Chapter 2 - THE SECRETS IN THE TABLET
I led Isabella upstairs to her bedroom, drawing a warm bath and gently scrubbing the dried dirt and grease from her bruised hands while she cried softly against my shoulder. I didn't ask her any more questions about the past three months. Not yet. She needed safety, warmth, and the certainty that her father was back home to stay.
Once she was dressed in clean pajamas and tucked safely into bed with her favorite storybook, her heavy eyelids finally drifted shut. The sheer emotional and physical exhaustion of the weeks of torment had taken their toll.
I kissed her forehead, switched on the nightlight, and closed her bedroom door quietly.
My next stop was the master suite.
Beatriz was already inside, frantically tossing clothes into a Gucci duffel bag, her hands shaking so violently she dropped a diamond tennis bracelet onto the carpet. She looked up as I stepped into the room, her eyes wide and desperate.
"Mateo, please," she sobbed, rushing toward me and trying to grab the lapels of my shirt. "Don't do this. We've been together for two years! It was just stress—the heat, the isolation here in Marbella... I lost my temper. It won't happen again."
I caught her wrists, pulling her hands away with effortless strength, and pushed her back toward the bed.
"Pack," I said coldly. "And while you pack, I want you to think about something."
I walked over to the mahogany vanity table where her personal tablet lay plugged into a charging dock. I unplugged it, grabbed it by the edge, and held it up.
Beatriz’s face went the color of ash. "What... what are you doing with that?"
"You always left your devices unlocked, Beatriz. You thought I was too busy closing deals in Dubai to check up on domestic matters," I said, pressing the home button. The screen lit up instantly, displaying her personal messaging apps. "I told you earlier—never react before you understand the board. I didn't just fly home early because the Dubai project wrapped up. I flew home because two days ago, one of my estate security cameras picked up audio from the terrace when you thought nobody was listening."
I tapped on a messaging thread labeled ‘Marcus’.
"Marcus?" I read aloud, scrolling down the screen as Beatriz stood frozen in absolute horror. "'The billionaire is still stuck in the Middle East. His brat is easy to control. Once we force him to sign the property transfer under the pretense of family trust restructuring, we'll drain the accounts and leave him with nothing...'"
The tablet slipped from Beatriz’s fingers, crashing hard against the bedroom floor, the screen shattering into a spiderweb of glass.
"You're working with Marcus Vance?" I whispered, the name of my fiercest corporate rival—a man who had tried to bankrupt my firm three times—sending a fresh wave of ice through my veins. "You weren't just abusing my daughter to vent your frustration. You were breaking her down to make her compliant for a legal asset transfer?"
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Beatriz dropped to her knees on the rug, her sobs turning into desperate, frantic pleading. "He promised me! Marcus said once we got the Marbella estate signed over, we'd go to the Bahamas! I needed the money, Mateo! My gambling debts—"
"You're done," I interrupted, my voice dropping into a register that brook no argument. "The police are already on their way. I called them from Isabella's room ten minutes ago. You and Marcus are going to find out what it's like to work for a living—behind bars."
