Adrián stared at the passport in my hand.

Then at the four suitcases.

Then back at me.

—No.

—What do you mean, no?

—You’re not coming.

I crossed my arms.

—Camila stole my father’s project files.

—Exactly. This is business, not tourism.

—I know.

—Five minutes ago you thought South Africans traveled on ostriches.

I coughed.

—That was before I had a business reason to go.

Adrián pinched the bridge of his nose.

—Valeria, stay home.

—Absolutely not.

Two hours later, I was sitting beside him on the private jet.

He hadn’t agreed.

I had simply gotten into the car before him.

His assistant, Mateo, spent the first ten minutes pretending not to notice Adrián’s murderous expression.

Finally, he opened his tablet.

—Miss Torres landed in Cape Town forty minutes ago.

—Who received her? Adrián asked.

Mateo hesitated.

—Someone from Blackstone Meridian.

Adrián’s expression changed.

I noticed immediately.

—Who are they?

—Competitors.

—That’s not the whole answer.

He looked at me.

—They’ve been trying to acquire your father’s company for eighteen months.

I sat straighter.

My father’s company?

Until that moment, I had thought Camila had stolen ordinary project information.

Mateo continued:

—The files contain the technical valuation for the Campos renewable-energy concession.

My smile disappeared.

That concession was my father’s largest project.

If confidential valuations reached a competitor before the financing round, they could destroy the negotiation.

—Why would Camila have access?

Neither man answered.

I looked at Adrián.

—Why?

His jaw tightened.

—Because someone inside your father’s company gave it to her.

I went silent.

So Camila wasn’t acting alone.

When we landed, three black cars were waiting.

Adrián spent the drive making calls.

I looked through the window, offended to discover there wasn’t a single ostrich carrying a businessman.

Then Mateo received a message.

—Sir, Camila isn’t at the hotel anymore.

—Where did she go?

—Blackstone’s regional office.

Adrián checked his watch.

—Arrange a meeting.

Mateo looked uncomfortable.

—They’ve refused.

Adrián smiled.

That was worse than when he was angry.

—Then buy the building.

I turned toward him.

—You can’t buy a building because someone refuses to meet you.

—Watch me.

Forty minutes later, Blackstone agreed to the meeting.

I decided not to ask what had happened in between.

We entered a conference room overlooking the city.

Camila was there.

She looked completely different from the woman at the party.

No delicate smile.

No apologetic expression.

She wore a dark suit and had my father’s confidential folder beside her.

When she saw me, her face changed.

—Valeria?

I smiled.

—Surprise.

Her eyes moved toward Adrián.

—You brought her?

—She brought herself.

I sat down.

—Give me my father’s files.

Camila laughed.

—Your father’s?

She pushed the folder toward me.

—You don’t even know what you’re protecting.

I reached for it.

A man at the opposite end of the table stopped me.

—Mrs. Montenegro, perhaps you should read page forty-two first.

Adrián immediately looked at him.

—Don’t involve my wife.

—Too late.

I opened the folder.

Page forty-two contained a shareholder structure.

Campos Energy.

My father’s name appeared at the top.

Then several investment companies.

And finally one beneficiary I hadn’t expected.

Me.

I frowned.

—Why do I own twenty-four percent?

Camila smiled.

—You really didn’t know.

I looked at Adrián.

He wasn’t surprised.

My stomach dropped.

—You knew?

Silence.

—Adrián.

—Your father asked me not to tell you.

I stood.

—Everyone seems very comfortable deciding what I should know.

—Valeria—

—Sit down.

To my surprise, he actually did.

I turned to Camila.

—Continue.

Her smile widened.

—Your grandfather created those shares for you. They become fully voting when you turn thirty.

My birthday was in nine days.

I slowly understood.

—Someone needs my shares.

—Exactly.

—Who?

Camila looked toward Adrián.

—Ask your husband why he married you eleven months before your twenty-ninth birthday.

The room became silent.

I turned.

Adrián’s face was unreadable.

—Tell me she’s lying.

He didn’t.

My chest tightened.

—Adrián?

Finally he spoke.

—Our marriage had nothing to do with your shares.

Camila laughed.

—Then tell her about the agreement with her father.

Adrián stood.

—Enough.

—No.

I looked at him.

—Show me.

For several seconds, he didn’t move.

Then he took a document from Mateo.

He had brought it with him.

That hurt more than I expected.

The agreement had been signed two weeks before our wedding.

My father promised Montenegro Group preferential investment rights in Campos Energy.

In return, Adrián promised to protect my shares from a hostile acquisition until I gained voting control.

I read it twice.

—So my father arranged our marriage?

—No.

—Then why is this dated before our wedding?

Adrián looked directly at me.

—Because your father asked me to marry you.

I felt ridiculous.

The four suitcases suddenly seemed funny compared with this.

—And you agreed.

—Yes.

Camila leaned back, satisfied.

—There you have it.

I closed the agreement.

—Why?

Adrián said nothing.

I laughed bitterly.

—Of course.

I stood.

—We’re done here.

He caught my wrist, then immediately released it when I looked down.

—Valeria, listen.

—I’ve listened enough.

I walked out.

He followed me into the corridor.

—I agreed to protect you.

—How romantic.

—Your uncle was trying to obtain your voting rights.

I stopped.

—My uncle Rafael?

Adrián nodded.

—Your father discovered someone had been falsifying shareholder proxies. If you remained unmarried and something happened to him before you turned thirty, Rafael could challenge control of your shares.

—So Dad gave me to you?

—No one gave me anything.

His voice sharpened.

—Your father offered me a contractual marriage.

I looked at him.

—And?

Adrián paused.

—I refused.

That wasn’t what I expected.

—What?

—The first time, I refused.

He took out his phone.

An old email appeared.

From my father.

“The arrangement can remain purely contractual. Valeria never needs to know.”

Adrián’s reply was underneath.

“No. If Valeria marries me, it will be because she chooses me.”

I stared at it.

—Then why did you eventually sign the agreement?

—Because three months later, you told me you wanted to marry me.

My throat tightened.

He continued:

—I signed only the protection agreement. Not the marriage contract.

Before I could answer, Mateo rushed toward us.

—Sir.

His face was pale.

—Camila’s files were a diversion.

Adrián immediately changed.

—Explain.

—While we were flying here, someone called an emergency board meeting at Campos Energy.

I froze.

—Who?

Mateo looked at me.

—Rafael Campos.

He handed me the tablet.

A shareholder notice filled the screen.

Emergency vote.

Transfer of executive control.

Scheduled for tomorrow morning.

My twenty-four percent was listed as represented by proxy.

I stared at the signature.

—That’s not mine.

—We know.

Adrián’s expression became ice.

—Who authenticated it?

Mateo swallowed.

—Valeria’s father.

I laughed once.

—Impossible. Dad would never—

Then I stopped.

My father’s signature looked genuine.

Adrián took the tablet.

—Call him.

Mateo didn’t move.

—Sir…

—Call him.

—We can’t.

My heartbeat accelerated.

—Why not?

Mateo turned the screen.

There was an airline manifest.

My father had left Madrid the previous night.

Destination:

Cape Town.

I looked back toward the conference room where Camila had been sitting.

The door was open now.

Her chair was empty.

So was the confidential folder.

Then my phone vibrated.

A message from my father’s number.

One photograph.

My father sitting beside Camila.

Behind them stood Rafael.

Underneath were six words:

“Valeria, do not trust your husband.”

A second message arrived immediately.

This time there was an attachment.

An old photograph.

Adrián.

My father.

And Camila.

All three standing together.

The date was two years before Adrián and I had supposedly met.

I slowly raised my eyes to my husband.

His face had changed.

—Adrián.

He didn’t answer.

—You told me we first met at my father’s charity dinner last year.

Silence.

I held up the photograph.

—Then why were you standing beside my father and Camila two years earlier?

For the first time since I’d known him, Adrián Montenegro had no cruel joke.

No insult.

No explanation.

And that frightened me more than anything Camila had stolen.