A week later, he increased her salary.
She stared at him, confused.
—Exactly why.
Her eyes lowered, not in submission, but in quiet emotion. Gratitude, not expectation.
That Sunday, as Julia dusted the bookshelf, Enrique’s phone rang.
A name flashed on the screen.
Fernanda.
And for the first time in a long while, he felt that something—something long buried—was about to change.
Fernanda. His ex-wife. A former model. Elegant. Polished. The woman who had once grown bored of him the way one tires of an outdated coat—and left for Paris with a wealthier man.
—Enrique… it’s me. I’m coming back. I made a terrible mistake leaving you. We need to talk.
