Chapter 1: The Pointing Finger
The silence in the opulent master bedroom of the Aranda mansion was deafening. Alejandro stood frozen, the heavy edge of the duvet still clutched in his trembling fist.
His eyes darted from the dark, ugly purples and yellows of the bruises marring Valeria’s pale legs to the medical wrappings binding her shins and ankles.
The furious jealousy that had consumed him for the past seventy-two hours evaporated, instantly replaced by a sickening dread.
“From your mother,” Valeria repeated, her voice barely a whisper but echoing like a gunshot in the cavernous room.
Doña Esther, the matriarch of the Aranda family, let out a sharp, theatrical scoff. She adjusted the emerald shawl draped over her shoulders, her posture rigid.
“Alejandro, surely you are not going to listen to the hysterical ramblings of a cheating woman? She has been caught with a man in the dead of night, and now she invents fairy tales to cover her shame.”
But Alejandro wasn’t looking at his mother. He was looking at his father, Don Arturo, who was staring fixedly at the floorboards, his knuckles white as he gripped the headboard of a nearby chaise lounge.
“Valeria,” Alejandro said, his voice breaking. He fell to his knees beside the bed, reaching out but terrified to touch her and cause her more pain. “What did she do to you? What is this?”
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Valeria pulled the blanket back over her legs, shivering despite the warmth of the room.
“She has been trying to kill our baby, Alejandro. And when I figured it out, she tried to make sure I wouldn’t live to tell you.”
