This wasn’t love.
It was control.
That night, I realized something important—the house wasn’t legally hers yet.
It was still mine.
And that changed everything.
With help from a lawyer, I prepared the documents. Then I returned to the villa and gathered everyone in the living room.
“I have something to say,” I announced.
Iván smirked. “Go ahead.”
I held up the papers.
“This house doesn’t belong to Mariana,” I said calmly. “And it definitely doesn’t belong to you. Legally—it’s still mine.”
The room went silent.
Then I added:
“And after what I’ve seen here… I’m selling it.”
Chaos erupted. His mother shouted. His sisters protested. Iván insisted it was his home.
“No,” I said firmly. “This is the place where you took advantage of my daughter.”
Then I turned to Mariana.
For the first time, she spoke up.
“I’m tired,” she said.
The room froze.
“Tired of cleaning for your family. Tired of being treated like I have to earn my place. Tired of being disrespected.”
Iván tried to stop her.
But she didn’t back down.
“I didn’t get married to become a servant.”
