I signed.
After that, he changed. Distant. Cold. Focused only on accounts, keys, paperwork. Then suddenly, he announced he was marrying Vanessa—and shortly after, that phone call: he had taken my money and sold my home.
I walked into my study and opened the safe hidden behind Ernesto’s painting. Inside was my real protection.
Years earlier, my lawyer had warned me:
“A woman with assets and one heir must protect herself—even from what she never wants to imagine.”
So we created a holding company—Villaseñor Patrimonio. All my assets, including my apartment, belonged to that company. I was the sole administrator. Diego had a stake, but no authority. Nothing could be sold without my approval.
As for my money? He only knew about my small checking account. My real wealth was elsewhere, beyond his reach.
In short—
He hadn’t stolen my fortune.
He had stolen pocket money.
And worse—he had illegally sold property he didn’t own.
Fraud.
I made coffee and sat down. I had two choices:
Warn him… or let him learn.
I remembered his words: “See you. Or maybe not.”
And I chose.
The next day, I dressed with purpose. Navy silk dress, pearls, red lipstick—the one Ernesto said made me look unstoppable. Then I called my lawyer.
“Meet me at the club tonight. Bring the police. I’m filing charges.”
At eight o’clock, I arrived.
