Alejandro Santillan held his breath beneath the king-sized bed in a luxury hotel suite overlooking Manhattan, his cheek pressed against the carpet, his heart pounding so hard he was sure Diego and Mauricio could hear it. The night before his wedding was supposed to be peaceful, maybe sentimental, maybe full of nervous laughter and champagne. Instead, he was hiding like a fool under his own bed, listening to the two brothers he had supported for years discuss how they planned to strip him and his future wife of everything.

The mattress dipped.

Someone leaned down.

Alejandro saw the shadow first, then Diego’s polished shoes moving closer to the edge of the bed. The small white envelope with Valeria’s name on it lay inches from Alejandro’s face, close enough that he could see the faint blue ink and the corner crushed from someone’s hand.

“Where did it go?” Diego muttered.

Mauricio laughed from across the room. “What?”

“The envelope. Isabel told me to give it to Valeria tonight.”

Alejandro’s hand closed slowly around the envelope before Diego could bend lower. He slid it under his chest and stopped breathing.

Diego lowered himself farther.

For one awful second, Alejandro saw his brother’s fingers touch the floor.

Then a knock came at the suite door.

Diego froze.

Mauricio swore softly. “Who is it now?”

A woman’s voice answered from the hallway. “Housekeeping.”

Diego straightened so fast the bed lifted.

Alejandro stayed still, his whole body locked.

Mauricio walked to the door and opened it only a crack. “We don’t need service.”

The woman outside sounded calm. “Mr. Santillan requested extra towels.”

“He isn’t here.”

“I can leave them by the door.”

Mauricio hesitated, then snapped, “Fine.”

The door closed.

Diego exhaled sharply. “We need to go. If Alejandro comes back and sees us here, he’ll ask questions.”

Mauricio scoffed. “He never asks the right ones.”

The two brothers left the suite laughing quietly, as if they had not just shattered a man’s life from ten feet away.

Alejandro remained under the bed for almost a full minute after the door clicked shut.

Then he crawled out.

He stood in the middle of the hotel suite, still holding the envelope, feeling like the room had tilted and left him behind. The skyline beyond the window glittered over New York City, expensive and indifferent. His tuxedo hung near the closet. His wedding shoes sat polished by the door. Everything looked ready for tomorrow, except the man who was supposed to walk down the aisle.

He opened the envelope.