My husband caressed the belly of his pregnant lover and said that at last he would have an heir… but a letter changed his empire forever.
The Le Marceau restaurant had always been the epitome of power and elegance. Golden lights, fine crystal glasses, and a piano that whispered jazz as if nothing bad could happen there.
But for Isabel Cortés, that night was a slow, public execution.
Before her stood Héctor Valdés, her husband of eleven years. Impeccable, confident, cruel.
Beside him, without the slightest shame, stood Claudia. His lover. Seven months pregnant. A tight green dress. One hand on her belly… like someone showing off a hard-won trophy.
“Let’s be realistic, Isabel,” Héctor said without even looking at her. “An empire needs a true heir.”
He pushed some documents toward her. Isabel recognized them immediately: a new inheritance structure. Two names were crossed out with a red line.
Sofía and Elena.
Her daughters.
“They’re just girls,” Hector continued, sipping his wine. “They grow up, get married, leave. They don’t guarantee a legacy. The future is here.”
He bent down and kissed Claudia’s belly, slowly, proudly.
Some of the guests looked uncomfortable. Others pretended not to see.
“Finally, I’ll have a son,” he said. “A real heir.”
Claudia smiled smugly.
“Our son will carry your name with honor,” she whispered. “I was able to give you what you needed.”
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