“Get your things,” I told her.

Vanessa stepped forward.
“Don’t cause a scene. Mom’s upstairs with important guests.”

I met her gaze.
“Good. I want everyone to hear.”

I took Lucía’s cold hand and led her upstairs. The music still played, unaware everything was about to change.

No one in that house expected what was coming.

PART 2

The music stopped the moment I unplugged the speaker.

Voices faded. My mother, Estela, turned, annoyed, holding her wine glass. Rodrigo stopped laughing. Guests stared—first at me, then at Lucía, her sleeves still damp.

“What a lovely gathering,” I said. “Too bad the owner of this house was downstairs washing dishes like a servant.”

Silence fell.

My mother forced a smile.
“Don’t be ridiculous. She was helping.”

“There’s a difference,” I said, “between helping and being humiliated.”

Murmurs spread. Guests shifted uncomfortably.

Vanessa spoke quickly.
“She’s playing the victim.”

Lucía flinched slightly—and that ignited something in me.

“Don’t speak about her like she’s not here,” I snapped.

My mother set her glass down.
“Since you married her, we’ve had to maintain your image. She doesn’t know how to behave around important people.”