Chapter 2 - The Serpent in the Suite
Mateo Silva arrived disguised as a consulting specialist, wearing a crisp charcoal suit, wire-rimmed glasses, and carrying a leather briefcase that looked like it belonged to a heart surgeon. He slipped into my hospital room with the silent precision of a ghost, locking the door behind him.
"You sound different on the phone, Mariana," Mateo said quietly, pulling a chair close to my bed and opening his briefcase. "When you told me your husband had you surgically sterilized without your informed consent, I assumed you were in shock. Looking at your eyes right now... you’re terrifying."
I pulled the micro-SD card from my shoe and handed it to him. "Play it through your encrypted tablet, Mateo. Track the ambient hospital noise signatures, the acoustic reflections, and the voice prints. Verify that it hasn't been altered."
Mateo inserted the card into a compact card reader linked to his encrypted laptop. Within seconds, the audio waveform spiked across the screen. Santiago’s cold, calculated voice filled the sterile room, echoing chillingly through the small speakers: “When my wife goes back to sleep, remove her uterus... Invent a diagnosis. Cancer, risk irreversível, anything. But do it.”
Followed by Dr. Althaus’s hesitant compliance, and moments later, Valeria’s honeyed laugh in the hallway outside.
Mateo stopped the playback. He sat back in his chair, slowly removing his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose. A slow, predatory smile spread across his face. "My God, Mariana. This isn't just medical malpractice or a messy divorce. This is criminal assault, conspiracy to commit battery, forced sterilization under false pretenses, and systematic fraud. If we play this right, we won't just take half his assets—we’ll dismantle the entire Ramírez Media conglomerate brick by brick."
Before I could answer, the sharp rap of a knuckle sounded against the door.
We froze. Mateo instantly minimized the audio software, pulling up a mock financial spreadsheet on his screen. I shoved the micro-SD card back beneath my shoe insole and leaned back against the pillows, letting my breathing slow into a ragged, sickly rhythm.
The door swung open, and Valeria Santos glided into the room.
She wore a pristine cream-colored Chanel dress that clung tightly to her waist, though a subtle, deliberate rounding of her lower abdomen was already emphasized by the fabric. She held a crystal vase filled with imported white orchids—the exact same flowers Santiago had sent me after the surgery. It was a psychological power play, an apex predator marking her territory.
"Mariana, darling," Valeria cooed, stepping up to the bed with a sickeningly sweet smile that didn't reach her cold, amber eyes. "I heard about the dreadful cancer diagnosis. How are you holding up? It must be so devastating to realize your body has completely failed you."
I stared at her, letting the silence stretch until the smile on her face began to twitch. Mateo kept his head down, silently typing on his laptop like an indifferent corporate auditor.
"Valeria," I said, my voice dropping an octave, carrying an icy resonance that made her take an involuntary half-step back. "You have grease on your designer dress."
Valeria gasped, instantly looking down at her skirt, frantically brushing at non-existent stains. "Where? I don't see—"
"Right over your stomach," I continued, cutting her off cleanly. "Though I suppose it's hard to keep things clean when you spend your entire life wallowing in the mud of other people's marriages."
Valeria’s head snapped up, her cheeks flushing bright crimson. The mask of the sweet, innocent influencer slipped, revealing the sharp, ambitious gold-digger underneath. She slammed the crystal vase down on my bedside table so hard the water sloshed over the rim, soaking Santiago’s white roses.
"You bitter, broken-down bitch," Valeria hissed, leaning in close so the hospital corridor security camera wouldn't catch her expressions, though she didn't care about Mateo. "You think you're still the queen of Ramírez Media? Santiago only kept you around because of your family name, but that expired years ago. I am carrying his real heir. By the time the divorce papers are processed, you'll be living in a studio apartment off the highway, begging for grocery money."
I didn't flinch. I didn't raise my voice. I simply looked at her swollen belly with a mixture of profound pity and absolute disgust.
"Enjoy the throne while it lasts, Valeria," I whispered, tilting my head. "Kings who build their kingdoms on stolen blood usually find that the guillotine is already waiting in the basement."
Before Valeria could retort, the heavy footsteps of Santiago echoed down the corridor, accompanied by the clatter of a food cart. Panic instantly flooded Valeria’s features. In a flash, her expression shifted from venomous rage to trembling vulnerability. She stumbled backward, letting out a sharp, theatrical gasp.
"Please, Mariana!" Valeria cried out loudly, tears magically welling in her eyes as the door handle began to turn. "I only came to wish you a speedy recovery! There's no need to be so cruel!"
Santiago burst through the door, his eyes wide with alarm, rushing directly to Valeria’s side and pulling her protectively into his arms.
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"Valeria! What happened? Are you okay?" Santiago demanded, glaring at me with sudden, vicious hostility.
I looked at my husband—the man who had cut out my organs while I slept—and smiled.
