CHAPTER 2: THE MASK HE THOUGHT SHE’D KEEP WEARING
She came back later with swollen eyes and a carefully blank face, telling Ethan a small lie about a flat tire. He scolded her with practiced self-pity, performing helplessness like a man convinced her guilt belonged to him.
Back at the house in Coyoacán, his twenty-two-year-old son, Tyler Reyes, had trashed the place—pizza boxes stacked high, beer cans rolling across the floor, dirty clothes everywhere. He spoke to Camila exactly like his father did: as if she were hired help, not family.
That night, after Ethan’s medication dragged him into sleep, Camila slipped into his study. A key hidden where only routine would remember it. A drawer he never imagined she’d dare open.
Inside were receipts that made her stomach twist: a bank statement revealing $70,000 he’d sworn didn’t exist, a $45,000 transfer to Tyler marked “gift,” and an insurance policy naming Tyler as the sole beneficiary—with a handwritten note about keeping Camila from “fighting” over the house.
She photographed everything, hands steady, heart numb. “You wanted a free servant,” she whispered into the dark. “Congratulations. You just hired your worst mistake.”
