Chapter 1: Mrs. Rivera's Perfect Night

The applause broke out at the exact moment Sofia smiled, as if both things had been rehearsing together for years. The room of the Coyoacán Bankers Club smelled of white lilies and old money: that specific mixture of floor wax, French perfume, and well-dressed ambition that Sofía had learned to breathe without the effort being noticeable.

She was wearing the off-white Valentino—Fernando's choice, of course—and the diamond earrings that Carmela had lent her with a smile that was equivalent to a chain. Every detail was an instruction.

"Sofía, you are beautiful," said Mrs. Montoya, squeezing her fingers with cold fingers. "Thank you." Smile.

Calibrated. Two centimeters of teeth, no more.

Fernando was three meters away, surrounded by men who were laughing too loudly. He didn't look at her.

That was also part of the script: the impeccable wife does not need constant attention; It is enough that it exists, symmetrical and decorative, like the orchids on the tables. It was Carmela who found her next to the marble bar.

Seventy years old, back of steel, eyes that weighed everything without moving a muscle in his face. "You're delivering," he said, instead of good night.

Sofia held the glass with both hands. "I'm trying to learn from you." Carmela let the compliment pass without acknowledging receipt, and walked away towards the group where two women were whispering with their heads bowed.

Sofia wouldn't have been able to hear them if it hadn't been for the fact that the violinist paused exactly then. «...the girl who fell from the third floor...» It was a whisper.

Four words. But they crossed the room as if the air had solidified around them.

Fernando's hand closed on her elbow before Sofía finished processing what she had heard. A specific, surgical pressure that would leave no visible mark but that hurt precisely.

"Come, I want to introduce you to Senator Leal." It wasn't an invitation. Fernando's smile was already on when he turned to the others, and Sofía walked beside him with her back straight and the pain still burning in her elbow, keeping in some exact place in her memory the name that no one had said out loud: the girl's.

Sin at the Top

Sin at the Top