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Chapter Four: The Ex Factor
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2025-04-05 00:12:56Valeria had barely survived the penthouse dinner when her phone buzzed again the next morning.
Alejandro: Be ready at 6:00 p.m. sharp. Formal attire. Company gala. Do not be late.
She groaned. Another night of playing pretend, plastering on a smile while resisting the urge to punch him — or worse, kiss him again.
She hated how her lips still tingled from almost kissing him on that damn balcony.
She texted back:
Valeria: Only if you promise not to look at me like that again.
The typing bubble appeared. Then vanished.
Coward.
Later That Night – At the Gala
The Hotel Quinta Real ballroom was a wonderland of silver chandeliers, string quartets, and old money perfume. Valeria’s emerald green dress shimmered under the soft lighting, hugging her curves like it had been sewn onto her skin.
She felt Alejandro’s eyes on her the moment she walked in. He looked dangerously perfect in a navy tux, his dark hair slicked back, a glass of champagne in one hand.
“Nice of you to show up,” he murmured when she reached him.
“I was early. I just made an entrance.”
His eyes skimmed her figure with slow appreciation. “You certainly did.”
And just like that, the tension wrapped around them again — hot, tight, unmistakable.
But they didn’t have time to explore it. Not with investors around. Not with gossip-hungry executives circling like hawks. They clinked glasses, made small talk, touched elbows when necessary.
From the outside? They looked like a power couple straight out of a magazine.
On the inside? Valeria was two seconds away from either throwing a drink or throwing herself at him.
Then She Saw Her.
A tall, icy brunette in red. Striding toward them like she owned the floor. Piercing green eyes, confident smirk, designer heels that probably never touched dirt.
Alejandro stiffened.
Valeria noticed it instantly. “Who is she?”
He turned slightly. “Elena.”
“Elena who?”
“My ex.”
Oh.
Oh no.
Elena smiled sweetly. “Alejandro. You look... comfortable.”
“Elena,” he said tightly. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
“I live in Monterrey again. Consulting for the Madrid Project. You remember that, don’t you? We were supposed to run it together.”
Valeria stepped closer, slipping her arm around Alejandro’s. “We haven’t heard anything about it, have we, cariño?”
Elena blinked at her.
“And you are?”
“Valeria Mendoza,” she said, smiling with teeth. “Alejandro’s fiancée.”
A beat.
“Elena Torres,” the woman replied, gaze narrowing. “His former fiancée.”
Valeria’s heart dropped.
She turned to Alejandro, voice icy. “She’s what?”
He didn’t flinch. “It was years ago.”
“You never mentioned—”
“Because it didn’t matter,” he said, cutting her off.
“Oh, but it does now,” Elena said, feigning a pout. “I wonder if he’s told you how he hates sharing his closet space. Or how he once—”
“Elena,” Alejandro warned, his voice suddenly sharp.
Elena’s smile cracked. “Still the same. Cold. Controlling. Terrified of anyone getting too close.”
Valeria’s heart pounded. Not from jealousy — but from a sick, sinking feeling.
What if this wasn’t just fake for Alejandro — what if this was all he could do?
Later – On the Balcony Again
Valeria escaped for air, resting her palms on the stone rail. The music from inside drifted behind her. Soft. Elegant. Fake.
Just like them.
Alejandro joined her moments later.
“Why didn’t you tell me about her?” she asked.
“Because it ended badly. And I didn’t think it mattered.”
“It does. If we’re going to keep lying together, we need to stop lying to each other.”
He exhaled. “She left me the night before I was going to propose. Said I was emotionally unavailable. Said I only wanted a partner on paper, not in life.”
Valeria turned toward him. “Is it true?”
His jaw clenched. “I didn’t think so. Until you.”
She blinked. “Me?”
“You’re different. You challenge me. You don’t chase after my money or name. You don’t need me — and somehow, that makes me want you even more.”
Her heart flipped.
But she didn’t speak.
She couldn’t.
Because it was happening again.
That pull.
Like gravity had turned personal between them.
He stepped closer. “Valeria...”
But before anything could happen—
CRASH.
Someone stumbled into a table inside. Laughter. Broken glass.
The moment broke again. Always just before.
Hours Later – At Her Apartment
Valeria kicked off her shoes and tossed her purse on the couch.
She was halfway through removing her earrings when she noticed the envelope on the kitchen counter.
It hadn’t been there before.
She picked it up.
No name. Just her address. No return label.
Inside — a document.
Her heart froze.
Marriage Certificate.
Registry: Monterrey Civil Court.
Spouse: Alejandro Herrera Ramírez.
“What... the hell...?”
She scanned the paper.
Filed three days ago.
Signed. Stamped. Official.
No.
No. This was supposed to be pretend. A game.
Not real.
Her phone buzzed.
Alejandro: We need to talk. Now.
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