I slipped a laxative into my husband’s coffee before he left to meet his mistress…
Not the phoney shaking of a woman who has been apprehended.
She trembled as if dread had bitten at her heels and she had fled for blocks.
With one small hand clutching the yellow blanket, the infant slept against her bosom, mouth slightly open.
Maybe five months old.
He had the scent of rain-soaked streets, milk, and baby powder.
She muttered, “Mrs. Mariana, please don’t close the door.”
I glanced at the infant.
Then at her.
Is he Bruno’s?”
Carolina shut her eyes.
More oxygen was taken from me by that response than by any words.
I said, “Come in.”
Not for her.
For the infant.
The living room continued to smell like metal and pricey cologne.
Beside the couch, the shattered wine glass gleamed.
The luminous message was still open like a wound on Bruno’s phone, which was lying on the ground.
“I fulfilled your request already. Now be honest with your wife.
Carolina became more paler when she saw it.
— “Did he not leave?”
“Through the window in the bathroom.”
She gave me a look that suggested something terrible was verified by those remarks.
“Then he gets it.”
I yelled, “I don’t understand anything.”
“And I’m about two seconds away from losing what little manners I have left.”
The infant stirred.
Carolina carefully adjusted him.
She whispered, “Bruno didn’t come to me for love.”
Initially, perhaps. Or at least that’s what he led me to believe. However, I eventually came to understand that I was a part of something else.
I chuckled angrily.
It’s funny. When the wife appears, every mistress becomes the victim all of a sudden.
Carolina bowed her head.
“You have every right to despise me.”
– “I don’t require authorisation.”
She forcefully swallowed.
“But Bruno is going to use the coffee against you, which is why I came today.”
A chill went down my back.
What are your thoughts on the coffee?”
He thought you were already aware of us. He informed me last night that he would provoke you today.
He would finally have evidence to steal everything from you if you did something careless.
I gazed at her.
Take everything away from me?”
She gestured to the pharmacy bag on the sink in the bathroom.
He used a copy of your previous prescription to purchase that. He had been telling coworkers that you were unstable for weeks. envious. hostile. that you used sleeping medications. experienced breakdowns. He wanted it to appear as though you had given him drugs.
I gave a quick, nasty chuckle.
— “Well, technically…”
— “Ma’am.”
I was stopped by the word.
Carolina wasn’t making fun of me.
Her eyes were filled with tears.
He desired to be admitted to the hospital. Not as a result of the laxative. Something more powerful. After he left, he intended to take it and say you had poisoned him.
He instructed me to contact the hotel’s EMS and claim that you had threatened him.
The space whirled.
For balance, I grasped the table.
Bruno wasn’t merely unfaithful to me.
He was enclosing me in a cage.
— “Why didn’t you take action?”
Carolina glanced down at the infant.
“Because he sent another message this morning.” He stated I would have to sign documents handing up everything for the kid once you were “out of the way.” He referred to my son as a problem.
Her voice cracked.
“A problem.”
All of a sudden, my perception of her changed.
Not in the role of secretary.
Not in the role of mistress.
The same man who had used me was using another lady.
A different scent.
A different bed.
The same falsehood.
That did not absolve her of guilt.
However, it made her useful.
And I had had enough of wasting the truth.
— “What is his name?I enquired.
She gave a blink.
— “Who?”
— “The infant.”
— “Mateo”
The name really got to me.
Bruno was always adamant about not wanting kids.
Plans, furniture, and quiet were all spoilt by those children.
I desired to have kids.
After losing two pregnancies, I stopped discussing it.
He now had a son with a different woman.
Not out of affection.
due to negligence.
or ego.
I told her to sit down.
She complied.
I made chamomile tea in the kitchen.
Because a lady in Mexico can provide a warm drink even when she is on the verge of emotional murder.
Del Valle appeared serene from the outside.
The street was covered in purple jacaranda flowers.
On the corner was a steaming tamale stand.
The city continued to move with its usual brutality.
Carolina was glued to her phone when I returned.
She muttered, “He’s calling.”
– “Set him on speaker.”
– “I am unable to.”
|— “Take action.”
She responded.
Bruno’s tense, hurried speech could be heard.
— “Where are you?”
Carolina gave me a look.
I gave a headshake.
She lied and said, “On my way.”
“Avoid going to the house.” Mariana is uncontrollable. I’ve already contacted my attorney.
My stomach constricted.
Did you be honest with her?Carolina enquired.
Bruno chuckled quietly.
— “Reality? Whatever we can demonstrate is the truth.
Carolina shut her eyes.
“Bruno, the infant requires—”
– “Don’t begin. We’ll take care of that later, I told you.
“He is your son.”
Quiet.
His voice then became icy.
In nappies, he’s a mistake.
Carolina broke.
I didn’t.
I became steel.
When suffering has nowhere else to go, women become compassionate.
I grabbed the phone out of her grasp.
– “Hello, my love.”
The other end was silent.
Next:
— “Mariana.”
I’m glad my voice is still recognisable. I assumed you had forgotten with all that perfume surrounding you.
— “You don’t know what you’re doing.”
— “No. I was unaware of what you were doing.
– “Hand the phone to Carolina.”
— “Come get it.”
– “You’re crazy.”
Bruno, you’ll need to do a better job of proving that. Because you referring to your son as “a mistake in nappies” is the only evidence I currently have.
I ended the call.
Carolina gazed at me.
– “Did you capture that?”
I lifted my phone.
— “From the initial ring.”
Twenty minutes later, my cousin showed up.
Not with eyes full of rumours.
with the eyes of a lawyer.
She examined the shattered glass.
The medication bag.
Carolina.
The infant.
The bathroom window is open.
Next, me.
— “Mariana,” she said cautiously,
“Avoid touching anything else.”
“I’ve already experienced half of the tragedy.”
“So stop now.”
She took gloves out of her fancy purse as if it were nothing out of the ordinary.
Family can be helpful in this regard at times.
Carolina sent along messages.
audio files.
transfers.
Polanco hotel receipts.
Next, she accessed a folder on her phone.
My jaw tightened at the name.
“Plan M.”
M stands for Mariana.
Bruno had screenshots of our disagreements.
videos of me in tears.
After he provoked me for hours, audio clips were recorded.
even pictures of my medicine on my nightstand.
without my consent.
Silently, my cousin read.
This is financial and psychological abuse. What about the private recordings? It would also be considered digital assault if he utilised them to intimidate or control you.
“He has photos of me too,” Carolina said, lowering her gaze.
— “Personal ones?I enquired.
Embarrassed, she nodded.
He claimed they were exclusively for him.
Then he kept me under control by using them.
My disgust took a different turn.
This was no longer only adultery.
This was the real Bruno.
A man who secretly planned to destroy every woman he loved while controlling, humiliating, gathering evidence, and grinning over pricey dinners.
My cousin said, “We’re heading to the prosecutor’s office.”
Carolina gave Mateo a strong hug.
Will they take me into custody?”
My cousin said, “Not if you cooperate.”
“But you’ll need to tell them everything.”
Carolina sobbed in silence.
I didn’t feel sorry for her.
Pity also has office hours.
In an attempt to preserve myself, I was also running late that afternoon.
The doorbell rang once more after that.
My body stiffened.
I looked at the camera.
Bruno was outside.
Wet hair.
The blue shirt was crumpled.
pallid face.
A man in a suit stood next to him.
His attorney.
A policeman is behind them.
When a man’s strategy starts to fall apart, it’s amazing how fast he becomes the victim.
My cousin smiled a little.
— “Excellent. Let him in.
I unlocked the door.
Bruno gave me a furious glare before seeming to feel sorry for me.
– “Mariana, don’t exaggerate the situation.”
It’s too late. It developed independently.
The attorney moved forward.
We are come to allow Mr. Bruno to get his personal stuff, Ma’am. Additionally, we’ll be recording the attack he endured this morning.
— “Assault?I said it again.
Bruno dramatically held his stomach.
– “You added something to my coffee.”
I was unable to stop it.
I chuckled.
— “Yes. And for some reason, the laxative wasn’t the worst thing that happened to you today.
To cover up a smirk, the policeman coughed.
My cousin gave me an arm squeeze.
— “Mariana.”
Then Carolina showed up behind me with the infant in her arms.
Bruno became completely colourless.
— “Why are you in this place?”
She raised her chin.
“Telling the truth”
The attorney scowled.
— “Who is she?”
No one responded.
At that moment, the infant began to wail.
loud. wholesome. alive.
Like a phrase being spoken, the sound reverberated across the corridor.
Bruno’s jaw tightened.
– “Leave, Carolina.”
— “No.”
— “You ought to.”
— “No longer.”
I turned to face my spouse.
Together for seventeen years.
The dude who once brought me out for street tacos because he claimed that’s where all of his greatest experiences started.
The man with whom I danced during a downpour in a Roma cantina.
The man who assured me he would never abandon me while holding my hand following my second miscarriage.
The man was no longer standing there.
Perhaps he didn’t really exist.
“Bruno,” I murmured,
Is Mateo your son?”
The attorney’s eyes grew wide.
— “Mateo?”
Bruno gave me a hateful glare.
— “You truly have no idea how to keep your mouth shut, do you?”
And that was the end of it.
Not because of the liaison.
Not due to Carolina.
Not due to the infant.
It came to an end when I realised that he couldn’t be human even in front of a youngster.
My cousin lifted her phone.
“Counsellor, before your client says anything else, you should be aware that we have private recordings, bank transactions, audio recordings, texts, the pharmacy bag that was bought with my client’s prescription, and a call in which he calls the child “a mistake in nappies.”
The attorney lost his self-assurance.
Bruno turned to face me.
— “You were jealous and did all of this.”
— “No,” I replied.
“I took care of myself for the first time.”
He made an attempt to enter.
He was stopped by the cop.
“Easy, sir.”
Bruno’s voice was loud enough for the neighbours to begin observing.
Mrs. Pilar pulled aside her drapes.
A bread delivery man pulled up next to his bike.
In this city, no one meddles.
However, everyone pays attention.
“This woman is insane! I was drugged by her!
— “With laxatives,” I clarified.
“Calm down. You never even provided me with enough money to turn become a true evil. 😏
At last, the officer chuckled.
Bruno’s face flushed.
– “This is something you will regret.”
Carolina took a step back.
Mateo sobbed once again.
My cousin was adamant.
“Threat heard in front of witnesses”
The attorney took hold of Bruno’s arm.
– “We’re heading out.”
– “Avoid touching me.”
— “Bruno, we’re heading out.”
However, he remained still.
He fixed me with the expression he always used to make me feel insignificant.
And Mariana, what precisely are you going to do without me?”
The query lingered in the corridor.
It would have ruined me once.
I would have given the house some thought.
The bills.
Sundays are empty.
the bed’s chilly side.
However, Carolina was standing behind me, bearing the weight of her own blindness.
My cousin is brandishing legal documents like a weapon.
A newborn who never requested to be born into deceit.
as well as me.
lipstick in red.
heels that hurt.
A fury that could walk at last.
I replied, “Sleep soundly.”
Bruno was at a loss for words.
When did I last see Bruno?
He was standing in our home’s hallway, staring at me as if I were the antagonist in his made-up tale.
From behind curtains, the neighbours observed.
The policeman said nothing.
Mateo was pressed up to Carolina’s chest.
Bruno, too…
Bruno treated his own son as if he were a piece of evidence against him.
The scent of the rain that day is still fresh in my mind.
The pain in my heels.
The silent death of seventeen years of marriage.
Angry, he departed.
Not vanquished.
That was the part that kept coming back to me.
Because when they lose control, men like Bruno never go peacefully.
And he turned to face me one more time before entering the lift, saying something that I can still hear in my nightmares:
— “Mariana, do you think this is over?”
A pause.
Then that icy grin.
— “You have no idea where this actually starts.”
I assumed it was simply another desperate man’s threat at the moment.
I was mistaken.
After three weeks…
In search of the “Plan M” files, someone broke into my home. “😨🔒”
Section 2:
“Someone broke into Mariana’s home three weeks after Bruno left in search of the “Plan M” files” 😨🔒
After Bruno left my life three weeks ago…
At last, I got a full night’s sleep.
Not in a calm manner.
I’m just worn out enough for my body to give up on reality.
Now the Del Valle house felt different.
quieter.
more tidy.
The walls seemed to be relieved that he was no longer there.
The closet no longer held his blue shirts.
In the restroom, his pricey cologne had faded.
For the first time in years, I was able to enjoy a cup of coffee without worrying about my husband’s deceit.
However, suffering left traces all over the place.
I still occasionally reached for my phone to text him before realising:
No marriage remained to be saved.
The divorce paperwork were being processed quickly.
Too quickly.
According to my relative, men like Bruno only maintained their composure while they thought they were still in charge.
Bruno had also stopped talking.
No irate phone calls.
No dangers.
I’m not going to apologise dramatically.
Nothing.
I was more afraid of that.
Because when they stop talking, manipulative men are at their most dangerous.
Mateo and Carolina had been lodging with her aunt on the other side of town.
momentary.
concealed.
The internet did what it always does when Bruno publicly denied Mateo was his son.
It consumed blood.
A picture of Carolina and the infant leaving the prosecutor’s office was leaked.
Before long, she was being called by online users:
“Homewrecker”
“gold digger”
“Liar”
Bruno was not sufficiently blamed.
It’s funny how women’s knives are still sharpened more quickly by society.
I made two trips to Carolina.
Not because we were pals.
However, trauma acknowledges trauma.
Additionally, Mateo’s eyes were Bruno’s.
That poor kid inherited pandemonium before they had even learnt to walk.
Rain pounded Mexico City that Thursday night, shaking the windows 🌧️.
The lights flickered just as I was wrapping up my study of legal documents.
My phone buzzed after that.
The number is unknown.
I disregarded it.
Buzz once more.
Then a text message showed up:
“Tell me the location of the files, or the baby will foot the bill.”
I felt my blood freeze.
Instantly, another message came in.
“Plan M.”
The chair crashed backward as I got up so quickly.
No.
No, no, no.
Just four individuals were aware of those files:
me.
My cousin
Carolina
Bruno
Outside, thunder crackled. ⚡
Then all of the house’s lights went out.
Everything was engulfed by silence.
I reached for the torch on my phone.
Somehow, the hallway seemed off.
It’s too dark.
Still too much.
Next—
CREAK.
upstairs.
My stomach fell.
There was a person inside my home.
I cautiously made my way to the kitchen drawer containing my emergency pepper spray.
One more sound.
A step.
heavy.
thoughtful.
Not Bruno.
Bruno had a haughty gait.
It sounded colder.
I refrained from breathing.
My phone then lit up once more.
A picture message.
When I opened it, I almost passed out.
Mateo was the one.
resting.
The photo was recently taken by someone.
Very lately. 👶📸
There was a single sentence beneath it:
“You ought to have quietly allowed Bruno to ruin you.”
My hands began to tremble violently.
I called Carolina right away.
She sobbed in response.
— “Mariana…”
Her voice broke in an instant.
– “He’s disappeared.”
All of my organs became frozen.
— “Gone? What do you mean?”
— “Mateo—”
She shed a lot of tears.
“Mateo has left.”
Right then and there…
Once more, I heard movement upstairs.
No longer hiding.
moving slowly over the floor of my bedroom.
purposefully allowing me to hear it.
At last, my survival instincts let forth a loud enough cry.
I bolted toward the front door—
but came to a cold stop.
The door was unlocked already.
And one statement was engraved into the wood next to the handle:
“TRUTH IS WHAT WE CAN PROVE.”
Bruno’s best line. 😨
I staggered back.
Next—
From upstairs, a man’s voice could be heard.
Be calm.
Almost amused.
— “Mariana…”
My breathing stopped.
Due to the voice…
wasn’t Bruno’s.
Section 3:
“Only Bruno Should Have Known What The Man Upstairs Knew” 😨📂
It wasn’t Bruno’s voice above.
And for some reason, I was more afraid of that.
due to Bruno’s cruelty.
manipulative.
cowardly.
However, this voice?
This voice had a serene tone.
similar to a man who lacked the emotional capacity to make errors.
I stood motionless next to the front entrance, gripping my phone so firmly that my fingers ached, as the rain beat down on the glass.
Upstairs
My chamber was filled with slow footsteps.
then came to a halt.
Quiet.
I started breathing shallowly.
I muttered into the phone:
– “Lock every door, Carolina.” At this moment.
She was crying too much to respond appropriately.
— “Mariana, he took Mateo. I only looked away for a few seconds.”
My chest constricted horribly.
No.
No, no, no.
This was no longer Bruno.
Bruno enjoyed playing psychological games.
dangers.
command.
However, abducting a baby?
It was darker.
more structured.
The man upstairs then spoke once more.
– “You ought to end the call now.”
My blood froze.
He could hear me since he was so close.
I cautiously raised my gaze to the stairs.
There is nothing there.
Just the dark.
Next—
CREAK.
A shadow approached close to the upper hallway.
tall.
wide shoulders.
donning gloves in black.
With trembling hands, I reached into the kitchen drawer and took out the pepper spray.
— “Who are you?I yelled.
Upstairs, there was a quiet laugh.
Not anxious.
Laughing.
“Mariana, that’s the issue.”
A pause.
“You still believe that Bruno is the subject of this story.”
My body’s survival instincts all burst.
I bolted toward the front door—
SLAM.
The door slammed shut on its own.
There is no breeze.
There was another person inside the house.
My heart was on the verge of stopping.
Then all of the lights suddenly came back on. ⚡
I whirled around.
and noticed dirty tracks on the ground.
heading upstairs.
In the direction of my bedroom.
Bruno used to lock the closet while he worked on “financial paperwork.”
The wardrobe.
God, oh God.
The secret safe.
Before fear could stop me, I bolted upstairs.
At first sight, the bedroom appeared unaltered.
However, the door to the wardrobe was open.
And the tiny safe hidden between Bruno’s old coats…
was left hanging.
empty.
My knees almost buckled.
Because what had been in that safe was:
property records
Details of an offshore account
secret recordings
and copies of “Plan M”
Bruno vowed that no one would ever discover the files.
Before he vanished, my cousin stealthily copied files.
However, right now…
The originals had been stolen.
From the corridor behind me, there was a slow clap.
In an instant, I turned.
The man stood with a slight smile on his face.
Perhaps in the mid-forties.
jacket in grey.
gloves in black.
His sleeves were soaked with rainwater.
And his eyes…
utterly emotionless.
He calmly remarked, “You really should have burnt those files.”
I pointed the pepper spray in his direction.
— “Who on earth are you?”
He cocked his head a little.
– “I corrected Bruno’s errors.”
My stomach turned.
more tidy.
Not a friend.
not a partner.
more tidy.
As Bruno had already done.
The man looked at the open safe.
Unfortunately for all parties concerned, your husband preserved mementos.
He took a hesitant step toward them.
At that moment, I noticed something.
His hand on the left.
a wrist-related tattoo.
A small black snake. 🐍
And all of a sudden, I was hit with a memory.
It was three years ago.
Bruno was dozing off on the couch after drinking.
mumbling something I could hardly make out.
“If the serpent finds out, they’ll bury me.”
I felt it was absurd at the time.
My skin became chilly now.
What is the serpent?I muttered.
For the first time…
The man grinned more broadly.
Not politely.
With pride.
— “Not what.”
A pause.
“Who.”
Suddenly, my phone vibrated.
A fresh message.
The number is unknown.
I glanced down.
and almost let out a yell.
Mateo was pictured in real time.
Now awake.
shedding tears.
fastened to a vehicle seat. “👶💔”
Time stamp:
A minute ago.
Below it:
“Every copy of Plan M must be returned within 24 hours.”
Then, right away, another message showed up:
“Or the child vanishes forever.”
The man kept a close eye on my face.
He was fascinated by the scientific study of dread.
— “You see the issue now?Softly, he enquired.
“The monster was never Bruno.”
Outside, thunder erupted. ⚡
Then he uttered the words that completely contradicted all I believed to be true:
“Bruno was the worker.” 😨
Section 4:
“Bruno was the man they sent to destroy women like us, not the monster.” 😨🐍
After those statements, the room fell silent.
Not the usual quiet.
The type that puts pressure on your chest till breathing becomes optional.
The man stood quietly next to Bruno’s open safe, as if he belonged there more than my husband ever did, while the rain pounded the windows behind us.
In my hand, my phone shook.
Mateo’s tearful face continued to shine on the screen. “👶💔”
24 hours.
Or the child is gone forever.
I glanced back at the man.
— “Who are you?”
He disregarded the query.
Rather, he moved gently through my bedroom, making casual touches:
my bottle of perfume.
The bookcase.
After the affair erupted, Bruno never bothered to take the wedding picture.
As if he were examining the remnants of a crime scene.
He whispered, “Bruno made a very expensive mistake.”
“He developed an emotional bond.”
I gazed at him.
Strongly bonded?
To whom?
Carolina?
Me?
The infant?
The man gave me an almost pleased smile.
Do you believe that the goal was to cheat?”
I felt a severe twist in my stomach.
No.
No, no, no.
All of Bruno’s memories seemed strange all of a sudden.
Too deliberate.
Too much practice.
The battles.
The deception.
The tapes.
The way he consistently pushed people’s emotions to the breaking point.
As if he wasn’t merely harsh.
As if he were gathering responses.
At last, the stranger came to a stop close to the bed.
Are you aware of the reason behind your husband’s documentation of everything?”
I remained silent.
Because, deep inside…
I was already afraid of the response.
— “Because people who are broken make money.”
My whole body felt cold.
Slowly, he reached inside his jacket.
I gripped the pepper spray more tightly.
However, rather than a weapon…
He produced a slender black folder.
then threw it onto the bed.
Pictures were all over the place.
Ladies.
different women.
various cities.
distinct years.
shedding tears.
yelling.
departing from hotels.
departing from police stations.
Getting out of court.
And next to nearly every picture…
was Bruno.
grinning. “📸😨
I became ill right away.
— “What’s this?”
The man’s voice remained emotionless.
— “Field work”
My knees almost gave out.
No.
Not possible.
I took another picture.
A Guadalajara blonde.
One more in Monterrey.
One more in Mexico City.
Everyone appeared to be deeply devastated.
And it’s all related to Bruno.
Then I saw something terrifying.
In each picture…
Every now and then, the woman appeared unsteady.
furious.
Broken.
As though they were pushed there on purpose.
My throat constricted.
What had he done to them?”
The outsider cocked his head.
– “Whatever was required.”
I slowly retreated.
This was no longer infidelity.
This was no longer retaliation.
This was well-organised.
predatory.
His wrist’s tattoo of a serpent caught the light once more. 🐍
Suddenly, I realised something horrifying:
Over time, Bruno did not turn into a manipulator.
He had received training.
Once more, my phone rang.
The number is unknown.
The man gave it a nod.
— “Respond.”
I paused.
then took the call.
First, static crackled.
Next—
Mateo sobbed aloud.
Somewhere in the background, Carolina is wailing.
— “Don’t hurt him, please!”
In an instant, my heart broke.
— “Carolina?!”
Another male voice chuckled faintly.
Not Bruno.
– “You possess something that is not ours.”
I made myself take a breath.
– “The files are not with me.”
— “Incorrect response.”
Over the phone, there was a loud crash.
Carolina sobbed more.
Next—
Abruptly, Bruno’s voice emerged.
weak.
terrified.
– “Mariana, pay attention to me.”
Every hair on my body stood on end.
He sounded scared.
not deceitful.
Fearful.
— “Bruno?”
breathing heavily.
Next:
“They intend to murder us.”
The space whirled.
For a moment, the stranger in front of me closed his eyes as if dissatisfied.
Bruno quickly murmured over the phone:
— “Divorce cases are not the subject of the files.”
“They have to do with politicians.”
“Judges.”
“Trafficking.”
“Cash.”
My stomach fell.
God, oh God.
I wasn’t the focus of Plan M.
It was never the case.
Bruno gave a harsh cough.
— “I took copies as insurance in case they betrayed me.”
The stranger’s expression seemed a little gloomy.
It’s interesting.
That response was important.
Desperately, Bruno went on:
– “Mariana, you must flee.”
Then all of a sudden—
A terrible noise.
A blow.
Bruno let out a pained moan.
Carolina let out a scream.
The line became warped.
And a last voice slowly emerged from the phone.
calmly…
the same serenity as the man in my bedroom:
“You ought to have quietly allowed your husband to ruin you.” 😨📞
CLICK.
The call came to an end.
The room fell silent once more.
My hands trembled wildly.
I gave the stranger a look.
He let forth an almost melancholy sigh.
Then he said something that utterly froze my blood:
This explains why emotional men don’t last long in our industry. 🐍
Section 5:
“The Night Bruno Finally Explained What “Plan M” Actually Meant” 😨📂🐍
The call came to an end.
However, Bruno’s anxiety persisted in the space.
That man was someone I had known for seventeen years.
I was aware of his phoney fear.
His cunning fear.
His “poor me” performances.
This was not like the others.
This sounded like a man who had at last seen what he had spent years assisting in the creation of.
and discovered too late that monsters don’t always keep their servants safe.
Calmly, the stranger adjusted his gloves.
Don’t panic.
No rage.
Just disappointment.
Bruno had violated business policies, for example.
— “You people sell women?I muttered.
In fact, the man appeared offended.
– “Don’t make this so easy.”
Easy?
I was so shocked that I almost laughed.
– “You ruin lives.”
— “Correction.”
He took a hesitant step toward them.
“We control instability.”
His sleeves leaked rainwater into the floor of my bedroom.
Press.
Press.
Press.
My survival instincts cried out for me to flee.
Mateo, however, was somewhere out there.
Carolina as well.
And apparently Bruno as well.
The stranger looked at the wedding picture that was still on display next to the mirror.
The one I was too emotionally spent to take off.
Are you aware of the value of men such as Bruno?He enquired.
I said nothing.
Because each response now seemed risky.
— “Charming men are more trusted by women than institutions.”
A pause.
“And it’s easier to control people who have been emotionally destroyed.”
My whole body felt cold.
No.
No, no, no.
Everything connected all of a sudden:
The recordings
The manipulation
The emotional strain
The fictitious worry
The cautious gaslighting
Not arbitrary brutality.
gathering of data.
psychological profiling.
My voice trembled:
— “What is Plan M?”
For the first time…
The man gave a sincere smile.
Not with warmth.
With pride.
– “Plan M stands for Mujeres.”
Ladies.
My stomach fell hard.
He went over to the bed and took one of the pictures.
Outside a courtroom, a woman sobs.
“Every woman Bruno pursued was carefully chosen.”
“Stable finances.”
“Vulnerable on an emotional level.”
“Socially isolated to the point of discrediting”
I was having trouble breathing.
— “Why?”
“Because women who are broken sign things.”
A pause.
“Women who are broken lose credibility.”
One more pause.
“And broken women silently vanish.”
Around me, the room slanted.
It wasn’t dishonest.
This was the industrialised devastation of emotions.
Like he was talking about office statistics, the stranger went on in a composed manner.
“Insurance fraud”
“Transfers of property.”
“Blackmail in politics.”
“Coercion through psychology”
Carelessly, he flung the picture aside.
– “Your spouse had extraordinary talent.”
Anger blazed in my eyes.
So why are you pursuing him?”
The man’s expression seemed a little gloomy.
Lastly.
feeling.
“Because Bruno lost track of his position.”
Once more, he reached inside his pocket.
He took out a flash disc this time.
Black.
tiny.
unremarkable appearance.
other from the small silver snake that is carved on it. 🐍
— “Your spouse made copies of private documents.”
“Lists of clients.”
“Payment arrangements.”
“Videos.”
videos.
God, oh God.
Suddenly, I recalled the secret cameras my cousin had discovered that were referenced in the folders.
not merely recordings of disputes.
rooms in hotels.
apartments.
private residences.
Women covertly recorded themselves having emotional breakdowns.
Leverage is humiliation.
I was physically ill.
– “You use blackmail against them.”
— “Occasionally.”
He gave a slight shrug.
“Husbands typically handle the rest on their own.”
Then he met my eyes immediately.
— “After you lost the pregnancies, Bruno became sentimental.”
My heart stopped.
No.
No, no, no—
– “Avoid discussing that.”
Nevertheless, he went on.
“His efficiency was altered by that grief.”
“He stopped adhering to the rules of emotional separation.”
“He started storing evidence.”
My knees grew weaker.
Because all of a sudden…
Something came to mind.
It was two years ago.
late at night.
Bruno is sipping whisky by himself on the terrace.
silently sobbing.
I had enquired:
— “What’s not right?”
And he responded:
— “I believe I’ve done horrible things in order to survive.”
I assumed he meant cheating at the time.
I got it now.
The stranger had a buzzing phone.
He gave it a quick glance.
Then I sighed.
— “Unfortunate.”
My throat constricted.
— “What?”
He gave me an almost pitying glance.
Nearly.
— “Your spouse attempted to flee.”
I felt a burst of fear.
“How did you treat him?”
The question was disregarded by the man.
Rather, he moved in the direction of the bedroom door.
then came to a halt.
He said, without looking back:
“Mariana, if you really want to save the child,”
A pause.
“You must locate Bruno before we do.”
Then he gently made his way downstairs.
Not in a hurry.
Not concealing.
Like a man who had never once been afraid of the repercussions.
After a moment…
The front door opened.
closed after that.
Quiet.
All that was left was rain. 🌧 •
In the center of my ruined bedroom, I remained motionless.
Once more, my phone buzzed.
A fresh message.
The number is unknown.
It was a video this time.
I opened it with trembling hands.
The video was choppy and dim.
It looked like Bruno was strapped to a chair.
Bloody.
Fearful.
hardly breathing.
Additionally, behind the camera…
Someone softly murmured:
“Ask your wife where the copies are.” 😨📹
Section 6:
“I nearly stopped breathing when Bruno revealed the truth about my miscarriages.” 😨🩸
The video abruptly terminated.
But I couldn’t get Bruno’s face out of my head.
Bloody.
Fearful.
His eyes were pleading.
Not for himself.
For me.
And for some reason, that made me even more afraid.
because Bruno has never previously shielded someone.
Not me.
Not in Carolina.
Not even his own son.
However, in that chair…
He appeared to be a man attempting to prevent something worse from getting to us.
Soon later, my phone rang.
Once more, an unknown number.
Without thinking, I responded.
The first sound was heavy breathing.
Bruno then muttered:
— “Keep the other file hidden from them.”
My heart pounded hard against my chest.
— “Where is Mateo?”
For once in your life, pay attention to me!”
He sounded terrified.
desperate.
Then he gave a loud cough.
Somewhere in the background, I heard shackles moving.
God, oh God.
He was indeed imprisoned.
“Bruno, what’s going on?”
A long pause.
Next, softly:
— “They were meant to destroy people.”
“Avoid killing them.”
My body was overcome with cold.
Not murder them?
My voice trembled:
What do you mean when you say “supposed to”?”
One more quiet moment.
Then came the one that totally broke me:
— “Mariana, your miscarriages weren’t coincidences.”
The world came to a halt.
My entire being went numb in an instant.
No.
No, no, no.
To stay upright, I held onto the dresser’s edge.
— “What were you saying?”
Bruno sounded as though his remorse was suffocating him.
— “At first, I didn’t know.”
“I swear to God, I had no idea.”
My vision became fuzzy.
Now it’s raining more heavily outside 🌧️⚡
— “Bruno…”
My voice was hardly audible.
What did you do?”
He was crying quietly, and I heard it.
I’m crying.
After seventeen years…
Only twice had I witnessed that man cry.
once following my second loss.
And right now.
“The vitamins,” he muttered.
“The clinic.”
“The physician they suggested…”
Every organ in my body twisted ferociously.
No.
No.
It was three years ago.
following my second loss…
Bruno demanded that we cease visiting my usual physician.
He claimed to have found “someone better.”
Someone covert.
Someone made a connection.
I had faith in him.
God, oh God.
I had faith in him.
“How did they treat me?”
Bruno started breathing erratically.
- “They assess emotional reliance.”
“They research post-loss psychological collapse.”
“A woman is easier to manipulate financially the more isolated she becomes.”
I almost threw up.
My legs went up entirely.
I fell to the floor of the bedroom.
The Serpent Organization did more than only ruin traumatised women.
Occasionally…
They were the ones who initially caused the trauma. 🐍
I tried not to scream by putting my hand to my mouth.
I was immediately struck by memories:
lights in a hospital
White sheets covered in blood
Bruno is grasping my hand.
Bruno sobbing next to me
Bruno stating:
“Perhaps it wasn’t supposed to happen.”
Lies.
Everything.
Or worse…
Perhaps it’s not all lies.
Perhaps even he was ignorant at the time.
In some way, the notion hurt more.
“Why are you telling me this right now?I muttered.
Bruno responded right away:
— “Because everyone associated with Plan M will be erased.”
I felt my blood freeze.
— “Everyone?”
— “You.”
“Carolina.”
“The infant.”
“Me.”
Somewhere close to him, a metal door slammed.
In the background, voices could be heard faintly.
Bruno then spoke more quickly:
— “An additional copy exists.”
“Not digital.”
“Paper.”
My survival instincts came back to life.
— “Where?”
– “Locker at the train station.”
“Buenavista.”
Outside, thunder erupted.
— “Locker 322”
So that I wouldn’t forget, I immediately repeated it.
322.
323.
324.
Desperately, Bruno went on:
“There is evidence against judges, police, and politicians inside.”
He was abruptly interrupted by a loud snap.
A cry.
Bruno let out a yell.
Not on an emotional level.
in a physical sense.
My stomach fell apart.
He was being harmed by someone.
— “STOP!I yelled into the telephone.
Instead, a composed voice responded.
From my bedroom came the same serene voice.
The housekeeper.
— “Your husband was too sentimental all the time.”
My breathing stopped.
The man then quietly added:
Particularly when he fell in love with the wrong person.
Quiet.
My heart was on the verge of stopping.
Incorrect target?
Me?
No.
Not possible.
However, memories abruptly began to rearrange themselves:
Bruno gazing at me following the miscarriages
Bruno drinking by himself at night
Bruno’s near-confession
By storing copies, Bruno undermines his own business.
God, oh God.
The housekeeper went on:
— “Mariana, you were never meant to survive psychologically.”
“You made it through anyhow.”
Next—
CLICK.
The call came to an end.
The room fell silent once more.
However, there was something odd about this silence.
heavier.
Because I have realised the most terrifying thing of all:
Perhaps Bruno was the monster at first.
However, at some point…
He also became a victim. “😨🐍
Section 7:
“A file with my name and a death date was found in the locker at Buenavista Station.” 😨📂🚉
I was not asleep.
How could I?
I saw this each time I closed my eyes:
White sheets covered in hospital blood 🩸
Bruno sobbing next to my bed
Mateo yelling in that picture
and the lifeless eyes of the cleaner staring at me as if I had already passed away
Mexico City slowly awoke outside under clouds of grey rain.
However, within my home…
Everything seemed contaminated.
My cousin showed up at 5:12 a.m.
Hair is pulled back.
No cosmetics.
Tucked under her blazer was a gun.
It was no longer lawyer mode.
This was the mode of survival.
She discovered me seated on the kitchen floor with my phone still in my hand.
Just glance at my face…
and she realised that something horrible had occurred.
— “Mariana…”
I cut them off right away:
— “The miscarriages weren’t coincidental.”
Quiet.
Total quiet.
After saying that, even the rain appeared to stop.
Slowly, my cousin sat next to me.
— “What was Bruno saying?”
I went over everything again.
The medical facility.
the vitamins.
psychological profiling.
Plan M.
The organization of serpents.
Lastly:
— “Locker 322”
Her face quickly transformed.
Fear.
genuine terror.
I was more afraid of that than anything else.
because my relative didn’t get afraid easily.
I muttered, “You know something.”
She turned her head away.
Incorrect action.
That proved it.
I firmly grasped her wrist.
– “Be honest with me.”
She took a slow gulp.
Next:
— “One of my clients vanished three years ago.”
A chill went through my chest.
— “Went missing?”
“She was divorcing a wealthy businessman.”
“She had a nervous breakdown and was admitted to the hospital a week later.”
“She signed away everything two months later.”
My stomach turned.
— “And?”
My cousin met my eyes directly.
“Bruno was involved.”
I was physically ill.
She proceeded cautiously:
— “I attempted to look into it discreetly. I initially heard rumours about “The Serpent Network” at that time.
“Attorneys.”
“Judges.”
“Physicians.”
“Private investigators.”
“Men employed to cause psychological instability in women during inheritance disputes or divorces.”
The space whirled.
emotional abuse that is industrialised.
The entire system was designed to break women until they appeared “crazy.”
My cousin spoke in a hushed tone:
— “I believed it to be conspiracy theory.”
“Until women began to die.”
I felt my blood freeze.
— “Dying?”
She gave one nod.
— “Officially?”
“Suicides.”
“Overdoses”
“Mishaps.”
A pause.
Unofficially, no one was aware.
The cleaner’s remarks now reverberated in my brain:
“Broken women quietly vanish.”
God, oh God.
Bruno was not as huge as this.
larger than affairs.
larger than retaliation.
This was planned.
My cousin got up fast.
“Before they move that locker, we need it.”
After thirty minutes, we were heading toward Buenavista Station while navigating the damp streets. 🚖🌧️
Mexico City appeared oddly typical.
Taco stands were set up by street merchants.
People hurried over to the buses.
Tiny corner stores played music.
No one in our immediate vicinity was aware that women were being expertly destroyed behind shiny office doors.
Nobody was aware that Bruno existed.
Or perhaps they did.
Perhaps society simply didn’t want to examine things too deeply.
The station was packed.
Excellent.
Surveillance was more difficult in crowded areas.
That’s what my cousin said, anyway.
However, I continued to feel observed.
Every dude wearing sunglasses.
Each and every security officer.
Everyone is using their phones for too long.
Locker 322 was located next to an outdated vending machine in the rear hallway.
Grey.
rusty.
Typical.
It’s funny how commonplace objects always conceal horrible secrets.
As I input the code Bruno handed me, my hands trembled:
0 …
Nine.
Two…
Two…
CLICK.
Slowly, the locker opened.
There was:
A file on thick paper
phones with two burners
piles of money
along with a tiny silver key
However, what caused my blood to entirely stop?
was the top folder.
Black.
marked with a sign of a serpent. 🐍
And underneath it…
my entire name.
“MARIANA VEGA: PHASE 3”
In a whisper, my cousin said:
— “Oh my God.”
I opened it with trembling fingers.
The initial pages included:
psychological assessments
private images
transcripts of arguments
recordings
medication history
My whole life reduced into a project.
A manipulation strategy.
Then I saw a page labeled:
“EXPECTED COLLAPSE TIMELINE”
Below it…
a projected emotional breakdown schedule.
dates.
symptoms.
Isolation patterns.
Predicted suicidal ideation risk.
My breathing stopped.
