Chapter 1: The Call I Rejected
The seventeenth missed call from my pregnant wife appeared on my phone just as my mistress pressed a kiss against my neck.
I looked at Camila’s name, laughed, and rejected the call.
Twenty minutes later, while I was celebrating my freedom in a luxury nightclub, the woman carrying my son was fighting for her life on the marble floor of our mansion—and the only man who could save her was the person I had spent five years trying to destroy.
My name is Mateo Villarreal. I was thirty-four years old, wealthy, respected, and arrogant enough to believe that nothing in the world could happen without my permission.
I owned three luxury car dealerships, two commercial properties in Monterrey, and a construction company that carried my family name. I wore Italian suits, drove a black Mercedes, and kept a collection of watches in a safe that most people would have needed a lifetime to afford.
People called me self-made.
I never corrected them.
My father had left me a fortune. My wife had helped me turn that fortune into an empire. And my former best friend, Alejandro Serrano, had once saved my company from financial ruin.
But gratitude had never been my strongest quality.
Neither had loyalty.
That Friday night, I was in a private room at an exclusive nightclub in San Pedro Garza García, surrounded by expensive tequila, beautiful women, and men who laughed at my jokes because they wanted my business.
Valeria Montes sat on my lap in a red silk dress, her perfume mixing with the sharp smell of tequila.
She was twenty-seven, ambitious, and clever enough to understand that my money made me far more attractive than my personality ever could.
She lifted her glass toward mine.
“Another bottle, baby?””
I smiled.
“Bring two.””
Diego, one of my business associates, leaned back against the leather sofa.
“What exactly are we celebrating tonight?””
I raised my glass.
“My last night of freedom before becoming a father.””
The table erupted in laughter.
Valeria brushed her lips against my ear.
“You make fatherhood sound like a prison sentence.””
“With Camila lately, it might be.””
“She's pregnant, Mateo,” Diego said.
“What did you expect? For her to run marathons?””
I gave him a dismissive wave.
“You should hear her. The nursery curtains are apparently the wrong shade of white. The baby kicks too much.
The baby doesn't kick enough. Last week, she called me because she thought the house was too cold.””
Valeria laughed.
“Maybe she misses you.””
“She misses having something to complain about.””
My phone vibrated against the glass table.
The screen displayed one word.
*Wife.*
Valeria glanced at it.
“Again?””
I counted the vibrations before answering.
“Eleventh time tonight.””
Diego whistled.
“That's impressive.””
Everyone laughed.
I let the phone ring until it stopped.
For a moment, I pictured Camila in our mansion, sitting on the white leather sofa with her swollen ankles resting on a cushion. She would probably be wearing one of my old T-shirts, her dark hair tied into a loose bun, one hand protectively covering the enormous belly that had become the center of her universe.
She had changed during the final months of her pregnancy.
Or perhaps she hadn't changed at all.
Perhaps I had simply grown tired of being needed.
Before the pregnancy, Camila had been the woman who remembered every detail about me. She knew how I took my coffee, which tie I wore when I negotiated difficult contracts, and how to calm me down when my father's old business partners tried to undermine me.
She had stood beside me when our first construction project nearly collapsed.
She had sold her grandmother's jewelry to help cover an emergency payment when a bank threatened to freeze our accounts.
She had never asked for recognition.
I had mistaken her patience for weakness.
Now, whenever she called, I felt as if another person were reaching into my pocket and demanding something.
My phone began vibrating again.
Valeria traced a finger along my collar.
“Are you going to answer?””
I picked it up.
“Camila, what is it?””
For several seconds, I heard only ragged breathing.
Then came a whisper.
“Mateo?””
Her voice sounded strange. Thin. Frightened.
I straightened slightly.
“What happened?””
“Please come home.””
I glanced at Valeria, who had stopped smiling.
“Why?””
“I fell.””
“Fell where?””
“The stairs.””
I sat upright.
For one brief moment, the music seemed to fade around me.
Then Camila made a small, broken sound.
“There's blood, Mateo. I can't get up.””
My fingers tightened around the phone.
“Where are you bleeding?””
“I don't know. My stomach hurts. The baby—”
She gasped.
“Please, Mateo. Something's wrong.””
Diego had stopped laughing.
I stood, suddenly aware of the cold sweat forming beneath my collar.
“Call an ambulance,” I said.
“I tried. My phone keeps slipping. The gate is locked, and I can't reach the security panel.””
“Then call security.””
“I did. Nobody is answering.””
I looked toward the private room's entrance as if I could somehow see our mansion through the walls.
“Camila, calm down.””
“I can't feel him moving like before.””
Her words landed harder than I wanted to admit.
Our son.
The child whose bedroom I had personally approved. The child whose name I had refused to choose because I wanted something that sounded powerful. The child I had told my friends would inherit everything I owned.
“Mateo,” she whispered, “I don't want to die alone.””
Silence settled over the table.
Even Valeria looked uncomfortable.
I could have left immediately. I could have called our private physician, ordered my driver to prepare the Mercedes, or summoned an ambulance to the mansion myself.
Instead, I looked at my watch.
It was 11:19 p.m.
I had promised Valeria a night out, and I resented the thought of abandoning it.
“Camila, you're panicking. I'll call you back.””
“No! Please don't hang up!””
I ended the call.
For a second, I stared at the dark screen.
Then I pressed the side button and returned to my seat.
Valeria moved away from me.
“Mateo, what the hell was that?””
I gave her a cold look.
“Don't start.””
“She said she was bleeding.””
“She says something is wrong every other day.””
“What if something really is wrong?””
I leaned forward.
“Do you want to spend the evening listening to my pregnant wife cry? Because I don't.””
Diego cleared his throat.
“Maybe you should at least call the doctor.””
I pointed at him.
“I'm not asking for parenting advice.””
My phone vibrated again.
Camila.
I rejected the call.
It rang again almost immediately.
I switched on airplane mode and tossed the phone onto the sofa.
“There,” I said.
“Problem solved.””
Nobody laughed this time.
I hated them for it.
I raised my glass.
“To freedom.””
Valeria hesitated before touching her glass against mine.
“To freedom,” she repeated quietly.
I pulled her close and kissed her.
Outside, Monterrey glittered beneath the night sky. Luxury cars swept past illuminated storefronts, couples filled restaurants, and families returned home from evening outings.
I had no idea that Camila was lying on the marble floor of our mansion, trying to drag herself toward the front door.
I didn't know that her blood had soaked through the pale fabric of her maternity dress.
I didn't know that she had called our security office until her voice gave out.
And I didn't know that, after seventeen failed attempts to reach her husband, she had called the one man she believed might still care enough to save her.
Alejandro Serrano.
My former best friend.
My greatest rival.
The man I had publicly accused of stealing from me five years earlier, destroying his reputation and forcing him to rebuild his life from almost nothing.
At 11:48 p.m., Alejandro was attending a business dinner when his phone rang.
He nearly ignored the unfamiliar number.
Then he heard her voice.
“Alejandro?””
He pushed his chair back.
“Camila? What's happened?””
“I fell down the stairs. There's blood. I can't reach the door.””
His face lost its color.
“Where's Mateo?””
A faint, broken sob came through the speaker.
“He won't answer.””
Alejandro stood so abruptly that his chair struck the wall.
“Listen to me carefully. I'm coming. I'm sending an ambulance and my security team ahead of me.””
“The baby…”
“We're going to get you help. Stay with me, Camila.””
He shouted for his assistant, grabbed his keys, and ran toward the elevator.
“Call emergency services. Tell them it's an obstetric emergency. Get Dr.
Reyes on the phone. Send someone to the Villarreal estate immediately.””
His assistant hurried behind him.
“Mr. Serrano, their security team won't let us through without authorization.””
Alejandro stopped beside his car.
For five years, he had avoided my name, my properties, and every place where our paths might cross.
Now he looked toward the road leading to my mansion.
“Then tell them they can explain to the police why they allowed a pregnant woman to die behind a locked gate.””
He climbed into his car.
As the engine roared to life, Camila's voice came through his phone again.
“Alejandro?””
“I'm here.””
“Please hurry.””
May you like
He pressed the accelerator.
And somewhere inside my mansion, my wife stopped calling for me.
