Chapter 4 - Diego’s Wedding Turns Into a TrialDiego Montenegro did not react like an innocent man.
He did not deny it fast enough.
He did not gasp.
He did not look wounded by the accusation.
He simply stared at Isadora with a hatred so old it had roots.
“You bitter old witch,” he whispered.
The chapel heard him anyway.
Camila stepped back from him as if his words had burned her.
Alejandro moved first.
In three strides, he reached Diego and seized the front of his white tuxedo.
“Say that again.”
Diego smiled.
“There he is. The real Alejandro. Not the polished billionaire. Not the savior of the family. Just another Montenegro animal.”
Alejandro’s fist tightened.
Elena saw the battle in his face.
The desire to destroy.
The discipline that held it back.
“Alejandro,” she said quietly.
One word.
His name.
He released Diego.
The fact that he obeyed her was not missed by anyone.
Isadora watched from her chair, stunned and furious.
Diego straightened his lapels.
“You all want a story?” he asked the guests. “Fine. Let’s tell stories.”
“Be careful,” Camila warned.
He turned on her.
“Do not speak to me.”
The bride went pale.
Diego faced the chapel.
“My father, Rafael, was weak. He embarrassed this family by falling in love with a maid. He planned to give her a name, a house, shares, legitimacy. And why? Because she cried beautifully? Because she let him play poor for an hour?”
Elena’s nails dug into her palm.
“You never knew my mother.”
Diego looked at her.
“No. But I knew what she represented.”
“And what was that?”
“Contamination.”
The word landed like spit.
Alejandro stepped toward him again.
Elena stopped him with a hand on his sleeve.
She did not know why.
Maybe because she needed to hear the monster speak.
Maybe because once a lie began confessing, interrupting it was a sin.
Diego continued.
“When my father died, everyone blamed old wiring. A tragic fire in the hunting lodge. But I was eight years old. I remember the smell of smoke. I remember my mother crying. I remember my grandmother telling everyone silence would preserve the family.”
Isadora’s mouth trembled.
“I protected you.”
“You protected the name,” Diego said. “You always protected the name.”
Alejandro’s voice was deadly soft.
“Did you set the fire?”
Diego laughed.
“I was eight.”
“You were old enough to confess now.”
Diego’s smile faded.
“I didn’t strike the match.”
Elena felt the room tilt.
“Who did?”
Diego looked at Camila.
The bride shook her head slowly.
“No.”
Alejandro turned.
“What does she have to do with this?”
Camila’s breathing quickened.
Diego’s eyes glittered.
“Ask her mother.”
A collective murmur moved through the guests.
Camila’s mother, Viviana Duarte, rose from the bride’s family pew. She was elegant, narrow-faced, wearing emerald silk and a necklace large enough to feed a village.
She did not look afraid.
She looked offended.
“This is madness,” Viviana said.
Diego pointed at her.
“She was there.”
Viviana laughed. “I was a guest of the family.”
“You were my father’s mistress.”
The chapel erupted again.
Camila slapped Diego so hard the sound cracked through the room.
“You filthy liar.”
Diego’s head turned with the impact.
Then he laughed.
“You knew.”
Camila’s eyes filled.
“I knew my mother loved Rafael. I did not know—”
“You knew enough to search the archives,” Alejandro said.
Camila looked at him.
And finally, the mask began to break.
“You don’t understand what your family did to mine.”
“My family?” Alejandro asked.
“Rafael promised my mother everything first. Then he married Sofia. A servant. A woman with no name.”
Elena stepped forward.
“My mother had a name.”
Camila looked at her with open hatred.
“Yes. And because of that name, my mother spent her life being called a discarded woman while Sofia Martinez was hidden like some tragic saint.”
Elena’s voice shook.
“So you came here to marry Diego for revenge?”
Camila smiled bitterly.
“I came here to take what Rafael promised my mother.”
“By marrying his son?”
“By becoming Montenegro.”
Isadora whispered, “Disgusting.”
Camila turned on her.
“No. Disgusting is what you did. You buried women, children, papers, marriages, and sins beneath this chapel and called it tradition.”
For one dangerous moment, Elena almost believed her.
Then Mateo, the injured archivist, spoke.
“She didn’t just search the archives.”
Everyone turned.
He struggled to sit upright.
“She removed pages. Changed inventory numbers. Replaced seals. She and Diego were looking for something specific.”
Alejandro looked at Camila.
“What?”
Her lips pressed together.
Diego answered instead.
“The codicil.”
Isadora made a small sound.
Alejandro’s face hardened.
“What codicil?”
The matriarch closed her eyes.
Diego smiled.
“Oh, he doesn’t know? Perfect. The great Alejandro Montenegro doesn’t know everything.”
Elena looked between them.
“What is a codicil?”
“A change to a will,” Alejandro said.
Diego bowed mockingly toward her.
“And not just any will. Our grandfather’s will. The one that states if Rafael left a legitimate child, that child inherits his full branch of the family holdings.”
Elena stopped breathing.
Diego’s smile widened.
“Which means, little maid, if that marriage is real, half of what I own belongs to you.”
No one spoke.
Then outside the chapel, sirens began to wail.
At first, Elena thought someone had called the police.
But Hector’s face changed.
He pressed his earpiece.
Listened.
Then looked at Alejandro.
“Boss,” he said. “The reception venue is on fire.”
Camila turned white.
Diego’s smile disappeared.
Alejandro looked at the bride.
“What did you do?”
Camila whispered, “Nothing.”
Then a security guard burst through the chapel side door.
“Sir, we found another body near the archive wing.”
Elena’s heart stopped.
“Who?”
The guard swallowed.
“Viviana Duarte’s driver.”
In his hand, he had been holding a message.
For Elena.
May you like
Written in red lipstick across an ivory wedding program.
MIDNIGHT WAS ONLY THE BEGINNING.
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