Chapter 2 - THE 2:12 PM FRAME-UP
The blue light of the monitor cast a harsh, ghostly glow across Héctor’s face as he stared frozen at the screen.
The time stamp in the corner of the video read 2:12 p.m.
The camera angle was fixed on the rear utility corridor, right outside the pantry where Rosalía kept her cleaning supplies and apron. On the screen, Rosalía wasn't even in the room. She was out on the terrace, struggling to pull the heavy garden hose away from a rosebush so she could wash the patio stones before the afternoon heat peaked.
Then, the door to the master suite clicked open.
Paulina stepped into the frame.
She wasn’t wearing her usual relaxed afternoon loungewear. She was dressed in a sharp, structured silk blouse, her diamond earrings catching the overhead LED lights. But it wasn’t her outfit that made Héctor’s breath catch in his throat—it was what she was holding.
In her right hand, she gripped the 850,000-peso diamond bracelet—the very piece of jewelry she claimed Rosalía had stolen from her jewelry box upstairs.
Héctor watched, his pulse pounding in his ears like a sledgehammer against ribs, as Paulina looked around the empty hallway. She checked left. She checked right. Her movements were calculated, cold, and entirely deliberate.
She walked straight to Rosalía’s open canvas market bag hanging on the utility hook.
With a swift, practiced motion, Paulina slipped the diamond bracelet deep inside the lining of the bag, burying it beneath a spare rag and a pair of rubber cleaning gloves. Then, she stepped back, smoothed down her skirt, and let out a small, satisfied smirk before turning around and walking away.
She had planted it.
Every single word Paulina had told the police—every theatrical tear, every condescending remark about “people like her,” every accusation thrown at the innocent woman who had loved his children—was a lie. A cold, premeditated, malicious frame-up.
Héctor slammed his fist against the mahogany desk so hard the heavy glass inkwell jumped.
“Maldita sea,” he hissed, the curse tearing from the deepest part of his chest.
How could he have been so blind? For four years, he had worked twenty-hour days, building his real estate empire across Monterrey and San Pedro Garza García, believing that his money could buy a fortress of peace for his family. He had given Paulina everything—black-card allowances, luxury cars, designer wardrobes, staff to handle every domestic chore—trusting that her socialite exterior hid a mother's heart.
Instead, it hid a hollow, ruthless predator.
But as the heavy weight of the betrayal settled over him, Héctor remembered the final thought that had flashed through his mind before he rewound the tape.
His wife had done something far worse than accuse an innocent woman.
Planting the bracelet was bad enough to send an innocent mother of three to prison for years. But why go to such extreme lengths to get Rosalía out of the house today? What was Paulina so desperate to hide that she needed the most trusted, observant person in the mansion out of the picture immediately?
Héctor’s fingers hovered over the keyboard.
He didn't just look at the utility corridor cameras anymore. He opened the multi-screen grid.
All sixteen cameras.
Simultaneous playback.
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He set the clock back three days, watching the microscopic details of his household unfold across the sixteen monitors like a spiderweb of secrets finally coming to light.
And at 3:45 p.m., two days prior, in the children’s playroom, Héctor found the dark, sickening answer he had been dreading.
