He scrolled down frantically and read the investigator’s message:
“The evidence against her was completely fabricated. Bank transfers were made from a cloned account using Carmen’s stolen ID. The motel photos were deepfakes — faces swapped. The cross was planted by Valeria’s maid the same night you threw Carmen out. Most importantly… Carmen was already two months pregnant when you kicked her out. She tried to tell you that night. You didn’t let her speak.”
Alejandro stood up so violently that his chair slammed into the wall.
He replayed that final night in his mind like a nightmare he couldn’t escape.
Carmen on her knees. Sobbing. Begging.
“Alejandro, please listen to me… I’m pregnant…”
He had screamed at her to shut up. He had called her a whore. He had watched his security guards drag her out into the pouring rain while she screamed his name.
And all this time… she had been carrying his children.
Alejandro’s knees gave out. He dropped to the floor of his luxurious office, surrounded by millions of pesos worth of furniture and art, and let out a sound he hadn’t made since he was a child — a broken, animalistic sob.
His phone rang.
It was the investigator.
