
Marisol stood in the gleaming lobby of Reyes-Montenegro Tech's new headquarters, a champagne flute clutched tightly in her hand. Crystal chandeliers reflected off marble floors, creating an atmosphere of opulence that normally would have inspired her artist's eye.
"You look stunning tonight," Xavier whispered, appearing beside her in a tailored navy suit. "How are you holding up?"
"I'm playing my part," Marisol replied, her smile not reaching her eyes. "The devoted wife watching her husband's triumph."
Across the room, Santiago commanded attention in his bespoke charcoal suit, Cat hovering at his side like a shadow. The marketing director's crimson dress clung to her curves, her hand resting casually on Santiago's arm as they laughed with investors.
"She hasn't left his side all night," Marisol observed, the champagne turning bitter on her tongue.
Xavier's eyes narrowed. "That doesn't n


Marisol moved through their mansion like a ghost, methodically erasing traces of herself. Bank accounts closed, identity documents secured, personal treasures shipped to a storage unit under her new name.
"Miranda Lopez," she whispered, practicing her alias while deleting photos from her phone.
Santiago noticed her withdrawal, his attempts to reach her growing increasingly desperate. Texts went unanswered; flowers delivered to her gallery were left to wilt.
"You've barely spoken ten words to me in three days," Santiago said over breakfast, watching her over the rim of his coffee cup.
Marisol shrugged, not looking up from her tablet. "I've been busy."
"With what? You've canceled three gallery events."
"Planning takes time," she replied vaguely.
Santiago set down his cup with a sharp clink. "Is this about what happened at the headquarters opening? Marisol, you misunderstood—"
"Did I misun


Marisol sat across from her lawyer in his downtown office, sunglasses still on despite the dim lighting. Three days had passed since the anniversary gala, and each moment felt like walking through quicksand.
"Converting these assets to cash isn't suspicious yet," Javier explained, sliding papers across his mahogany desk. "But liquidating everything would raise red flags."
"I only need enough to start over," Marisol replied, signing where indicated. "Valencia isn't expensive."
"Your mother's hometown," Javier noted. "Sentimental choice."
Marisol removed her sunglasses. "A place Santiago would never think to look. I'll need the identity paperwork by Friday."
"That's pushing it," the lawyer frowned. "Disappearing isn't like the movies, Marisol. Have you considered confronting your husband instead?"
"With what? Vague texts and midnight meetings?" She shook her head. "I've spent my life waiting for people to leave me. This time, I'm leaving first."
Back at their penthouse, Marisol sorted through personal belongings, separating what to take from what to leave behind. In the closet, she found their wedding album, untouched for years.
The photographs captured a day of apparent joy—Santiago looking at her with adoration, her own smile radiant with hope. But as she flipped through pages, another face caught her attention.
There, at the reception, stood Cat in a burgundy dress, her expression murderous as she watched them dance. Marisol's hands trembled as she found more photos—Cat in the background at their engagement party, at gallery openings, always watching.
"She's been there all along," Marisol whispered to the empty room.
The doorbell startled her. Through the peephole, she saw Xavier shifting nervously.
"I was in the neighborhood," he explained when she opened the door. "Thought I'd check on you after the gala."
"You're a terrible liar," Marisol said, letting him in. "Santiago called you, didn't he?"
Xavier sighed. "He's worried. Says you've been distant."
"Funny how cheaters always notice when their partners pull away." She showed him the wedding photos. "Did you know about Cat?"
Xavier's expression darkened. "I was going to tell you when I saw her at the gala."
"Tell me what, exactly?"
He sat heavily on the sofa. "Cat and Santiago weren't just dating before you. She was..."
"What, Xavier?"
"Obsessed with him. They dated in college, and when he tried to end it, she wouldn't let go. Stalking, threatening suicide, sabotaging his other relationships."
Marisol's mouth went dry. "How do you know this?"
"Santiago told me when he started seeing you. He was terrified it would happen again."
"Yet he hired her," Marisol said flatly.
Xavier looked uncomfortable. "Maybe he thought enough time had passed? People change."
"Or maybe their affair never ended," Marisol countered, throat tight. "I found a second phone, Xavier. Secret messages."
"That doesn't sound like the Santiago I know."
"Do any of us really know him?" Marisol asked quietly.
Before Xavier could answer, the front door opened, and Santiago strode in, surprise registering at seeing Xavier.
"Am I interrupting something?" Santiago asked, eyes darting between them.
"Just catching up," Xavier said, standing awkwardly. "I should go."
After Xavier left, an uneasy silence settled between them.
"I have news," Santiago finally said. "We've been invited to the Morgan Island Retreat next weekend. Exclusive gathering of entrepreneurs and artists."
Marisol froze. Next weekend—when she planned to disappear. "I don't think I can make it."
"Can't make it?" Santiago repeated. "This is the networking opportunity of the year."
"I have the gallery opening in Chicago," she lied.
"Reschedule it," he insisted. "This is important to me, Marisol. I need you there."
"Why?" she challenged. "So I can stand beside you looking pretty while you network? Or is Cat attending too?"
His expression hardened. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"You tell me," Marisol fired back. "You're the one with secret phones and midnight meetings."
"For God's sake, not this again!" Santiago shouted. "You're becoming paranoid."
"And you're becoming a stranger!" Marisol's voice broke. "We barely talk anymore. You hide things from me. What happened to us?"
"Nothing happened! You're creating problems where none exist," Santiago ran his hands through his hair. "I've been working myself to death on Project Estrella, and instead of support, I get accusations."
"Then tell me what Project Estrella is!" Marisol demanded. "No more secrets!"
The tension was broken by Santiago's phone ringing. He glanced at the screen, and Marisol saw Cat's name.
"I have to take this," he said, already moving toward the door.
"Of course you do," Marisol whispered.
"We'll finish this later," Santiago called over his shoulder, already answering the phone. "Cat, what's the emergency?"
The door closed behind him, and Marisol stood alone in their living room, trembling with anger and hurt. A notification sound drew her attention to Santiago's tablet, left behind in his haste.
She hesitated only a moment before picking it up. His work email was open, with an attachment labeled "Estrella Final Plans—For Marisol's Eyes Only."
Her finger hovered over the file, morality battling curiosity. Curiosity won. The file opened to reveal architectural drawings of a beachfront property—a modern structure with sweeping glass walls facing the ocean. 
Notes in the margins indicated a gallery space, studio lighting, and "M's preferred working conditions."
Another file contained legal documents for a property in Valencia—the very city she planned to escape to—with both their names listed as owners.
Marisol sank onto the sofa, the tablet heavy in her hands. Was this Santiago's surprise? A dream studio in her mother's hometown? The coincidence seemed impossible.
Her phone buzzed with a text from the ghost consultant: "Identity package ready early. Can disappear by Wednesday if needed."
Marisol stared at the message, then back at the architectural plans. For the first time since finding the burner phone, doubt crept in. What if she was wrong? What if Project Estrella was truly a gift and not a cover for betrayal?
Or was this property just another beautiful cage, designed to keep her close while he continued his affair?
She thought of the photos, of Cat's watchful presence throughout their relationship. Of the secret phone and whispered conversations.
Marisol typed her response to the consultant: "Wednesday works. Send details."
She would proceed with her plan. But now, she needed to know exactly what Santiago was hiding—before she disappeared forever.

Marisol stood in the gleaming lobby of Reyes-Montenegro Tech's new headquarters, a champagne flute clutched tightly in her hand. Crystal chandeliers reflected off marble floors, creating an atmosphere of opulence that normally would have inspired her artist's eye.
"You look stunning tonight," Xavier whispered, appearing beside her in a tailored navy suit. "How are you holding up?"
"I'm playing my part," Marisol replied, her smile not reaching her eyes. "The devoted wife watching her husband's triumph."
Across the room, Santiago commanded attention in his bespoke charcoal suit, Cat hovering at his side like a shadow. The marketing director's crimson dress clung to her curves, her hand resting casually on Santiago's arm as they laughed with investors.
"She hasn't left his side all night," Marisol observed, the champagne turning bitter on her tongue.
Xavier's eyes narrowed. "That doesn't necessarily mean—"
"Don't," Marisol cut him off. "I know what I saw on that phone."
The crowd b

CHAPTER 3