Chapter 2

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.