PART 1

“I’m not going to make it to our anniversary, honey. A crisis has broken out at the Monterrey office, and I can’t leave the team.”

That’s what my husband told me three days before our fifth wedding anniversary.

At 9:12 p.m. on our anniversary, while I was eating dinner alone in the Polanco penthouse he bragged about as if he had bought it with his own hands, I saw a photograph that left me frozen.

Fernanda, his twenty-five-year-old assistant, was standing in a villa overlooking the ocean in the Maldives. She was holding a glass in one hand, and around her neck was a diamond necklace with a pear-shaped emerald.

My necklace.

The exact same design Ricardo had shown me six months earlier. According to him, he had commissioned it for me because the green reminded him of the dress I wore on our first date.