Chapter 3 - The Ring on the Marble Floor
Diego did not stand up immediately. He slowly turned his head toward the staircase, his hand still resting over Valentina’s.
The warmth that had softened his eyes a second ago vanished instantly, replaced by a dark, terrifying stillness that Marisol had never seen in him before.
"Paulina," Diego said softly. His voice did not carry anger; it carried something far worse—absolute finality.
"Don't 'Paulina' me!" she barked, descending three steps, her heels making a sharp, aggressive noise against the stone. "You’ve lost your mind! You’re listening to the sob story of a woman who cleans our toilets! She’s trying to scam you out of millions! Look at her! She probably slept with half the construction crew in Santa Fe and picked you to pay the child support!"
Marisol flinched, pulling Valentina’s head against her neck to shield her from the words.
Diego stood up slowly.
He didn't run up the stairs. He walked with a measured, predatory grace, stepping onto the first riser, then the second. Paulina’s confidence faltered slightly as he approached, her grip tightening on her designer handbag.
"You have five minutes," Diego said, stopping two steps below her, forcing her to look down into his eyes.
"Five minutes for what?" she sneered, trying to hold her chin high.
"To remove every single thing you own from my house," Diego said coldly. "Your clothes, your shoes, your jewelry, your pride. If anything belonging to you is still inside this mansion in three hundred seconds, my security team will throw it into the street."
Paulina’s breath caught in her throat. Her eyes widened in genuine disbelief. "Are you insane? We are getting married in three months! Our families have business contracts! My father owns thirty percent of the concrete supply for your Santa Fe tower!"
"Then tell your father to cancel the contract," Diego replied without blinking. "I would rather pour concrete with my bare hands than spend another second sharing a roof with a woman who speaks to a three-year-old child the way you just did."
"Diego!" Paulina shrieked, her regal composure shattering into frantic rage. "You can't do this! I am a Robles! My family built this city’s high society! You’re throwing away your reputation for a maid?"
Diego reached out, took Paulina’s right hand, and unclasped the four-carat diamond ring resting on her finger. He didn't pull violently, but his grip was iron. He slipped the ring off her hand and held it between two fingers.
"This house," Diego said, dropping the multi-million-peso diamond onto the marble floor, where it bounced with a sharp clink and rolled toward the bottom of the stairs, landing right next to Valentina’s duck socks, "was built by my hard work. My daughter belongs here. You do not."
Paulina stared at the ring on the floor, then up at Diego’s icy face. Tears of rage and humiliation welled in her eyes. "You will regret this, Diego Villaseñor! I will ruin you! I will make sure every bank in Santa Fe pulls your credit lines!"
"Try it," Diego whispered.
Paulina turned on her heel and stormed back up the stairs toward the master bedroom, screaming for her assistant on her cell phone.
Diego turned around on the stairs and looked down at the foyer.
Marisol was still standing near the kitchen entrance, holding Valentina tightly. She looked exhausted, pale, and terrified of the storm that had just broken over her head.
Diego descended the stairs, stopped near the bottom, and picked up the diamond ring from the floor. Without a second thought, he tossed it onto a nearby side table like a piece of useless gravel.
He walked over to Marisol.
"Come," he said gently, reaching out his hand.
Marisol backed away half a step. "Diego, no... she’s right. Her family is powerful. Your company... you can't just ruin your life for us. We can leave. We’ll go back to—"
"You are not going anywhere," Diego interrupted, his hand remaining extended in the air between them. "For four years, I lived in a house full of empty rooms, believing I was alone in the world. I am not letting you walk out that door again, Marisol."
"Diego—"
"Look at her," Diego said softly, gesturing to Valentina, who was staring up at him with those deep, dark eyes. "Look at my daughter, Marisol. Do you really think I’m going to let her sleep in a laundry room for one more night?"
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Marisol looked down at Valentina, then at Diego’s open palm. The years of fear, poverty, and hiding seemed to press against her chest, but beneath it, the quiet, persistent ember of the love she had once held for him flickered back to life.
Slowly, with trembling fingers, Marisol reached out and placed her hand in his.
