I read the message once more... and again. Two months. Two long and humiliating months since Armando kicked me out onto the street. And now he wanted to see me?

I wrote an impulsive, desperate message, demanding answers. But just as I was about to send it, the car braked sharply. We had arrived.

We parked in front of an impressive mansion, modern architecture, with tinted windows and silver-toned walls.

"We have arrived, Miss," Eder announced formally.

I glanced at my cell phone screen. Then, without sending the message, I put it back in my pocket; I had to face my other reality.

Eder circled the car and opened my door with a courtesy that seemed almost ironic. I stepped out and was dazzled. The place was simply majestic. I walked behind him, feeling tiny amidst such opulence.

I imagined the said Mr. Feldman as an octogenarian old man, possibly with several divorces under his belt and a fortune too large to spend alone. A man who sought companionship for convenience rather than affection.

I couldn't deny that I felt nervous; my heart was pounding rapidly in my chest, and for a moment I thought I was going to have a heart attack.

The main door opened, and to my surprise, a retinue of employees waited on the other side. Elegant women, all dressed in the same pearly gray uniform, and a couple of men who were clearly bodyguards. The welcome was so organized it seemed like a ceremony.

"Welcome, Miss Manson. Come this way, Mr. Feldman is waiting for you," said a middle-aged woman with a kind voice.

I rolled my eyes, stifling a sigh, and reluctantly followed her. My phone vibrated insistently in the palm of my hand. I glanced at it: Armando. Another call. A shiver ran down my spine.

The woman opened the door to an enormous office. An aroma of woody perfume immediately enveloped me, deep, masculine. I closed my eyes for an instant, bracing myself for the inevitable.

The presidential chair in front of the desk slowly rotated toward me.

And then I saw him.

"Miss Amelie Manson."

The deep, firm voice forced me to open my eyes suddenly. I looked around, stunned, and then turned my gaze forward. I couldn't believe what I was seeing.

He was there. Imposing. Tall, with a sculpted body, hair dark as night, and a piercing gaze. He had nothing to do with the old man I had imagined.

"Mr. Feldman..." I stammered.

"Yes. I'm Damián Feldman Jr. How are you?"

For a second, everything inside me shook. Seeing him from that perspective, marrying Damián didn't seem like such a crazy idea. He was the kind of man any woman-sensible or not-would desire. And then, my inner state changed. Fear turned into confusion...

"Mr. Feldman," I said, regaining my composure, "I'd like to tell you that I'm fine, but I'm not. I've read the agreements you signed with my father, and I'm here to tell you that I'm willing to pay my family's debt... but not by marrying you."

Damián took two steps toward me, his expression becoming even more serious, colder.

"I think you are mistaken, Miss Manson. I did not sign those agreements." His gaze locked with mine, disarming me immediately. "It is my father who wants to marry you."

From an adjoining office, an older man emerged, somber expression, heavy steps, and a cane in hand. His mere presence chilled the atmosphere.

"What...?" I whispered, stepping back a little when I saw him.

"Miss Manson," he said in a grave voice as he approached, his penetrating, hungry eyes scrutinizing me as if he already possessed me.

No. It couldn't be real. This had to be a cruel joke. There was no way anyone intended to force me to marry that man. With that old man.

"Son, could you leave us alone?" he ordered without taking his eyes off me.

Damián shrugged, not opposing. As he passed by me, I felt a shiver run from head to toe.

"Mr. Feldman," I tried, seeking firmness in my voice, "I was telling your son that... that... I..." the words caught in my throat. "That I don't want to marry you. My father signed those documents without my consent."

The man sketched a barely perceptible smile, without a trace of warmth.

"If you don't want to marry me, you don't have to. The door is open, Amelie." His tone was calm, almost courteous, but every word was a threat. "Just remember there are clauses... and their non-compliance has consequences."

My hands began to tremble. I pressed my lips together, looked at him fixedly... and felt nauseated. He was at least forty years older than me. He resembled my father so much that the mere idea caused a knot in my stomach.

"Sir, I deeply regret what my father agreed to with you, but I can't do it. I can't get married, I'm recently divorced."

"I know," he replied with a bitter smile. "You are Armando González's ex-wife."

"How do you know who my husband is?" I asked, taking a step back, alarmed.

Mr. Feldman's expression darkened even more. Without responding immediately, he slowly walked to his seat, enjoying my confusion.

"Who wouldn't know who the son of a bitch is who is hurting my daughter?" Mr. Feldman spat in a hoarse voice, loaded with hatred.

My eyes widened in astonishment. Then everything began to click like pieces in a puzzle. Rosalía... my ex-husband's mistress... was my future husband's daughter.

"And what do I have to do with all of this?" I asked, confused.

Feldman looked at me like a bird of prey.

"With you, I will take revenge on that imbecile... and I will get Rosalía to come home."

I was paralyzed. So, this had nothing to do with love, or agreements, or marriage. Only revenge. I was just another piece on his board, a means to punish the man who had taken his daughter.

All that man wanted was to use me to take revenge on Armando, as if I had any power against him. Armando knew how to manipulate, how to seduce, how to empty you inside until nothing was left... like he did to me. He made me fall in love, he used me, and then he threw me onto the street, taking absolutely everything from me.

And yet, as absurd as it sounded... I still loved him. It still hurt.

But the idea of revenge... that idea was too tempting.

That night, the same woman who had received me led me to a room on the second floor of the mansion. I opened the door, turned on the light, and found a perfectly decorated room. Elegant, cozy, as if it had been prepared in advance.

I left my purse on the bed, observing every detail. Everything disconcerted me.

I approached the closet with slow steps, and when I opened it, I found a display of clothes that took my breath away. There was everything: sportswear, elegant dresses, casually folded clothes, a collection of designer shoes, and a small sanctuary of exuberant jewelry that sparkled under the warm light of the dressing room. I slid my fingers across each shelf.

I shook my head, incredulous.

"All of this is for you, Miss," the woman's voice snapped me out of my trance.

I turned around, startled.

"Who did all this?" I asked anxiously.

"Mr. Feldman," she replied naturally. "By the way, I'm Amanda, the family's trusted housekeeper. But from now on, I will be at your service. Anything you need, don't hesitate to ask me."

I closed my eyes, swallowing hard. It was all too much.

"Thank you, Amanda. Could you leave me alone for a moment?"

She nodded with a discreet smile, left the room, and softly closed the door.

I sat on the padded bed and took my cell phone out of my pocket. The lit screen showed more messages from Armando.

"Are you okay?"

"Where are you?"

"I'm coming for you."

My hands trembled.

And then I cried. I cried until the pillow was soaked, until the pain in my chest exhausted me, until my body could no longer resist and I fell asleep.

I didn't understand anything. After all the damage, after abandoning me, destroying me, why did Armando want to see me? Why now?

Not even two days had passed and everything was already decided; the marriage to Mr. Feldman was a fact. The mansion buzzed with activity, everyone coming and going as if preparing for a grand event, and I felt like an exhibition mannequin while the dress and hair stylists worked skillfully on me.

I knew little about my future husband. Only that he was an eccentric millionaire, founder of multiple companies in the city, widowed for ten years, and father of two children: Damián and Rosalía. I hadn't seen the former again since that fleeting encounter in his father's office.

I blushed remembering how naive I was to initially think he would be my fiancé.

"Done, Miss. You're perfect!" the stylist announced, pulling me out of my reverie.

"Thank you," I replied coolly, and the woman adjusting my dress withdrew, leaving me alone in front of the mirror.

My eyes filled with tears. It hurt to remember my first marriage. It was simple, in a modest chapel, without an elegant dress or luxurious rings, but back then I was truly happy.

I picked up the phone. I had a couple of new messages from Armando. I didn't open them; it was cruel enough to keep hurting myself with him.

I took a deep breath and left the room. The wedding was to be held in the main garden of the Feldman mansion. I was about to go downstairs when, suddenly, Damián reappeared. I walked past him without stopping, barely forming a slight smile at the corner of my lips.

"You're a gold digger," he blurted out, and his voice, loaded with hatred, pierced me.

I spun around suddenly, eyes wide with surprise.

"What? Who do you think you are to talk to me like that?"

"I know perfectly well what young women like you do. You look for men like my father to take all their money. But I won't allow it."

I felt my face burn with indignation. What was this imbecile saying?

"Look, Damián, I don't want anything from your father. He has me threatened if I don't marry him, and believe me, I'm not in the least bit interested in what he possesses."

I pulled my arm free from his hand and resumed my path to the stairs, but he took two quick steps and caught up with me. He grabbed my arm, his fingers digging slightly into my skin.

"Listen to me carefully, Amelie. I will not allow an opportunist like you to take my family's money. I have worked hard since college, so you won't come here now and steal what doesn't belong to you."

I pulled away from his hand with a tug, and looked him up and down with contempt.

"Your warning is unnecessary. Now, I have a wedding to attend."

I rushed down the stairs. My heart was pounding hard. I didn't understand what was really happening in that house; everything seemed to be against me. The fact that my ex-husband was with Rosalía seemed to have ignited everyone's hatred toward me.

I walked through the garden, where Mr. Feldman was already waiting for me. I didn't even know his first name, and I felt uncomfortable constantly having to call him "Mr. Feldman." It was exhausting. Upon seeing me, he sketched a smile, while the guests, every one of them, watched me with disdain. It wasn't just Damián. Every glance pierced me as if I really were a harpy ready to hunt her prey.

In the front, I distinguished my mother next to my two younger sisters. As our eyes met, she smiled and sighed tenderly.

I blinked quickly to hold back my tears.

"You look very beautiful, Amelie," my future husband said softly as he took my hand. His skin was rough, his breath unpleasant, and the mere idea of having to consummate that marriage gave me a sharp pain, like knives plunging into my core.

"Thank you, sir," I replied, and the ceremony began. The priest spoke about the importance of marriage, values, love, and family. Words completely empty in the context we were in. However, my mother radiated happiness, as if none of this were imposed.

The moment for the vows arrived. The priest smiled as we exchanged rings. Mr. Feldman placed mine, and I placed his.

"If anyone objects to this marriage, speak now or forever hold your peace," the priest announced, glancing around.

I thought everything would proceed as planned, until, from the back of the garden, a voice thundered:

"I object, Father!"

Everyone turned. I froze solid when I saw her. Rosalía. That stunning blonde with sculpted curves, an angelic face, and an arrogant look advanced decisively, her heels echoing on the ground as she clutched a Versace bag between her fingers.

"I object, Father," she repeated, glaring furiously. "This harpy cannot marry my father. She only wants his money."

I looked at her from head to toe and offered an ironic smile. The sheer audacity was almost impossible to ignore. According to her, I wanted her father's money... but she was the one who stole my husband.

Mr. Feldman looked at her and forced a sarcastic smile. "Seriously, Rosalía? You think you can come here and stop my wedding? You are completely insane."

"Father, please, stop this stupidity. You are causing us national embarrassment."

He shook his head and turned back to the priest. "Continue, Father."

The priest nodded and opened the Bible again, but Rosalía stepped between us, blocking the way.

"I will not allow it, absolutely not!"

"Go with your lover, Rosalía," Feldman cut her off dryly. "And let my future wife and I get married. Otherwise, you'll have to face the damn consequences."

His face, previously kind, hardened completely. He looked at his daughter with brutal coldness, as if she were his worst enemy.

I bowed my head, overwhelmed by shame. Not just for myself, but also for the scene unfolding before everyone.

Rosalía finally stepped aside and passed by me, throwing me a look so full of contempt that it seemed capable of bursting into flames.

"You wretch... this isn't over. You're doing this because of Armando, aren't you?"

I offered a slight smile with the corner of my lips. Of course, I wasn't marrying for Armando. I was doing it for my family. But since the situation allowed it, I couldn't help but enjoy the look of suffering on her face at seeing me next to her father.

"What can I tell you? Oh, and tell Armando not to call me anymore. I'm a married woman now."

Rosalía flushed, breathing with difficulty. She squeezed her purse tightly and, stomping her foot, issued a final threat.

"This is not over, you wretched harpy!"

Finally, I married Mr. Feldman. He held my hand, radiant with happiness, oblivious to the stares or comments he might be provoking among the attendees.

There was no celebration. He led me directly to the car, where Eder was already waiting for us. I got in first, followed by him, and he closed the door firmly.

"We're going to celebrate our wedding night, my dearest Amelie."

My nerves betrayed me. My hands trembled so much I felt they were going to detach from my wrists. I could still back out. Perhaps jail wouldn't be so terrible compared to what awaited me tonight.

But I thought of Danna and Hanna, my sisters, barely teenagers, and my mother, too old to work. They depended on the company... and on my sacrifice.

"Of... course," I replied, my voice shaky.

He looked out the window, smiling contentedly, while I was consumed inside. It wasn't his age that perturbed me. Everyone ages. It was the thought of his hands on my body, of being possessed by him... God, no!

Eder drove for over an hour until we reached a country estate on the outskirts of the city. Another opulent place, full of luxuries that contrasted with the despair engulfing me.

I got out of the car and took a deep breath, seeking some relief in the fresh air. Mr. Feldman walked slowly. This time he didn't hold my hand. He simply walked ahead, signaling the way for me.

"We are going to spend our wedding night here, my dearest wife. I am dying to conceive a son."

I walked quickly behind him, lifting the train of my dress to avoid tripping.

"Mr. Feldman, I need to be honest with you... I cannot consummate our wedding night. Please."

He turned with an even wider smile, as if my words were irrelevant to him.

"Why not? You are my wife. That's what we got married for."

I didn't want to sound cruel or indifferent. Simply, my principles, my preferences, everything in me refused the idea of sleeping with such an old man.

"It's not that I don't want to, sir... it's just that... I'm on my period," I lied, lowering my gaze.

"I have no problem with that, my dearest wife. Come, let's go inside."

The door of the estate opened, and in the background, the living room sparkled with elegance. From an annex, a bubbling jacuzzi could be seen, a table with a bottle of champagne and two glasses ready to be served.

The atmosphere was warm, cozy, romantic... and for me, almost suffocating.

"The master bedroom is over there," he said, pointing to a wooden door at the end of the hallway. "You can change in there. What I want you to wear tonight is on the bed. Rest, take your time... and make yourself beautiful, wife."

I looked at him, perplexed, not knowing how to keep breathing.

"And you? Sir, what will you do?"

"Wait for you, darling," he smiled, showing his yellowish teeth. A shiver ran down my spine at the sight.

"Of course, Mr. Feldman," I nodded and turned to head for the room.

"Amelie," he called me.

"Yes, sir."

"You are a very beautiful woman. I know you will be a good wife. I'll see you at seven. Please, I want you to look sensual."

His insinuating tone provoked deep disgust in me.

"Of course, sir," I replied coldly before rushing to close the door behind me.

I fell, sitting down, leaning my back against the wood. I brought my knuckles to my mouth to stifle the sobs that overflowed, trembling with rage and pain.

My father was making me pay for my mistakes. Because yes, marrying Armando had been a monumental error.

I lifted my gaze toward the bed. On top, a tiny, provocative red lingerie. An outfit made to humiliate me. Disgusting old man! Did he really think I would wear that?

There was also essential oil soap and expensive perfumes. With fury, I threw everything onto the nightstand and collapsed into the sheets, crying inconsolably.

A buzzing in my purse made me react. The phone was vibrating. It was an unknown number.

"Hello," I answered out of inertia, trying to hide my broken voice.

"My love, why haven't you been answering me? I've been looking for you everywhere, darling."

"Armando?" My heart stopped for an instant. "What are you doing calling me?"

"I heard you married Rosalía's father. I know you, Amelie. I know you didn't do it for love, or for gain. We need to talk. I know I made a mistake, a huge one. I regret it, I want to be with you."

I let out a bitter, sarcastic laugh.

"And Rosalía?" I asked coldly.

"That woman is unbearable. She blames me because you married her father. She won't even make me a coffee."

"So, what you need is a maid? Pay for a service."

"No, my love, listen to me... I have plans for us."

Before he could continue talking, I hung up. I got up decisively, went to the bathroom, and got rid of the wedding dress. I stepped into the shower without looking back. I didn't know how long I spent under the water or how many hours I had been alone.

Finally, I put on the damn lingerie, painted my lips red, and sat down in silence, waiting, resigned to the cruel fate that awaited me.