Chapter 2 - The Poison in the Honey
Twenty minutes later, Alejandro stepped out of the study, holding the pink doll in his left hand. His face was a masterclass in corporate deception—relaxed, mildly tired, smelling faintly of high-end cologne, looking exactly like a wealthy husband whose travel plans had been inconveniently interrupted by bad weather.
He walked into the family room.
The metronome was gone. The heavy dictionary was back on its mahogany shelf.
Renata was sitting on the rug, her little legs crossed, staring blankly at a set of wooden geometry blocks. Estefanía sat on the plush sofa nearby, gracefully sipping a cup of white tea while reading an art magazine.
The picture of suburban elegance.
"Darling?" Estefanía gasped, looking up with an immaculate expression of surprised delight. She immediately set her tea cup down and stood up, her silk pants swishing softly as she glided toward him. "What happened? I thought you were on your way to Houston!"
"Storm rolled in over the Gulf," Alejandro said smoothly, allowing her to wrap her arms around his waist and press a soft kiss against his cheek. He forced every muscle in his neck not to recoil from her touch. Her perfume—sweet jasmine—made his stomach turn. "All flights out of Toluca are grounded until tomorrow morning."
"Oh, what a pity for the deal!" Estefanía cooed, resting her hand against his chest, her eyes sparkling with practiced sympathy. "But what a blessing for us! We get to have you home for dinner."
"Yes," Alejandro murmured, his dark eyes shifting past her shoulder to focus on his daughter. "A true blessing."
Renata hadn't moved. She kept her small head bowed, her tiny fingers clutching a red triangle block so tightly her knuckles were white. She didn't jump up. She didn't laugh. She didn't run to him like she used to.
She was waiting to see if looking at her father was allowed today.
Alejandro felt a sharp, agonizing stab in his lungs. He gently disengaged from Estefanía’s embrace and walked across the room, dropping down onto his knees directly in front of the little girl.
"Hey, my little star," Alejandro said softly, his voice dropping into the deep, warm tone he always used when they were alone. He reached out and held up the pink doll. "Look what I found at the airport shop."
Renata’s eyes flickered upward. For a fraction of a second, a flash of pure, childish joy lit up her big dark eyes. She reached out a small hand toward the doll's shiny dress.
"Alejandro, sweetie," Estefanía’s voice cut through the air, smooth as glass. She stepped right beside them, her shadow falling over the child. "Remember what the pediatric specialist said about overstimulation? Renata had a very difficult morning with her sensory exercises. She’s... quite fragile today. Giving her rewards right now might confuse her routine."
Renata’s hand froze mid-air. Her tiny fingers retracted into her gown sleeve. She slowly looked up at Estefanía, her eyes filled with an unspoken, terrifying dread, before lowering her chin back to her chest.
"Fragile?" Alejandro asked, standing up slowly, turning his full height toward Estefanía. He towered over her, his shadow dark and heavy. "She looks hungry, Estefanía. Her face is pale."
Estefanía let out a soft, melodious laugh, waving her hand dismissively. "Oh, you know how soft-hearted you are, Alejandro! You see her for five minutes between flights and forget all the hard work I put into her health! The detox program Dr. Peralta prescribed is working wonders. Her digestion is finally stabilizing, but her system is extremely delicate. No sugar, no heavy starches, and certainly no emotional chaos."
Dr. Peralta.
Alejandro noted the name instantly. Peralta was Estefanía’s personal gastroenterologist—a slick, high-society doctor in Polanco whom Estefanía had insisted on hiring two months ago, firing Renata’s long-time pediatrician under the claim that he was "outdated."
"Of course," Alejandro said, his face an unreadable mask. "You always think of everything, don't you, Estefanía?"
"I only want what's best for our family, darling," she purred, leaning up to stroke his jawline. "Why don't you go upstairs and take a warm shower? I'll have Lupita bring you some espresso in the study."
"I think I'll stay right here with my daughter," Alejandro replied, his voice calm, but with an underlying weight that made Estefanía’s eyes narrow slightly. "In fact, I think Renata and I will have lunch together in the garden."
Estefanía’s smile stiffened by a fraction of a millimeter. "Alejandro, her diet—"
"Lupita!" Alejandro called out, his voice booming through the hallway.
The housekeeper appeared almost instantly at the archway, her apron trembling. "Yes, Mr. Alejandro?"
"Prepare a bowl of chicken broth, warm white rice, and a glass of fresh apple juice. Bring it to the garden gazebo in ten minutes."
Estefanía took a sharp, quick breath. Her eyes flashed with a sudden, dangerous coldness before she quickly covered it with a pouted lip. "Alejandro, really! You're undermining my authority in front of the staff. If we give her starches now, she'll be screaming with stomach cramps by five o'clock, and I'll be the one who has to stay up all night soothing her while you sleep!"
"Then I will stay up with her," Alejandro said, looking Estefanía straight in the eyes. "I am her father, Estefanía. I think I can handle a bowl of rice."
He didn't wait for her response. He reached down, gently scooped Renata up into his broad arms, and tucked her small, cold body against his chest.
Renata gasped softly, burying her face into the crook of his neck, her tiny hands clutching his crisp white collar like a drowning sailor gripping a lifeline. He could feel her heart hammering against her ribs—fast, erratic, terrified.
As Alejandro walked past Estefanía toward the French doors leading to the garden, he caught a glimpse of his wife’s reflection in the hall mirror.
Her sweet, loving smile was completely gone. Her face was twisted into an expression of pure, unadulterated venom as she glared at the child tucked in his arms.
May you like
Alejandro pushed open the glass doors and stepped out into the cool afternoon air.
The war had officially begun.
