Chapter 2: The Cold Night
The opulent bridal suite was silent save for the faint ticking of the antique clock on the wall. Lía sat on the edge of the bed, still in her silk nightgown, staring at the untouched side of the mattress where Alejandro should have been. The emptiness mirrored the void she felt in her chest.
She had barely seen him since the reception. He had excused himself again, muttering something about work, and hadn't returned until the guests were long gone. When he finally did, his words had been curt, his expression blank.
Alejandro stood in the doorway now, his tuxedo jacket slung over one arm, his tie loosened. "I'll be sleeping in the guest room," he said flatly, his voice devoid of emotion.
Lía stood, her arms instinctively wrapping around herself. "We need to talk."
"There's nothing to talk about," he replied, walking toward his desk without looking at her.
"How can you say that?" she pressed, her voice trembling. "This is our wedding night, Alejandro. Whether you like it or not, we're married. Don't you think we should at least try to—"
"To what?" He finally turned to face her, his cold eyes locking with hers. "Pretend this is anything other than a business deal? Spare yourself the effort, Lía. I don't expect anything from you, and I certainly don't intend to give anything in return."
His words struck her like a blow, but she refused to flinch. "I didn't choose this either," she said, her voice steady despite the ache in her chest. "But if we're stuck in this arrangement, the least we can do is find some common ground."
"Goodnight, Lía," he said, ignoring her completely as he picked up a file from his desk and walked out of the room.
The door clicked shut behind him, and Lía let out a shaky breath. She sat back on the bed, her hands trembling as she tried to process his indifference. Her eyes wandered to the desk Alejandro had just abandoned, the faint glow of a desk lamp illuminating a leather-bound album.
Curiosity, and perhaps a hint of desperation, drew her to it. She flipped the cover open and froze.
Photographs of a woman with long, dark hair and a radiant smile filled the pages. Sofía.
Lía had heard the name whispered by the guests at the wedding, had seen the way Alejandro's jaw tightened whenever she was mentioned. Now, staring at the captured moments of laughter and love, she felt her stomach churn.
In the photos, Alejandro looked like a different man—carefree, his eyes filled with warmth. Nothing like the cold, distant stranger she had married.
Lía closed the album and stepped back, as if distance could shield her from the painful realization. She wasn't just competing with Alejandro's indifference; she was living in the shadow of a love that still lingered.
The next morning, Lía woke early, her sleep restless and fragmented. Alejandro's side of the bed remained untouched, and a cold ache settled in her chest.
As she dressed for the day, her phone buzzed on the nightstand. She glanced at the screen, her heart sinking when she saw her father's name.
"Hello?" she answered hesitantly.
"Lía," Julio's voice was sharp, cutting. "How was the wedding night?"
Her grip on the phone tightened. "Fine," she lied.
"Good. Now listen to me carefully," he said, his tone growing stern. "You need to make this work, Lía. I don't care how you feel about Alejandro, or how he feels about you. Your job is to ensure that he stays committed to this arrangement."
"Father, I can't—"
"You will," Julio interrupted. "If that means you have to charm him, then so be it. This marriage is the lifeline for our family, and I won't have you jeopardizing it because of your pride."
Tears pricked at Lía's eyes, but she refused to let them fall. "I understand."
"Good," Julio said before hanging up without another word.
Lía sat on the edge of the bed, her father's harsh words echoing in her mind. Her fingers brushed the edge of the nightstand where the album had rested the night before. If this was her reality, then she needed to find a way to endure it.
Later that day, Lía found herself alone in the expansive living room of Alejandro's penthouse. The space was modern and sterile, much like the man who owned it. She had hoped for a conversation, perhaps a chance to break through his walls, but Alejandro had left early for work, leaving her to navigate the emptiness of their new home.
As the hours dragged on, Lía wandered through the rooms, trying to make sense of the life she had been thrust into. Every corner seemed to hold traces of Sofía—a forgotten scarf draped over a chair, a framed photograph tucked away on a bookshelf.
The realization stung. Alejandro hadn't let go of his past, and she was merely an intruder in the remnants of his former life.
Meanwhile, Alejandro sat in his office, his focus split between the documents on his desk and the incessant buzzing of his phone. A message flashed across the screen, and his heart skipped a beat when he saw the sender's name.
Sofía: I'm back in the city. Can we talk?
His hand hovered over the phone, his thoughts racing. The part of him that had tried to bury her memory wanted to ignore the message, but the ache in his chest told a different story.
"Mr. Morales?" his assistant's voice pulled him from his thoughts.
"Yes?" he said, placing the phone facedown on the desk.
"You have a meeting in five minutes."
"I'll be there," he replied, his tone clipped.
As the door closed behind her, Alejandro picked up his phone again. The message remained unanswered, but its presence lingered like a ghost in the room.
That evening, Lía prepared dinner, more out of habit than expectation. She wasn't sure if Alejandro would return in time to eat, or if he'd even bother to join her. Still, the act of cooking gave her a sense of normalcy, however fleeting.
The sound of the front door opening startled her. She turned to see Alejandro entering, his expression unreadable as he set his briefcase down.
"You're home," she said, her voice tinged with surprise.
He glanced at her, his gaze briefly softening before hardening again. "Don't read into it. I had no other plans."
Lía bit back a retort, reminding herself of her father's words. She served the food in silence, the tension between them palpable.
They ate in near silence, the clinking of utensils the only sound. Lía finally mustered the courage to speak.
"Did you have a busy day?" she asked tentatively.
"Yes," he replied curtly, not looking up from his plate.
She tried again. "Do you always work so late?"
"When it's necessary," he said, his tone dismissive.
Lía sighed, setting her fork down. "Alejandro, we can't keep living like this. If this marriage is going to work—"
"It's not a marriage, Lía," he interrupted, his voice sharp. "It's a contract. Don't fool yourself into thinking otherwise."
Her chest tightened, but she refused to let him see her break. "Fine," she said, standing. "Enjoy your meal."
She left the dining room, her footsteps echoing through the empty halls.
Later that night, Alejandro sat alone in his study, a glass of whiskey in hand. His phone buzzed again, and he stared at the screen, Sofía's message still unanswered.
Lía's words from dinner echoed in his mind, her frustration and pain cutting through his carefully built walls. But he couldn't give her what she wanted, not when his heart was still entangled with the past.
Finally, he opened the message and began to type.
Alejandro: Where and when?*
He hesitated for a moment before hitting send.
In the other room, Lía lay awake, her thoughts racing. She had tried to reach him, but Alejandro remained an enigma—a man trapped in a world she couldn't penetrate.
As the clock ticked toward midnight, one thing became clear: their cold, loveless union was only beginning, and the shadows of the past threatened to consume them both.
Alejandro stared at his phone, the reply from Sofía appearing almost instantly.
Sofía: Tomorrow night. Same place.
His chest tightened as he downed the rest of his whiskey, the weight of his decision settling over him.
Would he face the past or let it dictate his future?