Chapter 8: The Ghost of Christmas Past
Three days before the grand gala, the calm inside the mansion was shattered by an unexpected visitor.
Marisol was in the rose garden with Valentina, watching the little girl chase butterflies, when the head butler, Roberto, approached with a nervous look on his face.
"Miss Marisol," Roberto said softly. "There is a man at the front gate. He claims he is a relative of yours."
Marisol frowned, picking up Valentina. "A relative? I don't have any living relatives. My mother passed away years ago, and I was an only child."
"He insists he knows you from your hometown in Michoacán," Roberto explained. "He says his name is Ernesto."
The blood instantly drained from Marisol’s face. The sunlight seemed to fade, replaced by a cold, suffocating dread. Ernesto.
"Send him away," Marisol gasped, her hands trembling violently as she pulled Valentina closer. "Tell security to make him leave! He cannot be here!"
"I'm afraid it's too late for that, hermanita," a greasy, mocking voice echoed from behind the manicured hedge.
A tall, thin man in his late thirties stepped into the garden. He wore a rumpled leather jacket, smelled heavily of stale tobacco and alcohol, and had a cruel, yellowed smile. Two security guards were walking quickly behind him, looking bewildered.
"How did you get past the gates?!" Marisol demanded, stepping backward, shielding Valentina behind her dress.
"Oh, a very generous gentleman paid for my plane ticket and gave me a VIP pass," Ernesto chuckled, his dark eyes scanning the opulent mansion and then landing on Valentina. "Well, well, look at you, Marisol. Living like a queen while your stepbrother is scraping by in the dirt."
"You are not my brother!" Marisol shouted, her voice shaking with a rage she hadn't felt in years. "My father divorced your mother before he died! You stole my mother's savings, you burned down our family shop, and you ran away!"
"Details, details," Ernesto sneered, taking a step toward her. "The point is, family sticks together. And now that you're marrying Mexico's richest billionaire, I think it's time you shared the wealth. Otherwise, I might just have a chat with those news reporters standing outside the gate."
"Get your hands off her."
A voice like thunder sliced through the garden air.
Diego stepped out from the patio doors. He had pulled off his suit jacket, his white shirt sleeves rolled up, revealing muscular forearms. His expression was pure lethal fury.
Ernesto turned, trying to maintain his arrogant stance, but as Diego towered over him, the bully visibly shrank.
"And who are you supposed to be? The savior?" Ernesto spat, trying to act tough.
Diego didn't answer with words. In one fluid, terrifying movement, he grabbed Ernesto by the collar of his leather jacket, shoved him face-first against the concrete fountain wall, and pinned his arm behind his back. Ernesto let out a sharp cry of pain.
"Listen to me very carefully, you pathetic leech," Diego growled directly into Ernesto's ear, his voice deadly quiet. "If you ever step foot on my property again, if you so much as breathe Marisol's name to a journalist, I will ensure you spend the rest of your miserable life in a maximum-security prison in Sonora. Do you understand me?"
"Okay! Okay! I get it!" Ernesto whined, writhing in pain.
Diego threw him toward the security guards. "Escort this trash off my land. If he resists, break his legs."
"Yes, Mr. Villaseñor!" the guards growled, dragging the screaming Ernesto away.
May you like
Diego adjusted his cuffs, breathing heavily, before turning to Marisol. He immediately rushed over to her, his fierce expression softening into deep concern. "Are you okay? Did he hurt you?"
Marisol collapsed against his chest, tears streaming down her face. "Diego... he’s going to tell them. He's going to tell everyone about what happened in Michoacán..."
