Six years ago, the day that should have been the happiest of my life became the beginning of my greatest betrayal.
My name is Rebeca Moreno, and I was about to marry Nicolás Álvarez, a successful businessman, admired by everyone, the man who promised to build a family with me.
My younger sister, Estefanía, had always lived in my shadow. I was the responsible one, the discreet one, the one who never asked for anything. She, on the other hand, shone, demanded attention, and never accepted “no” for an answer.
I never imagined she would take away the man I loved.
It all happened in silence. Glances, hidden messages, “innocent” encounters. Until one day, Nicolás confessed the truth to me with a coldness I will never forget.
“I’m sorry, Rebeca… I fell in love with Estefanía.”
No apology could repair the damage. I lost my fiancé. I lost my sister. And, in a way, I also lost my mother, Elena, who always insisted that “the family must forgive.”
I left Seville for Barcelona, determined to start over. I threw myself into my work as an architect, developing projects, buildings… and a life where love was left out of the picture. I learned to be alone. I learned not to need.
Six years later, I returned to Seville for only one reason: my mother’s funeral.
The air in the church was heavy with memories and unresolved silences. I was dressed in black, serene, ready to say goodbye without recriminations. Until the door opened.
Estefanía and Nicolás entered.
She wore an expensive dress, a cruel smile… and a diamond ring that shone brighter than the altar. She approached me, oblivious to the pain of the moment, and whispered just enough for others to hear:
“Poor thing… 38 years old and still alone.” I kept the man, the money, and the mansion.
Old Rebecca would have cried.
But I smiled.
I looked her in the eyes and said calmly,
“Have you met my husband yet?”
Her smile froze.
I turned my head and raised my hand.
“Honey… could you come here for a moment?”
A murmur rippled through the church.
Because when he approached, Estefanía’s face paled.
And everyone wondered the same thing:
👉 Who was Rebecca Moreno’s husband, really… and why had his mere presence just changed everything?
The man who approached me was understated. A simple dark suit, a confident posture, a serene gaze. Daniel Rivas.
My husband.
“Nice to meet you,” he said politely. “I’m Daniel.”
Estefanía studied him closely, trying to decipher him. He wasn’t famous. He wasn’t a millionaire at first glance. Nicolás breathed a sigh of relief… too soon.
After the funeral, we met at the old family home. The atmosphere was tense. Estefanía didn’t hesitate to pounce.
“So… you got married?” she said with a forced laugh. “What a surprise. What does your husband do?”
Daniel looked at me. I nodded.
“I’m an anti-corruption prosecutor,” he replied. “I work for the National Court.”
The glass of wine trembled in Nicolás’s hand.
Estefanía frowned.
“And is that… important?”
Daniel stared at her.
“It depends on who you ask.”
During dinner, the conversation turned to business. Nicolás spoke arrogantly about real estate investments, offshore companies, “tax optimization.”
Every word was a crack.
Later, Daniel took my hand.
“Rebeca… there’s something I need to tell you. Your ex… has been under investigation for months. Money laundering. Fraud. Shell companies.”
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