Camila smirked.
Diego picked up the signed pages and flipped through them. “See? Much easier when you don’t get emotional.”
You looked at him for a long, almost thoughtful moment.
Then you said, “Are you done?”
The question seemed to amuse him.
“Actually,” he said, “I was thinking maybe I’d say one last thing for closure.”
Camila laughed again. “Please do. Closure is healthy.”
Diego turned his chair slightly toward you, enjoying himself now that the paperwork was complete. “You really should see this as mercy, Isabella. I know you probably imagined you’d just stay attached to me forever. Nice apartment, nice dinners, nice last name. But you never belonged in my world. You don’t know how to dress for investor weekends. You ask the wrong questions at the right dinners. You still think loyalty matters more than timing.”
You folded your hands in your lap.
His eyes glittered. “And between us? You were always better suited to something smaller. Something quieter. You’re a good background person.”
Camila nearly choked laughing.
From the far end of the room came the faint sound of a cufflink touching wood.
Just once.
Diego didn’t notice.
He continued. “Honestly, I should thank you. Being married to someone with no family, no influence, no social instincts, and no real options reminded me exactly how far I’ve come.”
No family.
No influence.
No real options.
You felt something inside you settle, like the final piece in a lock clicking into place.
For months, your father had warned that Diego would not merely betray you. He would perform the betrayal. Men like that needed an audience even when they pretended privacy. They wanted witnesses so they could confuse dominance with dignity. When you told Alejandro you intended to go through with the divorce quietly, he asked only one question.
“Would you like me in the room?”
You thought about it for a full day before answering.
“Yes.”
