Chapter 2 - The Confrontation at Ángeles
The VIP wing of Hospital Ángeles was silent, bathed in soft, amber lighting.
Valeria had been moved into a private suite on the top floor after the chief of neurology confirmed she had suffered from severe exhaustion, acute dehydration, and a stress-induced vasovagal syncope. Her vitals were stabilizing under intravenous fluids, but she remained in a deep, restorative sleep.
In the adjacent private waiting room, Lucía and Renata were curled up on a plush velvet sofa, wrapped in silk blankets provided by the hospital staff, finally overcome by sleep.
Santiago sat in a high-backed leather chair near the window, staring at the phone screen in his hand. He had just finished speaking with Elena Castañeda, Valeria’s mother.
The heavy glass doors of the waiting room slid open with a soft hiss.
Elena Castañeda stepped inside. At sixty-two, Elena maintained the rigid, aristocratic posture of a woman born into old Monterrey money—money that had vanished twenty years ago following her late husband's failed business ventures. She wore an elegant camel-hair coat, her grey hair styled impeccably, her expression guarded.
When her eyes met Santiago’s, she did not look surprised. She looked resigned.
"Where are my granddaughters?" Elena asked in a hushed tone, adjusting her pearl necklace.
"They're sleeping," Santiago said, his voice dangerously low as he stood up from his chair. He pointed toward the glass window overlooking Valeria's room. "And your daughter is hooked up to an IV because she was working herself to death trying to feed them."
Elena took a slow breath, stepping closer to the sofa to look at the sleeping twins. "Valeria was always stubborn. She refused to let me help her."
"With what money, Elena?" Santiago sneered, stepping into her line of sight, blocking her view of the girls. "Your family lost everything in '08. You’ve been living in a modest apartment in Contry for a decade. Meanwhile, my companies have built half the skyline of San Pedro. Why did Valeria vanish nine years ago?"
Elena squared her shoulders, looking up at the man who commanded the city's fortune. "Because you were going to marry Isabela Garza."
Santiago froze. "What?"
"Don't play naive, Santiago," Elena hissed softly, her voice venomous despite her low tone. "Nine years ago, your late father, Don Roberto Villaseñor, came to my home while you were in London negotiating the maritime merger. He brought your family’s attorneys."
Santiago felt a cold knot form in his stomach. His father, Don Roberto, had been a ruthless patriarch who viewed marriage as nothing more than a corporate merger. Before his death three years ago, Roberto had spent years trying to force Santiago into an alliance with the powerful Garza real estate dynasty.
"What did my father do, Elena?" Santiago demanded, stepping so close Elena had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze.
"He showed us the contract," Elena whispered, tears finally welling in her proud eyes. "He told Valeria that if she remained with you—a penniless freelance architect with no pedigree—he would use his influence with the state licensing board to permanently revoke her architectural credentials. He promised to blackball her from every firm in Mexico."
Santiago’s chest heaved. "And Valeria believed him?"
"She had to!" Elena snapped, her composure fracturing. "Valeria had worked her entire life to become an architect! But more importantly, two days after your father visited, Valeria found out she was pregnant. She went to your family's estate to tell you, but your father met her at the gates. He told her that if she had your child out of wedlock, he would use the state courts to deem her unfit, take the baby away, and lock her in legal battles until she was ruined."
Santiago felt as though the air had been sucked out of the room. He remembered that week in March nine years ago. He had been stuck in London for two weeks due to a sudden regulatory audit orchestrated by—he realized now with sickening clarity—his own father.
May you like
"She ran to protect them," Santiago breathed, the awful truth washing over him. "She ran from my father."
"She ran from the Villaseñor name," Elena corrected, looking him dead in the eye. "And I helped her forge the papers, move to a tiny rental house in Santiago, and hide her pregnancy. I swore to protect my daughter from your family’s ruthless world. And I would do it again."
