Two Hours Before My Wedding, My Fiancé Let His Best Friend Butcher My Mother’s Waist-Length Hair—When He Told Me Not to Make a Scene, I Took Off My Ring and Walked Away… / Chapter 5 / 68

Chapter 5 - Ultrasound in the Embers

A heavy silence descended upon the study. The grandfather clock in the corner ticked methodically, each chime marking the death of any lingering illusion I had ever possessed about the man before me.

"You really think you own me, don't you?" I asked softly.

"I own the ground you walk on," Adrián replied, his eyes narrowing. "Now give me your bag. Let me see what you took from the safe."

He lunged forward, his hand snapping out to snatch the leather straps of my backpack. I anticipated the move, sidestepping violently and swinging the heavy bag like a bludgeon. The hard leather corner struck him squarely across the bridge of his nose.

Adrián stumbled back with a pained grunt, clutching his face as blood welled between his fingers.

"You crazy bitch!" Bruno roared, lunging into the room after me.

"Touch me and I scream out this window until the entire avenue hears me!" I shouted, backing toward the heavy glass doors of the study's private terrace. I reached into my pocket and held up the pair of heavy tailor's shears I had slipped into my coat. The steel blades gleamed dangerously under the recessed halogen lights. "Stay back, Bruno! I mean it!"

Bruno paused, his eyes flickering toward the shears, measuring the distance. Camila rushed to Adrián’s side, dabbing his bleeding nose with a silk handkerchief, whining hysterically.

"Call the police, Adrián! Have her arrested! She’s dangerous!"

"She won't call the police," I said, locking eyes with Adrián, whose gaze was now dark with fury and embarrassment. "Because if the police come, so will the financial audit division. Isn't that right, Adrián? Shall we show them *Project Mariposa*? Shall we show the press how you traded your fiancée's company to cover an eight-million-dollar fraud in Tulum?"

Adrián’s body went completely rigid. The color drained from his face, leaving him a sickening shade of gray.

"Where did you get that?" he choked out, his voice hoarse.

"From your safe. The one protected by Camila’s birthday," I sneered, feeling a venomous satisfaction at the panic dawning in his eyes. "You sold my life's work before we even stepped onto the altar. You let her insult my mother, you let her destroy our family's heritage, all so you could play the big-shot developer with stolen money."

"Lucía... give me that folder," Adrián said, his voice dropping an octave, real fear creeping into the edges. "You don't understand the legal structure. It was a protective trust—"

"Save it for your father," I snapped.

I backed toward the desk, keeping the shears raised. With my free hand, I slid open the secret compartment beneath the desk blotter. I needed my car keys and my emergency cash. But as my fingers probed the dark velvet recess, my heart plummeted into an abyss.

The small white envelope was gone.

Inside that envelope had been the sonogram image I received two days ago: a tiny, blurred black-and-white printout showing the flicker of a heartbeat, along with the medical confirmation slip from Dr. Alarcón. I had planned to present it to Adrián tonight in our private suite as a wedding gift.

"Looking for this?" Camila’s voice purred.

I snapped my head toward her.

From the pocket of her designer cardigan, Camila slowly drew out the folded sonogram printout. A sickening, cruel smile played upon her painted lips.

"I came by this morning while you were at the salon," Camila said, her eyes gleaming with triumphant malice. "Adrián gave me the master key to check the floral arrangements. I found it in your little hiding spot."

"Give it to me," I breathed, my fingernails digging into my palms so hard the skin broke.

Camila tilted her head, watching me like a cat toying with a half-dead mouse. "You really thought you could trap him, didn't you? A cheap, back-alley pregnancy to force him into signing over his family's name?"

"Camila, what is that?" Adrián asked, his voice strained, looking between the paper in her hand and my face. "What are you talking about?"

"She’s pregnant, Adrián," Camila said, her tone dripping with mock pity. "Or at least, that's what this piece of paper says. But who knows whose bastard it really is? A girl who sleeps around in artisan workshops with laborers..."

Before she could finish the sentence, Camila took a gold-plated lighter from her purse. With a sharp flick of her thumb, a bright blue flame leapt to life.