THE REFLECTION OF POWER

The Alvarado name had always been synonymous with wealth, but he made sure it was also synonymous with power. He controlled transportation routes, logistical operations, small construction companies that served as fronts, and a handful of politicians who spoke with the calm of someone who knows nothing moves without their benefactor's permission. His true talent, however, lay not in what he possessed, but in what he did with it: infiltrating high-level decisions without anyone being able to prove it, wielding influence without leaving a trace, eliminating risks without getting his hands dirty. To most, he was a respectable businessman. To the few who knew more, he was a shadow among shadows. The sound of a notification interrupted his observation. Damián glanced down at his phone, saw the message, and his jaw tightened slightly. A tiny gesture, imperceptible to anyone… except him. "Again…" he muttered, almost annoyed. It was a message from Valeria. "I won't be going to the event tonight. I'm not feeling well." He stared at the screen for a few seconds before locking it. He didn't reply. It wasn't necessary. Three years had passed since they'd been married, and for him, communication was something that could be handled face-to-face, where silences carried more weight than words. And besides… Valeria didn't have the right to "decide" not to attend events. Those kinds of decisions weren't hers to make, even if she didn't quite understand that yet. He turned and walked toward his desk. Each step seemed calculated, measured, as if the floor needed his permission to support him. His assistant, Santiago, knocked on the door and peeked inside. "Mr. Alvarado, Councilman Castillo wants to confirm whether you'll be attending this afternoon's meeting." "Tell him I'll be there." He slumped into the leather chair, crossed his legs. "And tell him not to ask any questions about the project in the northern zone. I don't want him to jump to conclusions." "Understood." Santiago left and closed the door softly. Damián was alone again, immersed in that artificial tranquility he so enjoyed. But his mind wasn't on the councilman or the business. It was on Valeria. Or, more specifically, on the growing resistance she was showing. She rarely said no to anything, but lately she had started to back away, to tense up, to argue. As if the life he had built for them both suddenly felt too tight. As if she didn't understand that he had made decisions for both of them, for the good of both. As if she had forgotten whose surname she now carried. Valeria, meanwhile, wasn't sick or exhausted. Not essentially, at least. She sat on the back terrace of the Alvarado mansion, wrapped in a silk robe, gazing at the garden as if it were a landscape that didn't belong to her. She had left her phone on the table, out of reach, as if she only saw the weariness it produced. I sighed, resting my chin on my hands. The breeze stirred her long, straight, brown hair, as if playing with it. She possessed a natural beauty, one that needed no makeup or posing. She had been a model for years, had traveled, had dreamed, had built a respectable career. Until Damian, with his soft voice and precise promises, had turned her life into a narrow path where there was no room for what she wanted. “Because I love you, Valeria.” That's what he had said when he asked her to leave the catwalk. That sentence had been her first cage. At first, she didn't see it. No one sees a prison if it's made of gold. She took a sip of tea and closed her eyes. She felt the weight of something she didn't yet know how to name. It was a mixture of melancholy, frustration, and an uncomfortable sense of loss. As if she had slowly left pieces of herself with every concession. “I chose this,” she whispered to herself. But the phrase rang false even to her. The only thing she hadn't chosen was the constant pressure to have a child. That issue had become the central conflict in her marriage. For Damián, a child was a symbol of legacy. For his parents, a political tool. For Valeria… it was an imposition. She didn't want to be a mother. Not now. Not like this. And Damián didn't understand. Or perhaps he didn't care. The sliding door opened softly. It was Luciana, Damián's younger sister. A young woman with a warm smile, intelligent eyes, and a sweet nature. The complete opposite of her brother. "Val," she said gently, "can I sit with you?" "Of course," Valeria replied, grateful for the company. Luciana sat in the chair next to her, clutching a cup of coffee. "My brother saw your message," she said cautiously. "I figured." " Luciana sighed. "I just wanted to let you know he'll be upset when he gets back." "Upset?" Valeria laughed humorlessly. "He's always upset lately." Luciana didn't answer. She looked at the garden. Café Bebio. And, after a few seconds, she said: "You don't deserve to live like this, Val." Valeria closed her eyes. Her words were a balm… but also a wound. "I have nowhere to go, Luci." "There's always somewhere to go," the young woman replied. "The problem is having the courage to move." The sentence hung between them, heavy, real. And then, Valeria heard something that always chilled her blood: the sound of Damian's car engine pulling into the garage. Luciana looked at her with concern. "If you need anything, call," she whispered before getting up.