Chapter 3 - The Kitchen Door
“Did you hear me?” Rodrigo asked.
Mariana slowly lifted her eyes.
They were wet, but no longer pleading.
None of them noticed.
“Yes,” she said quietly. “I’ll prepare dinner.”
Rodrigo leaned back with satisfaction. “Good. Pasta. Bread. And bring another bottle of wine.”
Teresa clicked her tongue. “And tomorrow, cover that cheek. People always ask unnecessary questions.”
Fernanda smiled over an olive. “Tell them you hit the kitchen cabinet again.”
The three of them laughed.
Mariana did not.
She walked into the kitchen and closed the door behind her.
Their voices became distant, then clear again because arrogant people rarely bother lowering them.
“She finally understands,” Teresa said.
“She has nowhere else to go,” Fernanda replied. “Rodrigo controls her money, her car… everything.”
Mariana opened a drawer.
Not for a pot.
That assumption was their first mistake.
Rodrigo had access to the shared account. He drove the car she had allowed him to use. He knew passwords she had once trusted him with. He believed access meant ownership because that was how men like him measured love.
But the house remained legally hers.
Her consulting company remained hers.
And the evidence had been hers long before that slap.
Mariana reached behind the flour container and removed a sealed bag. Inside rested a thick envelope, printed photographs, financial statements, notarized copies, a flash drive, and a small backup drive wrapped in black cloth.
May you like
Her hands did not shake.
She had spent six months preparing this meal.
