The door shut. Silence rushed in.
Isabel stood still, then crossed the room and pulled back the curtain. She watched his taillights fade into swirling snow. Zurich was a convenient lie—cold, efficient, believable.
The truth was Baqueira Beret. And he wasn’t going alone.
She glanced at the gingerbread village. Mateo had made a tiny doghouse for their dog, Roco. Alejandro had crushed it earlier without even noticing.
Isabel didn’t call her sister. She didn’t call a friend. She called the only person who mattered.
The line rang twice.
“Talk to me,” said a sharp voice—Elizabeth Croft, the most feared divorce lawyer in Spain.
Isabel’s warmth vanished. “He left,” she said. “He thinks I believe Zurich. He’s heading to the Pyrenees with Beatriz Moreno.”
“A cliché,” Croft replied. “Good. We’re clear to proceed. Papers are ready. Process servers are in place. What about the accounts?”
Isabel sat at her desk, opened her laptop, and stared at a spreadsheet Alejandro had never known existed.
