CHAPTER 4

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 misunderstand the hotel rooms too?" she cut in, finally meeting his gaze. His expression tightene