They weren’t joking.
On Alejandro’s thirty-eighth birthday, they hosted a lavish dinner in a luxury hotel. Over 150 guests attended—business associates, relatives, and people important to the Castillo family’s image.
I arrived composed, hoping they would at least maintain appearances.
I was wrong.
After the toast, my mother-in-law, Patricia, tapped her glass and asked for silence. She smiled like she was about to give a heartfelt speech—but instead, she announced that it was time to “formalize family assets.”
Then, in front of everyone, she demanded that I transfer my apartment to Alejandro as proof of loyalty.
Her husband nodded. Phones were raised to record.
And my own husband stood there—silent, unsurprised—like this had all been planned.
Because it had.
I took a breath and answered calmly, “I’m not giving up a property I bought before this marriage. Not like this.”
The room went silent.
