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Chapter Seven: A Dance with the Devil
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2025-04-05 00:25:27The invitation arrived in a sleek black envelope, sealed with gold foil and far too much drama.
The Annual Gala for Latinx Architects & Designers.
Valeria stared at the RSVP card like it might explode.
She’d been to events before — gallery openings, small design expos — but this? This was the Met Gala of architecture. And now she wasn’t just a guest.
She was Alejandro Herrera’s wife.
Even if only on paper.
Her stomach twisted.
The Night of the Gala
Valeria stood in front of the full-length mirror in a wine-red, silk satin dress. The slit was dangerously high, the neckline dangerously low, and the fabric clung to her like temptation itself.
When she walked downstairs, Alejandro stood at the base of the staircase waiting.
And for the first time, he forgot how to breathe.
“You look…” His voice cracked. “...like a beautiful mistake I’d gladly keep making.”
She rolled her eyes — but her cheeks flushed. “You’re full of lines, Herrera.”
“And you’re full of surprises, señora Herrera.”
At the Gala
The ballroom shimmered with crystal chandeliers and high fashion. Every eye was on them as they entered.
And Alejandro played the part of devoted husband flawlessly — arm around her waist, soft whispers in her ear, the occasional stolen glance that sent her pulse into overdrive.
She hated how easy it felt.
Everything was going fine until a familiar voice cut through the crowd.
“Well, well. Look who finally sealed the deal.”
Valeria turned — and found herself face-to-face with Elena Torres in a slinky emerald dress and a serpent’s smile.
“Elena,” Alejandro said tightly.
“Señora Herrera,” Elena purred to Valeria. “Tell me — what’s it like being married to a man with so many… unfinished chapters?”
Valeria lifted her glass. “Thrilling. Every day’s a plot twist.”
“Hmm.” Elena’s smile curled. “Be careful, cariño. Some plot twists end in heartbreak.”
With that, she sashayed away, leaving behind the scent of power and poison.
The Dance Floor
“Let’s dance,” Alejandro said abruptly, tugging Valeria toward the floor.
She resisted. “Alejandro, I’m not—”
“I need to touch you, Valeria.”
That stopped her.
He looked down at her, eyes burning. “Just this once. No act. Just us.”
She nodded once.
And then they were dancing — slowly, intimately — his hand on the small of her back, her fingers brushing the sharp line of his jaw.
Her body betrayed her. Melted into him. Matched his rhythm.
“I hate that you make me feel this way,” she whispered.
“I hate that I want to kiss you more than I want to breathe,” he whispered back.
Her heart skipped.
But she didn’t pull away.
Not when his fingers traced gentle circles against the exposed skin of her lower back.
Not when he leaned in like he might kiss her in front of a hundred people.
And definitely not when he whispered something she wasn’t ready for:
“There’s something you don’t know about me.”
Later That Night – Herrera Mansion
Valeria sat at her vanity, still in the red dress, heart still racing.
Alejandro hadn’t kissed her.
And that line — what did it mean?
There’s something you don’t know.
A memory stirred. Something Elena said…
Unfinished chapters.
She opened her laptop and began to dig.
Then she found it.
A blurry image from seven years ago:
But not just any woman.
A bride.
Valeria stared.
The article was in Spanish. The headline read:
La boda secreta del heredero Herrera termina en escándalo.
The secret wedding of the Herrera heir ends in scandal.
She translated quickly.
He was married before.
And worse?
No one knew what happened to his wife.
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