Chapter V: The First Suspicion of an Heiress, Part 2:

Ailan.

"Who is she?" my brother asked when we got out of the elevator and saw Walter talking to the beautiful woman in red who had caught his attention.

I felt uncomfortable. The beautiful woman did not seem interested in my husband, but Walter was. He was very focused on her as if she were telling him something interesting even though she wasn't speaking.

"I think she's one of the escorts hired by the hotel to mingle with the guests. She belongs to an escort agency,” said Gordon, Arturo's assistant, which made me feel more at ease. I knew the rules of the modeling agency; sex was strictly prohibited. Still, the feeling of discomfort remained. Something was wrong.

"Escort agencies?" My brother disliked them. Apparently, he disapproved of some of the hotels' marketing strategies.

I knew the companies the hotel had hired. Many of us knew them because my boss, Bruno, had sometimes used them for project presentation parties when there was an imbalance between the number of male and female guests. My sweet assistant, Christine, had sometimes hired male escorts for events where I had to go as a Miller and bring a date. Clearly, I couldn't go with Walter if I wanted to keep everything hidden.

Judging by my brother's reaction, he knew nothing about it. If he did know, then his ideas about this type of business were backward. To laugh at him for being so sexist and narrow-minded, I decided not to correct him. I wanted to see how far he would go, as well as show genuine interest in the lady in red. That information was valuable to me because I was unaccustomed to these human gestures from my brother.

"Wow, little brother! Since when has the Milton hotel chain become so avant-garde?" I decided to add fuel to the fire. I thought my brother's anger was excessive, and I thought I knew who was responsible. "And does Dad know about this?" I said, rubbing salt in the wound. I love annoying Arturo.

While he was busy arguing with Gordon about new marketing strategies for his hotels, I observed Walter's reactions. He didn't know I was there.

"Since when is my husband so talkative and interesting?" I thought, approaching him; something was beginning to worry me.

Usually, even the most intimate conversations consist of me talking and him agreeing with everything, not making suggestions or confronting me when he doesn't like something. He's a conformist—the opposite of the strong, decisive men in my life, like my brothers and parents. Maybe that's why I feel comfortable with Walter. I don't have to be on guard all the time.

My husband has been under his mother's thumb for years, and I think he sees me the way he sees her. That's why there's a clash of wills between the two of us. She sees me as someone who steals her son's attention.

At one point, Roy grabbed my arm and continued toward a couple standing by the large window overlooking the terrace. As I approached them, I heard Walter's clear voice, which struck my heart with pain. I couldn't believe those words came from my usually calm and collected husband.

"And do you want to cheer me up tonight, beautiful? I could give you some hot and desirable ideas." I almost choked with rage, but still, I couldn't believe that was my Walter. He had never been like that with me before. It must be a joke. I must have heard wrong.

"And may I ask, Patel, what ideas do you have with your little friend of the moment?" my brother said, pulling me out of my disbelief and the feeling that something was wrong.

When Walter turned to us, he blushed and looked nervous, like a child caught doing something wrong. It was that reaction that made me think maybe it wasn't just my imagination. Something was going on. Everything went blank until my brother appeared, glaring at Walter's companion.

"What are you doing here, Walter? Weren't you supposed to be at the office?" Why are you trying to cheer up your friend? Have you forgotten that you're married?" I said. As I spoke, the feeling of having been deceived began to make a dent in the shell I had put on to defend my husband.

I didn't even notice the companion saying goodbye and walking away, nor did I notice my brother following her. I was focused on looking into the elusive eyes of Walter, who wouldn't hold my gaze. The urge to leave became unbearable for a second, and I made a move to walk away. But Walter grabbed my arm.

"It's not what you're thinking," said the idiot, using the first phrase a traitor ever uses.

"Find a better excuse, you idiot. I don't want to talk to you right now," I said, pushing him away and trying to leave the party.

As always when we argued, I didn't get very far. My husband always avoided direct confrontation, so these situations were rare. He hugged me from behind and told me that he loved me and that it was impossible for him to be unfaithful. He said that I knew it. Finally, he said something that made me waver in my intention to run away and think about what to do about this.

"You know I can't live without you. If you leave me, I have no reason to go on living. You are everything to me. There is nothing else. You are my light, and you know it. Without you, there is only darkness in my life," he said, looking at us tenderly. Little by little, I gave in.

At that moment, I didn't see or didn't want to see the truth: things weren't going to turn out as I expected—far from it. Perhaps the signs that I didn't know how to interpret should have struck my pride and common sense harder so that I would wake up from my dream, which was actually a nightmare. But that wasn't the case.