The night was silent at the Garces mansion.
Outside, the harbor lights flickered in the distance, reflecting off the dark windows.
Henrico sat in a leather armchair, watching cigar smoke rise slowly through the air.
Across from him, Marcello, his loyal assistant, waited for instructions.
"So, Mr. Henrico," the man said, glancing at his wristwatch, "everything is ready for the wedding in one week."
Henrico didn't answer right away. His eyes were fixed on the fireplace flame, lost in thought.
Finally, he spoke in a hoarse, measured voice:
"You know, Marcello... I won't deny I'm curious to meet the woman who'll be my bride."
He took a slow drag of the cigar, exhaling the smoke leisurely.
"But it doesn't matter. Marriage, in our position, is a matter of strategy — not affection."
Marcello simply nodded.
He knew the boss never did anything on impulse. Every step Henrico Garces took was calculated with lethal precision.
"Everything will be prepared, sir," he replied. "The ceremony will be discreet, but worthy of the Garces name."
Henrico only gave a slight nod.
"So be it."
A week passed far too quickly.
At the Sanchez mansion, the day dawned with activity from early morning.
Florists, decorators, and seamstresses came and went through the hallways.
In the master bedroom, Selena sat before the mirror while a team of makeup artists and hairstylists worked in silence.
The dress was a work of art. The white silk gleamed under the soft light, and the crystal-embroidered veil looked fit for a queen.
Selena stared at her own reflection, trying to recognize the woman she saw there.
On the outside, she was flawless. On the inside, a mix of fear, irony, and resignation.
When the door opened, Ingrid and Patricia walked in.
The two of them stopped for a moment, surprised by what they saw.
"Well..." said Ingrid, crossing her arms. "I don't know why all the fuss. That dress must have cost a fortune — especially for a marriage of convenience."
Selena lifted her gaze to the mirror and replied with a faint, bitter smile:
"Look who's talking. Anyone watching would think your marriage to Cassio wasn't based on self-interest."
Ingrid raised her eyebrows.
"It may have started that way, but just so you know, Cassio has already fallen in love with me. We're very happy together."
Selena rose slowly, the veil trailing across the floor.
"If that's true," she said in a firm tone, "you deserve each other. A man who swore he loved me forgot me awfully fast — just because I can't have children."
The silence lasted a few seconds, until Ingrid let out a forced laugh.
"At least I married a handsome man. And you? You don't even know who you're marrying. Nobody's ever seen this Henrico Garces. They say he lives hidden in the shadows..."
"His appearance makes no difference to me," Selena replied coldly. "As long as I get out of this house and free myself from all of you."
Patricia, leaning against the wall, watched the exchange of barbs with a cynical smile.
"I've heard the rumors," she said, feigning innocence, "that he's an old man — bald and pot-bellied. Good thing appearances don't matter to you, dear."
Selena sat back down, ignoring the mockery.
Inside, she burned — but not with fear.
She had learned to deal with humiliation.
And strangely, she felt a kind of relief knowing that in a few hours she would leave behind this home that had been invaded by snobbish, self-serving people.
Outside, Rodrigo was already waiting in the black car, impatient.
He checked his watch for the third time as the bodyguards loaded Selena's luggage.
When the mansion door opened, he sighed with relief.
Selena descended the stairs with the dress sweeping across the marble floor, looking like an apparition.
Rodrigo watched her with calculated pride.
His daughter, after all, was about to become Mrs. Garces — and that meant power.
"You look beautiful," he said, trying to sound affectionate.
Selena got into the car without answering.
The engine started, and they headed toward the ceremony.
During the drive, she gazed out the window, watching the city rush past.
Her thoughts spun in a whirlwind.
"Marrying a stranger... maybe an old, bald, pot-bellied man," she repeated to herself, remembering Patricia's jab.
She smiled to herself.
"So be it," she murmured softly. "Old, bald, or not — at least I'll be free."
Meanwhile, on the other side of the city, Henrico Garces remained in his office.
Marcello went in and out with papers, checking the final details of the contract.
"Sir," he said, "the guests have already begun to arrive."
Henrico put out his cigar and stood.
Tall, imposing, wearing an impeccable black suit, he walked to the window.
His face, partially covered by the dim light, revealed only the firm line of his jaw and eyes cold as steel.
HENRICO GARCES
"Everything will proceed according to plan," he ordered. "And the bride will be at the altar on time."
Marcello bowed his head in respect.
"Yes, sir."
When he was alone, Henrico looked at his reflection in the dark glass and allowed himself a half-smile.
It was amusing — tonight he would be joined to a woman he didn't even know the face of.
Despite wanting to push the curiosity away, it was difficult. He kept imagining what Selena looked like.
Henrico made a point of staying in the shadows, so there were few women he had ever been involved with.
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