Mrs. Rivas’s tone shifted—no more pretending, no more etiquette. Just entitlement.
“Oh… you saw Instagram? Good. Saves me the trouble of explaining.”
Lucía’s jaw tightened.
“Why?” she asked quietly. “How could you do this behind my back?”
“Behind your back?” Mrs. Rivas laughed. “Lucía Navarro, what have you given my son in five years? You can’t even give us grandchildren. Daniel is our only son. He needs a lineage.”
The insult hit like a blade… because Daniel had always refused testing. Always claimed he was “too busy.”
Yet somehow, the blame had always drifted back to Lucía.
Lucía swallowed. “Then why a secret wedding?”
“Because you’d never allow it,” Mrs. Rivas snapped. “You’re selfish. Married to your career. Clara is wife material. And most importantly—she’s fertile.”
Then she dropped the next bomb like it was gossip:
“She’s already two months pregnant. With Daniel’s baby.”
Lucía’s blood turned to ice.
Two months meant this wasn’t new.
It meant every trip had been a lie.
It meant betrayal had been living inside her home for a long time, wearing her husband’s face.