The honeymoon suite was decorated like flowers could fix everything.

Ivory sheets. White roses. Candles that smelled like expensive hotel. Untouched champagne flutes on a side table. And me, sitting in the middle of that enormous bed in pajamas so modest they could've been picked out by a church aunt.

The sound of the shower drifted from the bathroom.

My husband was in there.

Dante Montalvo.

Up until yesterday, that man had been my sister's fiance. The man I'd spent five years calling "brother-in-law" out of pure family habit.

And now he was my husband.

"God, this is embarrassing."

It all started the night before, when someone sent Dante a video of Lorena with her ex. Not an ambiguous video. Not a suspicious text conversation. One of those videos — the kind that doesn't leave much room for explanation.

Dante showed up at the Robles house with the phone in his hand. My dad tried to save the engagement. My mom cried. Lorena swore, screamed, pretended to faint, and clung to him like drama could erase what had happened.

None of it worked.

Dante wanted to cancel the wedding.

And seriously, who'd blame him? Nobody wants to walk down the aisle wearing fresh horns.

But the Montalvo family was the summit of the mountain my father had spent years trying to climb. Invitations sent, family agreements signed, venue paid for, guests confirmed. If the wedding fell through, the Robles family would've been the juiciest gossip in all of Polanco.

So they didn't cancel it.

They pushed me instead.

All I'd wanted was to watch the disaster from a corner, quiet, like someone binging a show that had nothing to do with her. But suddenly everyone turned to look at me.

"Ximena can marry him."

I thought Dante was going to laugh. Or stand up. Or say this wasn't some kind of joke.

Because I was Lorena's younger sister.

Because he was my brother-in-law.

Because no normal man would agree to marry his fiancee's sister the day after discovering an affair.

But Dante looked at me.

Just once.

And accepted.

He didn't do it like a confused man. He did it like someone who'd already decided for everyone in the room.

I sat there staring at his hand on the folder. Long fingers, clean nails, the black watch peeking from beneath his shirt cuff. He didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to.

That's how I ended up in white, walking toward a man who'd never looked at me for more than two seconds.

The shower stopped.

My palms were sweating.

What was supposed to happen on a wedding night when the bride and groom barely knew each other? Did he actually expect me to act like some dime-store romance wife?

The bathroom door opened.

I stopped breathing.

Dante stepped out wrapped in steam, wearing a gray robe open at the chest. I'd always seen him in suits — serious, perfect, cold. The kind of older man who looked like he signed contracts even when he breathed.

But like this, with damp hair, a defined collarbone, and a firm chest showing through the fabric, he didn't look like a contract.

He looked like a problem.

A problem that was thirty years old, had a deep voice, and disturbingly steady hands.

He smelled like clean soap and something woody, like cold pine.

I gripped the sheets.

He walked toward the bed.

Each step squeezed my chest tighter.

When he stood in front of me — that tall, that serious, that infuriatingly handsome — the worst possible thing came out of my mouth.

"Brother-in-law..."

Dante stopped.

His eyebrow barely moved, but I caught it.

"What did you just call me?"

I swallowed.

"Right. Wonderful. First night married and I'm calling him brother-in-law."

"Sorry. Force of habit."

"We're husband and wife now," he said, calm. "You're going to have to change that."

Change it.

To what?

"Husband? Sweetheart? Dante?"

Just thinking about calling him "sweetheart" made my face burn.

"Then... Mr. Montalvo?"

His gaze grew heavier.

"Do you know any wife who calls her husband 'mister'?"

"Don Dante?"

Silence.

Worse.

"That makes me sound fifty," he said.

I bit my lip.

"Dante?"

This time he nodded.

"That one."

His thumb brushed the edge of the towel in his hand. I dropped my eyes immediately.

I breathed, but the calm didn't last.

"Are you staying here?" I asked.

He looked at the bed.

"It's our suite."

"Yes. Obviously. What a brilliant question, Ximena."

He moved closer. I scooted backward on the bed, dragging the comforter with me.

"What are you going to do?"

"Sleep."

"How?"

I wanted to bite my tongue off.

Dante looked at me with that calm that only made things worse.

"How do you want to sleep?"

"I'll... take the left side. You take the right."

"Tonight's our wedding night."

My face caught fire.

He studied me for a moment.

"Have you been with a man?"

The air got stuck in my throat.

My face burned. I understood exactly what he meant.

I shook my head.

"No."

Something shifted in his eyes.

Dante leaned over me, bracing his hands on either side of my body. I was trapped between his arms and the mattress. His breath grazed mine.

We were so close I could count his eyelashes.

Then, in a voice far too calm for what he was saying, he asked:

"Do you want to?"

I couldn't answer.

He was too close and I could smell his shirt.

My eyes flew open like someone had thrown cold water on me.

Do it?

"Like this? This fast?"

"Now?" slipped out before I could stop it.

Dante didn't pull back.

"Tonight's our wedding night."

"Yes, thank you. That much was perfectly clear. The enormous bed, the white flowers, and my heart slamming against my ribs repeated it every three seconds."

But knowing it was one thing. Accepting that this man — who two days ago had been my sister's fiance — wanted to consummate the marriage with me was something else entirely.

I wasn't ready.

Not even a little.

His gaze dropped to my mouth.

I saw it.

And my body reacted before my brain could. When he leaned in, I turned my face away.

His lips never touched me.

Dante went still. Then he took my chin between two fingers and slowly turned my face back. I squeezed my eyes shut from pure nerves, pressing my lips together like that could save me.

Nothing happened.

When I cracked one eye open, he was still watching me.

"Sorry," I murmured. "I'm still not used to... this. Being your wife."

The word wife tasted bizarre.

"Give me a little time, okay?"

"How much is a little?"

"I don't know."

His silence made me feel small.

Not from fear. It was his closeness. The clean smell of his shirt, his arm resting beside my waist, his quiet gaze on my mouth. I swallowed and hated that my fingers were trembling.

"But not too long," I added quickly. "I think."

Dante watched me for several seconds. I was already imagining the worst-case scenario, but he straightened up, walked around the bed, and lay down on the other side.

"Sleep."

Just one word.

I slid under the comforter before I could think about whether I wanted to.

I let out my breath.

He didn't force me.

That, even though I didn't want to admit it, loosened something inside me.

I lay down too, leaving a massive gap between us. Two more people could've fit in there. Three, if they squeezed.

"Good night," I said, stiff.

"Good night."

We turned off the light.

I thought I wouldn't sleep a wink. But my body decided to betray me and I was out almost instantly.

At dawn, a hand touched my shoulder.

"No..." I groaned, half asleep, swatting it away.

A second later my eyes snapped open.

Dante was sitting beside the bed, already dressed in a black suit and gray shirt. No tie. Two buttons open at the collar. Cold, impeccable, and far too attractive for that hour.

I sat up clutching the comforter.

"Good morning."

"Get up. My family wants to see you before breakfast. My grandparents usually give their blessing and gifts after the wedding."

I nodded like I was at a job interview.

"After that we'll have breakfast with them, and then we'll head to the house I bought before the wedding. We'll live there."

"Okay."

I ducked into the bathroom to wash my face. The cold water woke me up completely.

It wasn't a dream.

I'd gotten married.

To Dante Montalvo.

I came out still wearing the white pajamas I'd borrowed from one of his cousins. I couldn't go downstairs like this.

Dante was still in the bedroom.

"I don't have any clothes."

He looked at me, pulled out his phone, and made a call. Minutes later, someone knocked on the door. He took a bag and handed it to me.

"Get changed."

Inside was a brand-new pink dress. Also underwear. In my exact size.

I stared at the tags.

"How did he know my size?"

I didn't ask.

The dress had thin straps and a small rose on one shoulder. When I came out, Dante looked up.

His gaze lingered on me.

"Does it look okay?" I asked, nervous.

"It's fine."

"It's fine? Was that good or bad?"

He stood and held out his hand.

"Let's go."

I looked at his hand. It was large, with long fingers and a strange elegance. I placed mine on top.

His palm was warm. Mine was freezing.

"Your hands are sweating," he said.

I turned red.

"I'm... nervous."

He didn't make fun of me. He just squeezed my hand a little tighter.

I felt the warmth of his palm travel up my wrist. I looked down so I wouldn't stare at his fingers wrapped around mine.

The mansion's main hall was packed. Grandparents, parents, aunts, uncles, cousins. The Montalvo family seemed to never end.

Dante introduced me one by one.

I greeted his grandparents, received measured hugs, blessings, elegant envelopes, and gifts. His mother took my hand with a calm smile.

"May you build a good life together."

She clasped an emerald bracelet around my wrist. It was heavy. Very heavy.

I looked at Dante, not sure if I should accept.

He nodded.

So I accepted.

During breakfast I sat beside him, rigid. I didn't dare serve myself from the platters in the center.

Then Dante put meat on my plate.

I looked at him.

He kept eating like nothing had happened.

Then he added vegetables. Then something else. And something else.

He didn't ask permission. He simply decided I was going to eat well.

And for some ridiculous reason, that embarrassed me more than the dress.

"Thanks," I whispered. "You can stop serving me now."

Maybe he didn't hear me. Or pretended not to.

I ate everything.

When we left, his grandparents and parents asked him to take care of me. He just said yes.

In the car, while I studied the bracelet, I asked him:

"Do I need to give this back to you?"

"My mom gave it to you."

"It's really expensive. What if I lose it?"

"Then it's lost."

I looked at him, confused.

"That doesn't bother you?"

"It's not mine. It's yours."

I also asked about the gift envelopes.

"Should I handle them?"

"Or did you want to give them to me?"

I shook my head immediately.

Dante barely glanced at me.

"Then keep them."

I couldn't help smiling.

I was dying to open every single one and count.

"Put your seatbelt on," he said. "We're leaving."

I obeyed.

He looked at me again.

He didn't say anything, but I felt that gaze on my skin.

The second Dante started the car, someone stepped in front of us.

The sudden brake threw me forward.

"God!" I gasped, pressing a hand to my chest.

When I looked up, I saw Lorena.

My sister was standing in front of the car, pale, hair disheveled, eyes swollen from crying. She looked like she was about to shatter.

I looked at Dante.

His expression froze.

"Lorena, what the hell are you doing?" he said, lowering the window. "You want to get run over?"

She walked up to him like he was the only person who existed.

"Dante, please. Get out. I need to talk to you alone."

"You can talk right here."

Lorena looked at me.

"Ximena, step out for a minute. I want to talk to your brother-in-law."

I was already unbuckling my seatbelt when Dante grabbed my hand.

Firm.

He didn't look at me. He looked at Lorena.

"Know your place. My wife is Ximena. Your sister. Whatever you have to say, you say it in front of her."

My heart caught.

My wife.

I pressed my fingers against the seatbelt. The words landed on my chest, heavy and warm.

Lorena's eyes turned red.

"So you already acknowledge her as your wife? And what was I?"

"My ex-fiancee."

"No! Don't say that. You love me, right? You married her to punish me. But I didn't want to hurt you. He threatened me. He forced me..."

Dante's face didn't change.

"If he threatened you, why didn't you report it?"

"Because it would've ruined the wedding."

"The wedding or your reputation?"

Lorena went quiet.

So did I.

I hadn't seen the video. I didn't want to. But Dante's words made it clear that my sister wasn't the victim she claimed to be.

"Even if I believed you," he continued, "in that video you didn't look like you were suffering."

Lorena turned white.

I dropped my gaze. How uncomfortable. How horrible to be sitting here.

"Dante," she whispered. "Is there really no chance at all?"

"None."

He pulled away without giving her another second.

The silence that filled the car was the strangest kind.

I fidgeted with the seatbelt.

"Don't you want to ask something?" he said.

"About what?"

"About what just happened."

"I don't know if it's any of my business."

"You're my wife. It is your business to know that there's nothing between Lorena and me."

I looked at him, surprised.

He said it without decoration. Low voice, eyes on the road, one steady hand on the wheel. I caught myself studying his profile longer than necessary.

He didn't owe me an explanation. I didn't love him. We were barely learning to breathe in the same room. But he gave me one anyway.

"Okay," I said.

"Okay."

"Yep."

Silence again.

Half an hour later, we arrived at the house where we'd be living.

It wasn't a house. It was a three-story residence in one of the most expensive areas of Las Lomas, with a garden, a small fountain, and private security. The kind of place my family could never have afforded, even if we sold half our last name.

Dante opened the door.

"The code is 336699. If you forget it, use this."

He gave me a key.

I closed my fist around it. It was still warm from his fingers.

I followed him inside. Everything was new, clean, elegant. Also cold.

"I bought this house two years ago," he explained. "I almost never come here."

He showed me the living room, the dining room, the kitchen, the bedrooms, the gym, the study, and the terrace with the pool.

"We're living alone?"

"For now, yes. I don't like having people living in the house. Dona Rosa comes to cook and clean."

On the second floor, he opened a room — understated, almost entirely gray, white, and black.

"This is my room."

"And mine?"

"We're married. We sleep together."

I stared at the enormous bed.

Of course.

How easy it was for him to say.

Then he handed me a black card.

"The house is full of my things. I didn't know what you liked. Use this to buy whatever you need. It has fifty million pesos for this month."

I blinked.

"Fifty million? For me?"

"Yes."

"What if I spend too much?"

"Spend. I have money for you to spend."

I couldn't help smiling.

"Then... thank you."

"The PIN is eight eights."

I took the card like it was burning.

Dante touched my head.

I went rigid.

He ran his hand over my hair once, like he was confirming something, and pulled it back.

"I'll be in the study. Look around the house."

When he left, I closed the bedroom door and pulled out all the envelopes from my bag.

There weren't bills inside.

There were checks.

For millions.

Some for tens of millions.

I sat on the bed with my mouth hanging open.

In a single day my value had gone up more than in my entire life.

Maybe I wasn't the bride who was supposed to be here.

But I was also the one who'd been sacrificed.

So I put the checks away with a pretty clean conscience.

"Emotional damages, they call it."

I stored the checks like they were evidence of a beautiful crime.

Then I started looking around Dante's bedroom.

There were almost no traces of a woman. Just a pair of pink slippers, still tagged, brand new, in exactly my size.

"How does he even know my shoe size?" I muttered.

Then I remembered the underwear from that morning and decided not to think too hard.

I opened the walk-in closet. Dante's clothes were organized by shade: black, white, gray. What a boringly expensive man.

But on the other side hung new dresses. Several of them. Also pajamas.

Spaghetti-strap pajamas.

Lace pajamas.

Way too thin.

I rubbed one between my fingers and felt my face heat up.

He'd arranged this?

With that stone-cold face and those... dangerous tastes.

In the drawers I found underwear for me. Suspiciously well stocked. Then I accidentally opened another drawer and saw men's underwear.

I slammed it shut.

I didn't see much.

But enough for my mind to start misbehaving.

"No, Ximena. Stop it."

I went to the bathroom. Everything came in pairs: towels, toothbrushes, cups, shampoo, soap. I touched the second toothbrush and let go immediately, like it burned.

I called Sofia.

"Free to go shopping?"

"For you, always, Mrs. Millionaire. And congratulations on the wedding, by the way."

I got ready to go out. In the hallway I ran into Dante.

"Where are you going?"

"To buy some things with Sofia. And... thanks for everything you set up in the bedroom."

"I didn't set it up. That was my mom."

My face fell.

"Right. Obviously. Why would Dante go out and buy me lace and bras?"

"Oh. Well. Thanks anyway. Tell your mom that..."

"She's your mom too," he corrected.

"Yes. Right. Our mom."

"I wanted to disappear."

"Do you need a driver?"

"I know how to drive. Can I borrow your car?"

"Which one?"

"The Bentley."

He handed me the key without a fight.

"Be careful."

I was about to head downstairs when he called out.

"Wait. You don't have my number."

True. We were husband and wife and didn't even have each other on WhatsApp.

He dictated his private number. When I went to save it, I hesitated over the name.

Dante.

Mr. Montalvo.

My traitorous finger typed: Husband.

He saw it.

I saved the contact before I could regret it.

"You already have my number, right?"

"Yes. If you need anything, call me directly."

I nodded and practically ran out.

Sofia nearly screamed when she saw the Bentley.

"No way! Since when are you rolling around in a Las Lomas trophy-wife car?"

"It's my... husband's."

The word still didn't come easy.

On the drive, I told her about the checks, the card, the gifts, and Lorena stepping in front of the car.

"Girl, you hit the jackpot — drama included," she said.

"I don't know if Dante married me to punish her."

"And what if he did? That's messed up."

"Well, I'm already married. Oh well. At least he hasn't treated me badly."

"Then spend. If they dragged you into the problem, the least the problem can do is pay well."

"Plus," Sofia added, lowering her voice like she was confessing a sin, "that man has the kind of face that says he'd order your clothes off and then buy you half the store without breaking a sweat."

I took her advice.

We bought clothes, makeup, skincare products, and things I never would've bought without checking the price three times.

Meanwhile, Lorena went home in pieces.

Beatriz held her on the couch, trying to calm her down.

"Mom, how could you let Ximena marry Dante? He was mine."

"Your father decided..."

"I don't care! Ximena doesn't love him. He doesn't love her either. Ask her to help me get him back."

Beatriz hesitated, but Lorena cried harder.

"If you don't help me, I don't want to live."

"All right," she gave in. "I'll talk to her when she comes for a meal after the wedding."

That afternoon, Sofia and I ate at a restaurant.

Out of nowhere she fixed me with gossip eyes.

"All right, Mrs. Montalvo. Last night was your wedding night. Did you?"

I nearly choked on my water.

"Don't talk about that here."

"Then tell me quietly. Did it happen?"

"No. We slept in the same bed. That's it."

"That's it? With that man and your body... is he alive?"

I turned red.

I remembered Dante leaning over me, asking if I wanted to do it.

That low voice. That calm. The way he barely touched me and still made me feel trapped.

"I think he's alive, yeah."

"How do you know if you didn't check?"

"Sofia."

"What? I'm asking for science."

I threw a napkin at her.

"Change the subject already," I begged.

Sofia laughed.

"I'll spare you today. Tomorrow I'm asking again."

After lunch, we kept shopping until the bag handles were cutting into our fingers. Then I got a text from my mom.

"Come for lunch tomorrow. Bring Dante."

The good mood dropped out of me instantly.

"What happened?" Sofia asked.

"My mom wants us to come to the house tomorrow for lunch. With Dante. It'd be the first time I've gone back since the wedding."

"Family dinner or family trap?"

"With my family, those are usually the same thing."

I decided to head back.

I arrived at the residence loaded down with bags. Left everything in the living room, went upstairs, organized my purchases, and got in the shower.

I had no idea when Dante came home.

Dante had gone to the office. His friends had pushed him to go out, but he thought about the new wife who'd just moved into his house and turned them down. He didn't want to leave me alone right after the wedding.

Dante walked into the bedroom and stopped.

From the bathroom came Ximena's voice — soft, distracted, mixed with the drumming of water.

The door was frosted glass. The steam clinging to it left only a silhouette: shoulders, waist, the slow movement of an arm washing her hair.

Dante didn't look away.

His jaw tightened.

The blood rushed to his lower stomach with uncomfortable speed.

He took a step toward the door.

He stopped.

He wanted to open it. He wanted to see her without the glass between them.

Ximena didn't know he was there.

Dante clenched his fist, took a deep breath, and stepped back.

I came out wrapped in a pink robe, hair dripping.

We stared at each other.

His gaze traveled over me without hurrying.

I covered my chest by instinct.

"When did you get here?"

"I live here."

"Excellent, Ximena. Another brilliant question."

"I'm going to get changed."

I fled to the walk-in closet.

When I came back out, Dante was sitting with his phone in his hand. He'd taken off his jacket and tie. The dark shirt, unbuttoned at the collar, made him look less untouchable.

And more dangerous.

"I need to ask you something," I said.

"Go ahead."

"My mom wants us to go to lunch at the house tomorrow. It'd be the first time I've been back since the wedding. Can you come?"

He thought for a moment.

"I'll go with you."

"If you don't want to because of Lorena..."

"What needs to be faced gets faced. Besides, we're husband and wife. Our families are going to be dealing with each other."

I nodded.

Then I didn't know what else to say.

He looked at my hair.

"You didn't dry it."

"I'll find the blow dryer in a sec."

He stood, opened a drawer, and pulled it out.

"Sit down. I'll do it."

"No, I can—"

"Ximena."

He only said my name, but I sat.

Just like that.

I straightened the robe over my legs. The way he said my name made my ears burn.

Warm air started moving through my hair. His fingers separated the strands carefully, from roots to tips. I sat there rigid. Every brush of his hand made me painfully aware of how close he was.

I bit my lip.

It was just his fingers in my hair. Nothing more.

Then why was I thinking about those same hands on my waist? On the back of my neck? On my thigh?

I pressed my knees together under the robe and pretended the heat was coming from the blow dryer.

When he turned it off, I felt like I could finally breathe.

"Done."

"Thanks."

"You're welcome."

I tried to pull my nerves back in order.

"I left the Bentley key on the nightstand."

"I saw."

Then he started unbuttoning his shirt.

"What are you doing?"

"Taking a shower."

I looked away like I'd seen something forbidden.

He paused for a second. Then he went into the bathroom.

The sound of the shower filled the room.

I stared at the frosted glass door.

His shadow moved behind it.

I sat there frozen, listening to the running water.

My scalp was still tingling from his fingers.

And now I was watching his silhouette in the shower like I had no shame.

While Dante showered, I changed into more modest pajamas.

Modest by my standards.

My body, unfortunately, didn't know how to cooperate. Sofia always said I could wrap myself in a blanket and still look like sin.

The bathroom door opened right as I was trying to climb into bed and fake being asleep.

I shot upright.

The mattress creaked.

Dante looked at me.

"What happened?"

"Nothing. Just testing if the bed was sturdy."

"I wanted to throw myself out the window."

He walked toward me with his robe half open. His chest was defined and his abs showed through the fabric.

I bit my lip.

Six? Eight?

No. Stop.

"And?" he asked. "Is it sturdy?"

"Yes. Very."

He sat down. I scooted back.

"Are you dodging me?"

"I'm making room for you."

He didn't buy it. Obviously.

"Going to sleep?" I asked.

"Did you have something else in mind?"

I shook my head too fast.

"I do," he said.

My face burned.

He said it without embarrassment. Without the clumsiness of a boy. Like a man who knew what he wanted and didn't need to dress it up.

"But you said you'd give me time."

"Last night we got used to sleeping next to each other. Tonight we could move a little further."

"Further?"

"Come closer."

I inched forward a few centimeters. He got tired of my pace and pulled me against his side. I ended up pressed to his body.

"Has a man ever held you?"

"Yes."

His eyebrow tensed.

"Who?"

"My dad."

The tension left his face.

Then he looked at my mouth.

"And kissing? Have you kissed anyone?"

"No."

The word barely came out.

"Did you ever think about what it would feel like?"

"No."

A lie. Maybe I had. But not with my sister's ex-fiance turned husband.

Dante lowered his voice.

"Lift your face a little. I'm going to kiss you."

"What?"

His fingers took my chin.

He held still for a second, studying my mouth.

I didn't pull away.

His lips touched mine.

At first he didn't do anything else. He just stayed there, cool and soft, against my mouth. But my heart felt like it was trying to escape.

It was my first kiss.

My first kiss.

With my husband.

Dante bit me gently.

"Close your eyes when someone's kissing you."

I obeyed like an idiot.

I shut my eyes. My cheeks were on fire and my mouth was pulsing before he even touched me again.

And then it stopped being gentle.

His lips moved over mine. He opened my mouth with a patience that had nothing innocent about it. I didn't know how to breathe, or move, or what to do with my hands.

When he let go, I was leaning against him, dizzy.

"You can't even breathe right," he said.

I hid my face in his chest.

So embarrassing.

"Now you know what it feels like to kiss someone."

I didn't answer.

I couldn't. Not when my mouth was still burning and my brain kept replaying that this man — my ex-brother-in-law — had just taught me how to kiss.

Dante stroked my hair.

From his side, he thought my clumsiness confirmed something: I'd never kissed anyone. The impulsive decision to marry me, born in the chaos of my family's living room, was starting to seem less absurd.

"Tomorrow — what time are we going to your parents'?"

"Nine."

"Sleep."

He lay down with me in his arms.

I stayed stiff, waiting for something more.

But he didn't do anything.

He just held me.

And even so, it took a long time for my heart to calm down.