Two weeks later, I received a call from an unknown number.
“Come to my penthouse tomorrow at 10 a.m. I need to tell you the truth.”
I almost didn’t go.
But something in his voice made me show up.
The penthouse was on the top floor of the tallest building in Santa Fe. When I stepped inside, Alejandro was waiting for me. He looked different — not the cold, powerful man from the hotel, but someone carrying the weight of the world.
He poured me a glass of water with trembling hands.
Then he spoke:
“Isabella… I have been looking for you for six years.”
I frowned. “What?”
He walked to his desk and took out an old photo.
It was me — six years younger, smiling at a beach in Acapulco.
Next to me was a man I barely remembered.
