Worst of all, she had fallen in love during that counterfeit week of care.
She had lost sleep, prayed for recovery, imagined an impossible future. Tears slid down as she read the final document: a plan to “gradually reveal” the truth to minimize relationship damage.
Even after the deceit, he had scripted how to handle her. Carmen restored everything, went to her room, packed her bags, left a formal resignation on the kitchen desk, gathered her few belongings, and called a taxi. At 3:00 a.m., she slipped out for the last time. But Alejandro was awake.
Guilt—and growing feelings for Carmen—kept him from sleep. Hearing the taxi, he ran to the window just in time to see its taillights vanish. He found her room empty and the letter in the kitchen—those few formal lines shattered him.
At 8:00 a.m., he called Herrera in a panic. Carmen had discovered everything and left. He had to find her. Herrera warned that perhaps it was for the best; the plan had gone too far. Alejandro shouted that none of it mattered now. He was in love with Carmen. She had loved him when he believed he was paralyzed.
She had cared for him as if he were the most important person in the world—and he had repaid her with the cruellest lie. Finding Carmen López in a city of three million without leads proved harder than any deal he’d closed. As days passed without news, he realized he had lost the most precious thing just as he understood he couldn’t live without it.
Being one of Spain’s richest meant nothing when the goal was a woman with every reason to hide. Carmen had vanished from Madrid as if she’d never existed. Each day without her was torture.
He ended the charade at once, walking normally—but felt more paralyzed than ever: by remorse and fear he had lost her for good. He hired three private investigation agencies, ran ads, checked budget hotels—Carmen seemed to have evaporated.
