Chapter 3: The Price of Being a Father
At 12:37 a.m., Valeria was the first person to notice the blood on my shirt.
Not real blood.
A streak of red lipstick from her mouth, smeared across my white collar when she kissed me.
She laughed as she tried to wipe it away with a cocktail napkin.
“Look at you. You're a mess.””
I glanced at my watch.
“Then let's go somewhere quieter.””
She smiled.
“Your place?””
I hesitated.
For the first time that night, I pictured Camila's face when she had whispered that she didn't want to die alone.
The image annoyed me.
I reached for my phone.
The screen remained dark.
“Damn it.””
“What?””
“My battery must be dead.””
Valeria lifted an eyebrow.
“Didn't you put it on airplane mode?””
I looked at her.
“How do you know that?””
“You told everyone you were tired of your wife calling.””
She said it without accusation, but I heard something uncomfortable in her voice.
I stood.
“I'm getting some air.””
Outside the private room, the music vibrated through the corridor walls. I pulled my phone from my pocket and pressed the power button.
Nothing happened.
I tried again.
The screen flashed to life.
Seventeen missed calls.
Four messages.
One voicemail notification.
My stomach tightened.
Before I could open them, Diego appeared in the doorway.
“Mateo, you need to see this.””
He held out his phone.
A message had appeared in a private business group we both belonged to.
*EMERGENCY AT THE VILLARREAL ESTATE. POLICE AND AMBULANCE ON SCENE.*
Below it was a photograph of an ambulance parked outside my mansion.
I stared at the screen.
“What the hell is this?””
Diego lowered his voice.
“I don't know. Someone said your wife was taken to the hospital.””
For a moment, the nightclub seemed to tilt beneath my feet.
I opened my messages.
The first was from Camila, sent at 11:13 p.m.
Mateo, I fell. Please answer me.
The second was from 11:17.
I'm bleeding. I can't stand up.
The third was from 11:21.
Please, our baby isn't moving.
The fourth had arrived at 11:24.
I love you. I'm scared.
I read the last message twice.
My fingers felt numb.
Valeria stepped beside me.
“Mateo?””
I shoved the phone into my pocket.
“Get the car.””
“What's happened?””
“Get the damn car!””
She flinched.
I hurried toward the exit, pushing past a waiter carrying a tray of glasses. One shattered against the floor, but I didn't turn around.
My driver was waiting beside the Mercedes.
“Home,” I ordered.
“Sir, I heard there was an emergency—”
“Then drive faster.””
The engine roared as we pulled away from the curb.
I called the mansion's security office.
No answer.
I called our private physician.
No answer.
I called Camila's phone.
It rang once before going to voicemail.
I called again.
And again.
Each unanswered call made my chest tighten a little more.
At a red light, I struck the back of the driver's seat.
“Why are we stopping?””
“Sir, the light is red.””
“Do you know who I am?””
The driver looked at me in the rearview mirror.
“Yes, sir.””
“Then get moving!””
He drove through the intersection as a horn blared from the cross street.
My phone vibrated.
For one foolish second, I thought Camila was calling me back.
Instead, it was a message from an unfamiliar number.
Your wife is at San Gabriel Hospital. Come immediately.
I called the number.
A man's voice answered.
“Mateo Villarreal?””
“Who is this?””
“Alejandro Serrano.””
The name hit me like a slap.
I gripped the phone.
“What are you doing with my wife?””
“Saving her life.””
I went silent.
Alejandro continued, his voice cold and controlled.
“She fell down the stairs. She was bleeding, and she couldn't get to the door. Your security team refused to let us in until the ambulance arrived.””
My mouth went dry.
“Why were you there?””
“Because she called me.””
“She called you?””
“Seventeen times, Mateo? That's how many calls your phone records show from her number tonight. Seventeen.””
I stared out the window at the blurred city lights.
He knew.
He knew I had ignored her.
“Listen,” I began, “you don't understand the situation—”
“No. You don't understand it.””
His voice rose for the first time.
“Your wife was lying on a marble floor, begging for help. She thought she was going to die. She called the father of her child, and you told her you were busy.””
I felt something hot crawl up my neck.
“Don't talk to me like you know my marriage.””
“I know enough.””
“Stay away from my family.””
Alejandro gave a short, bitter laugh.
“Your family? I found her unconscious. I called the ambulance.
I got her through your locked gate. Your family was mine to protect when you couldn't be bothered to answer a phone.””
I slammed my fist against the door.
“You've been waiting five years to get back at me.””
“Believe whatever helps you sleep.””
“I'm warning you, Alejandro—”
“Your son is fighting for his life, Mateo.””
The words cut through me.
My son.
For several seconds, I couldn't speak.
Alejandro's voice softened, but only slightly.
“They're preparing an emergency delivery. You need to get here.””
The call ended.
I stared at my phone.
Then I looked at the driver.
“Faster.””
We reached San Gabriel Hospital at 12:56 a.m.
I ran through the emergency entrance, past a family gathered around a vending machine and a nurse pushing a wheelchair.
“Camila Villarreal!”” I shouted.
“Where is my wife?””
A receptionist stood.
“Sir, please lower your voice.””
“I'm Mateo Villarreal. My wife is here.””
She checked the computer.
“She's in surgery.””
My knees nearly gave way.
“What surgery?””
“An emergency cesarean delivery.””
“Is she alive?””
The receptionist looked at me carefully.
“Her medical team is working on her.””
I gripped the counter.
“Tell me what that means.””
“Sir, I don't have access to the details. Please speak with the doctor.””
I turned away, unable to breathe properly.
Then I saw Alejandro.
He was sitting beneath a wall clock, his suit jacket folded beside him. His white shirt was stained with blood at the cuff and sleeve.
He looked exhausted.
He also looked furious.
I walked toward him.
“What happened to her?””
Alejandro stood.
“You tell me.””
I stopped in front of him.
“Don't play games.””
“You were the last person she called before me. What did she tell you?””
I looked away.
“She said she fell.””
“And?””
“She said she was bleeding.””
“And?””
I swallowed.
“She said the baby wasn't moving.””
Alejandro's face tightened.
“And you hung up.””
I reached for his arm.
“I didn't know it was this serious.””
He knocked my hand away.
“She told you she was bleeding. She told you she couldn't stand up. She told you she was afraid she was dying.””
“I thought she was panicking!””
“She was panicking because she was lying on the floor, Mateo!””
His voice echoed through the corridor.
A nurse glanced in our direction.
Alejandro lowered his voice.
“You want to know what she asked me when I found her?””
I said nothing.
“She asked me not to let you send her away.””
My throat tightened.
“What does that mean?””
“Ask yourself why your pregnant wife was afraid of her own husband.””
I stared at him.
For a moment, I wanted to hit him. I wanted to accuse him of exaggerating, of twisting her words, of using a medical emergency to humiliate me.
But I couldn't make myself speak.
Because beneath the anger, I remembered something.
Three days earlier, Camila had asked me to stay home for dinner.
I had told her I had a business meeting.
She had looked at my suit, then at the unfamiliar perfume on my collar.
“Mateo, are you seeing someone?””
I had laughed.
“Are you serious?””
“Just answer me.””
I had stepped closer and lowered my voice.
“You should be grateful I'm still here. Do you understand how many women would kill to have the life you have?””
She had gone very still.
Then she had whispered, “I only want my husband back.””
I had left without answering.
Now, beneath the hospital lights, I could no longer pretend I had forgotten.
A door opened at the end of the corridor.
A doctor approached, removing his surgical cap.
Both Alejandro and I stood.
“Dr. Reyes,” I said.
“My wife?””
The doctor looked between us.
“Which one of you brought her in?””
Alejandro answered.
“I did.””
The doctor nodded.
“Her condition was critical when she arrived. We've managed to stabilize her, but the next few hours will be very important.””
I grabbed the doctor's arm.
“And the baby?””
He paused.
“We delivered a boy.””
For one breathtaking second, the world stopped.
A son.
My son was alive.
I felt a laugh escape me, followed immediately by a sob I tried to suppress.
“Can I see him?””
“He's in the neonatal intensive care unit. He's very premature and has breathing difficulties. Our team is caring for him.””
“Will he survive?””
“We're doing everything we can.””
I covered my mouth with one hand.
Alejandro stood silently beside me.
The doctor continued.
“Your wife lost a significant amount of blood. We also need to investigate the cause of the bleeding and monitor her closely. She isn't out of danger yet.””
I nodded quickly.
“Whatever she needs, I'll pay for it. The best specialists, anything.””
The doctor looked at me with an expression I couldn't read.
“Mr. Villarreal, money can provide access to excellent care. It cannot guarantee the outcome.””
His words left me speechless.
For the first time in my life, my wealth felt completely useless.
The doctor turned to Alejandro.
“Mr. Serrano, we need to discuss the timeline of the emergency. The information you provided may be important to our assessment.””
Alejandro nodded.
“Of course.””
I caught his sleeve.
“Wait.””
He looked at my hand.
I released him.
“Thank you,” I said, the words scraping my throat.
“For getting her here.””
His expression didn't change.
“Don't thank me yet.””
“Why?””
“Because when Camila wakes up, you'll have to face what you did.””
He walked away with the doctor.
I sank into a chair and stared at the floor.
Minutes passed.
Then an hour.
A nurse eventually allowed me to see my son through the neonatal unit's observation window.
He was impossibly small, wrapped in white blankets beneath a warm light, with thin wires attached to his chest and a breathing tube secured near his face.
I pressed my palm against the glass.
“I'm your father,” I whispered.
The baby moved one tiny hand.
My eyes filled with tears.
“I'll make it right. I promise.””
Behind me, a woman's voice spoke.
“Don't make promises you only intend to keep when you're afraid.””
I turned.
Camila's older sister, Isabella, stood at the end of the corridor.
Her eyes were red, but her expression was fierce.
“How did you know?”” I asked.
“Alejandro called me.””
I looked down.
“Is Camila awake?””
“Not yet.””
I stepped toward her.
“Isabella, I—”
She held up her phone.
“Before you say anything, I want you to listen to this.””
She pressed play.
Camila's voice filled the quiet corridor, weak and breathless.
“Isabella, if something happens to me, please make sure Mateo never gets his hands on the blue folder in my study.””
I froze.
My wife's voice continued.
“Everything he did to Alejandro… I have proof.””
The recording ended.
I stared at Isabella.
“What blue folder?””
She slipped her phone into her pocket.
“The one Camila has been hiding for five years.””
My heartbeat thundered in my ears.
“What does it contain?””
Isabella stepped closer.
“Proof that Alejandro never stole your money.””
She paused.
“And proof that the man who framed him was the same man who stole from his own company.””
I couldn't breathe.
Because I knew exactly which account she was talking about.
And I knew whose signature was on every transfer.
Then Isabella delivered the words that shattered the last defense I had built around myself.
“Camila didn't just help you build your empire, Mateo.””
May you like
Her eyes hardened.
“She knows you built it on a lie.””
