Chapter 1 - The Wedding Night Ultimatum
On my wedding night, my mother-in-law threw a bucket filled with every man in the family’s dirty underwear at me: “Now you’re the wife. It’s your job to wash it.” I refused, and my husband hit me in front of her. I didn’t scream; I grabbed my suitcase and called my lawyer… without telling them who I really was.
—In this house, a wife serves the men. If you don’t like it, you can still leave.
Those were the first words Beatriz said to me alone, only hours after my wedding.
I was still wearing my white dress when she walked into the bedroom without knocking and dragged a blue bucket across the floor.
Gray water sloshed inside it.
So did Mauricio’s underwear.
His father’s.
His brother’s.
“Wash it by hand,” she ordered. “And tomorrow you get up early and make breakfast.”
For a second, I thought she was joking.
“Beatriz, I married Mauricio today. I wasn’t hired as the family maid.”
Her face hardened.
For two years, the Ortega family had known me as Valeria Cruz, an orphaned administrative assistant who rented a modest apartment.
What they didn’t know was that I actually chaired Horizonte Capital, a private investment fund managing billions of pesos.
I had hidden my wealth for one reason.
I wanted to know whether someone could love me without seeing a balance sheet first.
Mauricio had passed that test.
Or so I had believed.
He entered when his mother raised her voice.
“Tell your wife to stop acting like a princess,” Beatriz snapped. “She refuses to help the family.”
Mauricio looked at the bucket.
Then at me.
“Vale, just do what my mom says. Don’t start problems on our first night.”
I stared at him.
“You want me to wash your father’s and your brother’s underwear?”
“My mom did it her whole life. Now it’s your turn.”
“Then you wash it.”
Beatriz erupted.
“Did you hear how she spoke to you? Put her in her place!”
Mauricio had been drinking.
I could see it in his eyes before he crossed the room.
He grabbed my arm hard enough to throw me off balance.
“Don’t disrespect my mother again.”
“Let go of me.”
He didn’t.
His hand struck my face.
Pain flashed across my cheek, and I tasted blood at my lip.
Behind him, Beatriz said, “That’s how you teach a proud woman.”
I didn’t cry.
I didn’t shout.
I looked at the man I had married only hours earlier and understood something with terrible clarity.
The attentive Mauricio I thought I knew had lasted exactly as long as I remained convenient.
Then I bent toward the bucket.
Beatriz smiled.
She thought I was surrendering.
I wrapped both hands around the blue plastic rim, lifted the bucket, and dumped the gray water and dirty laundry over Mauricio.
He stood there soaked, underwear clinging to his clothes.
“This is the last time you’ll ever put your hands on me.”
I took my suitcase and computer.
Mauricio followed me toward the door.
“Go!” he yelled. “Let’s see how long you last without me. You’ll be back begging in a week.”
Outside, I requested a car.
“Tomorrow you’ll get the divorce papers.”
He laughed.
“With what lawyer? You can’t even afford a decent apartment.”
I said nothing.
May you like
A car pulled up to the curb.
I opened the rear door, placed my computer beside me, and climbed inside with my suitcase.
