No Objections

|c.1|

It had been two months since Marisol uncovered the first crack in the life her husband had built beside her. Sixty agonizing days of pretending not to know. Sixty torturous nights lying next to Elliot, staring at the ceiling while he slept peacefully, unaware that every breath he took scraped against her nerves. Sixty hellish mornings of shared coffee and polite conversation, of acting like the sight of his mouth didn't make her stomach turn. She didn't slip once. Not one scream. No emotional outbursts. She had mastered the art of emotional warfare—and only one person knew. Not her mother, who still called Elliot her favorite son and asked when they were finally going to give her grandchildren. Not her father, Arturo Vargas—CEO of Vargas Global, legal titan, a man whose name alone could ruin careers. If he knew what Elliot had done—what he was still doing—there would be blood in the water. Careers burned and reputations buried... but that kind of reckoning required patience. And Marisol was nothing if not patient. The only person who knew the truth was Nayeli Santiago—her best friend and favorite cousin. When Nayeli had seen her cousin, there had been only one thing on her mind: murder. The next morning Marisol had intercepted Nayeli on her way to Elliot's office with a tire iron in her trunk. It was then Marisol had sworn her to secrecy. "I want him to suffer, Yels." Marisol explained. "I can yell and scream at him during the divorce." Now, Marisol sat behind the sleek walnut desk of her corber office at Vargas & Co., the city spread out beneath her like a oceanfront kingdom. Her office was a huge space filled with floor-to-ceiling windows and a high ceiling. The cream colored walls were adorned with abstract gold-and-ink artwork. White orchids arranged with compulsive precision decorated the room, adding a soft, floral aroma in the air. Marisol wore a tailored gray pantsuit, Jimmy Choos, and matte crimson lipstick sharp enough to cut glass. Her hair was pulled into a tight bun, every strand in submission. She looked like the woman everyone in Miami trusted with their biggest secrets. And inside? Marisol was barely holding onto her composure... A soft knock sounded at the door. "Come in." Carmen, her assistant, stepped inside with a tray of espresso and case files. "Three clients calls to return. Judge Alvarado's clerk moved the Soto hearing to Thursday. And your nine a.m. canceled." Marisol nodded appreciatively. "Good. That gives me more time." Carmen hesitated. "Marisol... you've been here since six." "I'm aware." "Is everything okay?" Carmen asked, her eyes full of worry. Not meeting her eyes, Marisol grabbed a cup and a case file from the tray. "I am fine. Is there anything else?" "No ma'am. Buzz if you need me." Carmen said, her voice still full of concern as she turned to leave. Once the door closed, Marisol sighed and turned—not to her primary desk—but to the smaller oak table tucked in the back corner of the office; her private battleground. Spread across the desk, stacks of printed bank statements. Screenshots. Transactions summaries. Notes written in her own precise hand, short, elegant script. She hadn't found anything definitive, nothing too explosive, nothing but the cheating. Yet. Just small...inconsistencies. Amounts that didn't make sense, transfers that didn't align with timelines she knew by heart. Accounts she recognized—hers—showing activity she hadn't authorized. She hadn't dug deep enough, not yet, but this wasn't an investigation. It was reconnaissance. Marisol ran her finger down a column of numbers, her jaw tightening. Elliot had always been careful. Too careful. The kind of careful that only came from practice. That realization settled in her chest like a stone... How long? How long had Elliot been lying and stealing from her? Her phone buzzed; a text from Elliot. Running late tonight. Dinner meeting. Marisol stared at the screen, something dark and humorless curling in her stomach and bubbled out from between her lips. "Dinner meeting my ass," she whispered. Enjoy was her clipped reply. Marisol locked her phone and set it face-down. Later, she told herself. Work would just have to wait until later... She gathered the loose papers and shoved them into her briefcase, taking care not to wrinkle the pages. She wanted to make sure they could see everything. They needed to see how far Elliot's lies went... Because the longer this went on, the clearer one thing became: this wasn't just infidelity. This was structure. An entire life build not without her, but on her. Her composure cracked at the thought—not enough to be visible, but just enough to hurt. How many times had her friends, and Nayeli, try to warn her about him? How many times had they said he was a gold-digger? Enough times to remember she ignored every warning possible... Marisol scoffed aloud. "Rose colored goggles..." Her phone buzzed again. She picked it up and saw it was another message from Elliot: Thanks. Without thinking, Marisol hit the intercom button. "Carmen. Clear my afternoon." A pause. "Marisol... are you okay?" "I am fine," she said, the lie smooth and well-practiced. "Just family matters." Marisol ended the call before sympathy could slip through the line. Lies were easy to deal with, hell, she dealt with lies for a living, but pity? Sympathy? No, she thought, shaking away the burn that stung her nose as she fought back tears. ✽✽✽ In the elevator, Marisol stared at her reflection in the mirrored walls, trying to find some imperfection. Perfect makeup. Perfect posture. Perfect mask... How long had she been pretending to be happy? By the time she reached the parking garage, her head ached from all the questions and her chest burned from trying to hold everything in. And by the instant she slid into her Mercedes, she exhaled shakily. Then she just screamed, letting the pain and hurt finally bubble to the surface to explode. Hot tears fell from her eyes as she punched and slapped at her steering wheel wishing it was Elliot... wishing it was his assistant. When she finished, Marisol grabbed her phone and called the only person in the world she could talk to. "I need you," she said into the phone as soon as Nayeli answered. "I know Sol," Nayeli replied soothingly. "Come over. I have champagne and cake." "I don't wan—" "Tequila and hot wings?" "Have them delivered," Marisol chirped, hanging up. As she pulled out of the garage, Miami's skyline shrinking behind her, Marisol knew one thing. She would find out everything he was hiding, but tonight, tonight was just for her.