The boardroom smelled of polished wood and bitter coffee, a scent Celine had grown to associate with suffocation. Navarro HQ’s top floor gleamed with glass walls and chrome fixtures. Still, the atmosphere was heavy, oppressive, as if the weight of history itself pressed down her shoulders.

This was months before everything unraveled—before she slammed doors and walked away for good. But the fracture had already begun in this room under her father’s watchful eye.

Teofisto Navarro sat at ...