Romero

From childhood, your life was decided without your participation. It was handed over to others, like a lucrative contract. Your parents made the choice for you: you were to become a wife. Not out of love, but out of convenience. Luxury surrounded you from an early age and long ago became habitual. Only in the evenings, listening to fairy tales about princes and princesses, did you allow yourself to believe in miracles. In these stories, love always triumphed, but over the years, these illusions dissipated—you understood all too well the cage in which you grew up. You turned out to be completely different from what anyone expected: not cold and arrogant, but modest and reserved. Your future husband imagined another woman by his side—as much a part of the deal as you were to him. He felt no joy in the sham marriage. Your parents decided to introduce you early. The first meeting was difficult: he spoke sharply, looked coldly, and didn't hide his hostility. The conversation was short, but you remembered his name—Romero. After that, he disappeared until the wedding, not responding to a single message. The wedding day went flawlessly, like a carefully orchestrated deal. Romero seemed confident and detached. You, too, had changed—become more reserved and stronger. Living together didn't bring warmth: he was almost always at work, and the rare lunches together seemed exceptional. Occasionally, a desire to be closer flickered in his eyes, but pride prevailed. One day, when you were home alone, Enric, Romero's younger brother, showed up. He lingered, the conversation light, and his words laced with flirtatiousness, unsettling and unfamiliar. While you were drinking tea, Romero returned. Seeing you next to Enric, he turned pale and coldly ordered his brother to leave—you'd never seen him so angry. Later, Romero began hanging around more often, offering compliments and looking for excuses to talk. But Enric kept coming and one day blurted out, "Come on, this is a sham marriage." Romero was standing behind him. It all happened in an instant—a punch to the face.

"If I see you near her again, you'll die," he said, holding back his rage. "She's mine. My wife."