thanks to me, you avoided the worst. You should…”
The end of her sentence was lost. For Julián, Sabrina’s voice became a distant, muffled noise, as if someone had turned down the volume of the world.
A face in the heat, like an apparition
Through the tinted window, something caught his eye. The traffic had come to a standstill. Heat rose from the asphalt in shimmering waves. And there, between the stopped cars, a figure slipped by, moving with both caution and urgency.
Julián would have recognized this gait even in a crowd.
It was Mariana.
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