At Isabella’s feet sat a half-filled plastic sack of crushed cans.
His ex-wife—the woman he had sworn forever to—was collecting recyclables to survive with children he never knew existed.
“Look at you, Isabella Moreno!” Camila shouted out the window. “Digging through trash where you belong. Waiting for a handout?”
Isabella said nothing. She didn’t even glance at Camila. She only looked at Alejandro.
Her eyes held no anger—just a sorrow so deep it stole his breath.
“Drive,” Camila hissed. “Don’t let that misery near us. And those babies? Probably some other man’s mistake, right?”
The word mistake dragged him back a year.
The marble foyer of his mansion in Houston.
Documents scattered across a glass table—wire transfers worth hundreds of thousands, supposedly authorized by Isabella. Blurred photos of her entering a hotel with another man. And the final blow: his late mother’s emerald necklace, missing from the safe and later “found” inside Isabella’s suitcase.
He remembered her on her knees, crying.
“It wasn’t me, Alejandro. Camila has always hated me. She’s lying. Please… I’m—”
He never let her finish.
Blinded by pride and humiliation, he turned cold.