—You're crazy! —she whispered, grabbing his wrist tightly—. That animal... that...!
Amira let go as if her hand were burning.
—At least he didn't try to buy me with my own money, Khalil.
Signed. A stroke. Other. Dry. Determined.
The contract was sealed.
And in the living room, the heiress had just chosen darkness.
But Amira still didn't know the truth.
Sapphire's mask did not hide a monster...
What he was hiding was something much more dangerous.
part 2
The civil wedding closed in less than ten minutes.
Ten.
That was all Amira Salgado needed to hand over her last name, her apparent freedom... and perhaps also her destiny.
The living room of the Siete Estrellas Hotel was still full of diamonds, crystal glasses and hypocritical smiles, but now the energy had changed. It was no longer the one at a party. It was that of a public execution where the victim had decided to bite back.
Khalil remained motionless, his face hardened into a mask of elegant humiliation. Amar muttered something under his breath, unable to hide his rage. And in the background, like a shadow carved in black marble, Zafir Alsaba did not celebrate.
He didn't smile.
He didn't raise a glass.
He didn't act like a man who had just won.
And precisely for that reason, Amira was more disturbed than any false applause that night.
When the judge finished speaking, the notary closed the folder with trembling hands. The flashes exploded. Several women whispered with the barely concealed morbidity of someone witnessing an exquisite disaster.
—Congratulations to the newlyweds —said a voice on the microphone, too high-pitched, too rehearsed.
Amira barely heard her.
Because his father had entered.
Two nurses held him discreetly by the arms, but Don Hassan Salgado insisted on walking by himself to the center of the room. Silence opened in his wake.
It was a man dying.
And yet, he was still the most dangerous man in the room.
His sick eyes searched for Amira.
Then to Zafir.
Then, with unbearable slowness, he raised his hand.
—Come closer.
Amira felt a lump in her throat. She walked towards him with the weight of a hundred gazes digging into her back. Zafir followed her at an exact distance, as if even then he refused to invade her.
Don Hassan first took his daughter's hand.
Then, with effort, he placed that same hand inside Zafir's.
The contact was firm. Unexpectedly warm.
—I don't trust anyone here —Don Hassan murmured, without microphone, without theater—. But you... —his eyes locked on Zafir— ...you never coveted what was not yours.
Amira barely turned her head.
That wasn't what I expected to hear.
Don Hassan swallowed hard, breathing shorter and shorter.
—Protect the towers.
And then, as if that last order had been the only thing keeping him alive, his body lost strength.
The entire room held its breath.
—Dad! —Amira's voice broke for the first time in years.
The doctors ran. The nurses held him down. The portable monitor screamed a short, metallic, unbearable alarm.
The crowd retreated.
Chaos broke out.
And amid the noise, while the Salgado empire staggered between screams and hurried steps, Zafir did not look at the sick man.
He looked at Khalil.
Just a second.
But it was enough for Amira to see it.
And so that he would understand something terrible.
This was not over with the signing.
It had just begun.
I
Don Hassan did not die that night.
But at dawn, he could no longer speak.
The news came to the media at seven eighteen in the morning:
“Tycoon Hassan Salgado is in critical condition after a severe relapse.”
At eight, the Stock Market reacted.
At nine o'clock, rumors were already spreading like rats through the corridors of the financial city.
At ten o'clock, the government leaked that it would “review” the stability of the Salgado Infrastructure Group conglomerate.
And at eleven, Amira understood why her father had forced her to marry before dawn.
Because they were already attacking.
The mansion in Lomas de Chapultepec looked like a luxury mausoleum. Guards at each entrance. Secretaries whispering. Lawyers coming and going with fear on their heels.
Amira was in the main office, still dressed in ivory silk pants and a simple black blouse. I hadn't slept. He had his hair tied up in any way and the sharp eyes of someone who could no longer afford to break down.
In front of her, three screens showed the disaster in real time.
Fall of shares.
Preventive freezing of permits.
Audits “surprise”.
Coordinated attacks.
It wasn't a crisis.
It was a hunt.
—Someone opened the door for them from the inside —Amira said, her voice icy.
Nobody responded.
Because everyone in the room knew it.
They just didn't know who.
The legal director cleared his throat.
—Mrs. Alsaba...
Amira looked up slowly.
He still didn't get used to that last name. I didn't even plan to do it soon.
—Don't call me that.
—Excuse me... Mrs. Salgado. There is another complication.
—Another?
The man hesitated.
Bad sign.
—Last night, before his father's collapse, someone tried to extract documents from the archive of international trusts.
Amira stood still.
