Part 2: Álvaro, a successful businessman used to control and admiration, couldn’t handle being told no—especially not by me.
I had been there from the beginning. I gave up my career as an architect to support him, to help build his success, to manage everything behind the scenes while he thrived.
But that night, the moment I refused to submit, he lost control.
It didn’t matter that I was his wife.
It didn’t matter who might see.
He treated me like I was nothing—like someone beneath him. He shouted, insulted me, and without hesitation, forced me out the door. No clothes. No shoes. No dignity.
The cold hit instantly. The door slammed shut. Rain poured down in sheets.
I stood there, frozen, unsure whether to scream, cry, or collapse.
My cheek throbbed. My pride was shattered. My heart felt empty.
Then, from the darkness, a voice called:
“Camila…”
“Who did this to you?”
Camila didn’t answer.
She didn’t need to.
Diego lifted his gaze toward the house. Lights on. Curtains shifting. Shadows behind the glass.
He already knew.
He had always known.
Only Camila had refused to see it.
“Come on,” he said firmly. “You’re leaving with me.”
She hesitated.
Her eyes drifted to the door—that place she once called home, now nothing more than a prison.
“I have nothing,” she whispered.
Diego clenched his jaw.
“Camila…”
A voice cut through the rain.
She looked up, her heart racing. Rain poured down her face, mixing with tears she could no longer tell apart—pain or anger.
Under the dim yellow streetlight, a figure rushed toward her.
“…Diego?”
Her voice trembled.
Her brother. The one she hadn’t seen in months—because Álvaro had always found ways to keep them apart.
