CHAPTER 7

Marisol's hands trembled as she tore open the unmarked manila envelope that had been slipped under their penthouse door. Inside, glossy photographs spilled onto her lap like poisoned confetti. "No," she whispered, her voice breaking as she sorted through images of Santiago and Cat entering various hotel lobbies, standing close, sharing intimate smiles. The final photo hit like a physical blow - an ultrasound image with Cat's name clearly printed at the top. Marisol dropped it as if burned, her chest constricting so tightly she could barely breathe. "Five years," she choked out to the empty room. "Five years of my life for this." She grabbed her phone, dialing her ghost consultant. "I need to move everything up. How soon can we finalize the documents?" Marisol spent the day in a fog of betrayal, mechanically packing essentials into an inconspicuous suitcase hidden in her art studio. When she heard Santiago's key in the lock that evening, she quickly composed herself. "Mari? Where