Maria De La Cruz POV

“Emilio, stop.”

He didn’t. His lips moved down my neck, kissing every angle of my neck.

I gasped as my fingers curled into the bedsheet. I tilted my head to the side, my eyes squeezed shut, fighting the pull of him.

“Emilio, I said stop!” I yelled this time.

He froze, looking at me and looking confused.

“You okay?” he asked quietly, squeezing his brows.

I pushed him by his chest, and he rolled to the side, landing on the other half of the bed. I sat up, breath still uneven, heart pounding for reasons that had nothing to do with passion anymore.

My hands moved to straighten my dress as my fingers trembled.

“What's wrong, Maria?” He sat up, looking at me. “Are you gonna tell me what it is, or are you just gonna keep playing these games?”

I didn’t look at him. I couldn’t.

“I have somewhere to be, Emilio,” I said, adjusting the strap of my dress and turning my back to him.

My fingers smoothed down the fabric like it mattered. Like it would somehow settle the mess inside me.

“Where?” he asked, still watching me.

“When did I start owing you an explanation about where I go and what I do?” I asked, tilting my head.

“Wow. Just... wow.” He shook his head, standing up from the bed as his hands moved to smooth out his wrinkled shirt.

“You know what they say about people, huh?” He glanced at me. “That money changes them? Yeah... I’m starting to believe it now.”

I inhaled sharply, my chest tightening at his words. Before I could respond, he was already walking toward the door.

“Emilio, wait,” I said, taking a step forward, trying to reach him.

But he didn’t wait.

He reached for the handle, yanked it open, and didn’t look back. The door slammed shut behind him with a thud just before I could get a hold of it.

I let out a slow, shaky breath, running a hand down my face. I hated this. Hated that I’d hurt him. Hated that I had to.

The last person I wanted to hurt was Emilio.

But I was in a mess — a deep, twisted mess with no clear way out. And he didn’t deserve to be dragged into it. I needed to sort it out myself.

I turned toward the mirror, catching my reflection in the glass. My hair was also in a mess after our little romance.

I sighed and reached up to fix it, twisting it back into a loose bun.

Focus, Maria.

I moved to the dressing table, grabbing my keys sharply.

I left the room without a second glance, walking down the stairs.

I stepped outside and unlocked my car. I slid into the driver's seat, started the engine and hurried out.

The drive was a long one but it was needed too. No matter how hard I tried to focus, my mind just couldn't leave Emilio and the look on his face when he left my room.

I reached Alfonso’s office just as the sun dipped lower in the sky.

I had only been to Alfonso's office just once. I escorted Gonzalo Mendoza to his office when he went to sort out a deal with him.

That was the first and last time.

“Do you have an appointment?” His secretary asked as I got to the front desk.

“No, but I—”

“Then I’m afraid you’ll have to book one.” She cut me off. “Mr. Alfonso doesn’t take walk-ins.”

I stood there for a moment, letting her words settle like dust in the air. She’d cut me off. Me. Her mistake.

I stepped forward slowly, placing my palms flat on the counter as I leaned in just a little.

“Seems you’ve forgotten this face,” I said softly, tilting my head like I was giving her a chance to correct herself.

“I’m Maria De La Cruz Mendoza,” I said, “The last wife of the late Gonzalo Mendoza.”

Her eyes went wide, as her face shot with embarrassment as she shot up from her seat like it had caught fire.

“Oh! Oh! I— I’m so sorry, Mrs. Mendoza!” Her words tumbled out in a rush.

I watched her fumble. I didn’t have to say anything. The name was enough.

That was the advantage of being a Mendoza.

The name carried power, fear. It didn’t matter if the man himself was gone. His shadow still stretched long over everything and everyone.

People bowed when they heard it. They always did.

“Wait here, ma’am,” she said, almost breathless. “I’ll let Mr. Alfonso know you’re here right away.”

She picked up the phone, eyes darting toward me like she was afraid I’d disappear and reappear behind her.

I stayed where I was, calm, patient, watching her with the same quiet detachment I’d learned from Gonzalo himself.

Never rush. Never chase. People moved faster when you didn’t.

Her voice was hushed as she spoke on the phone, stealing glances at me like I was a wild animal she didn’t want to spook.

After a few nods and murmured agreements, she hung up.

“Mr. Alfonso will see you now,” she said with a smile on her face.

“Thank you,” I adjusted the strap of my dress, lifted my chin, and walked past her without another glance.

The world bends for a Mendoza.

It always has. It always will.