chapter 1

Cristiano pov

"Cristiano, please," Teresa begged, her eyes welling up as she grasped my arm. "I'm drowning in debt, and I need this money to stay afloat." Her fingers tightened around my wrist, and her nails dug in like a lifeline. "Just transfer the funds, and I'll be out of your hair forever." I hesitated; her desperation was palpable, but my mind raced with doubts. Her spending habits were legendary, and I feared I'd only enable her recklessness.

I watched her reluctantly slump into the chair, furrowing her brows to divert my attention from the papers strewn across my table. Suddenly, I felt her leg brush against my foot, a subtle attempt to distract me.

"I'm not falling for that, Teresa," I said, trying to sound firm but struggling to hide my amusement. Her legs brushed against mine again, and I felt a spark of electricity running through my body.

"Cristiano, please," she said, her voice pleading. "It's just a small loan. I'll pay you back, I promise. Don't you want my full attention today?" She batted her eyelashes, her eyes rolling upward in a pleading gesture.

The approach was made, and I felt irritated by it. I was expected to be faithful and in control of my family's affairs, but I've been lusting after Teresa in secret. I felt a pang of regret and looked up at her. My lips parted to speak, but I held back, swallowing my words to avoid hurting her with my inner turmoil.

"Teresa," I said, my voice firm. "Keep your voice down; this is an office, not a bar." I tapped my fingers on the table, raising an eyebrow sarcastically.

She slowly got up from the chair, holding onto the table for support, her chair scraping against the floor and echoing through the office. I shook my head disapprovingly as she approached. "No, Teresa, we can't do this in my office; it's not appropriate. I can't keep cheating on my wife; it's wrong."

She paused, and I tried to read her expression. My thoughts trailed off as she slapped me, interrupting me. "Don't you dare lecture me about cheating," she said, her voice firm. "I'm the one being used as a mistress, not the other way around. So, hand over the money I asked for."

"Teresa, I can't keep living this lie! I'm suffocating under the weight of our secret trysts and stolen moments. I'm married, and my wife is your friend, for God's sake! The guilt is eating away at me, and I can't bear the thought of hurting her anymore.

We need to end this toxic cycle of sneaking around and deceiving those we care about. Let's just be friends, Teresa, because I can't continue down this path of destruction with you. It's over, and I'm sorry if that hurts you, but I can't keep risking everything for our fleeting moments of passion."

Teresa's laughter was like a razor, slicing through the air with mocking intent. Her eyes blazed with fury as she closed in on me, her lips crashing into mine with a force that left me reeling. I was paralyzed with shock, unable to push her away as she claimed my mouth with a savage intensity.

But before things could escalate further, the door burst open, and Roberto stood framed in the entrance, his eyes blazing with anger. "Dad?" he growled, his voice low and menacing.

I took advantage of the distraction to shove Teresa away, sending her crashing to the ground. But before I could explain, Roberto's eyes narrowed, and he slammed the door shut, leaving me to face the wrath of Teresa alone.

"You'll pay for that," she hissed, her eyes flashing with venom as she scrambled to her feet. "You'll regret the day you ever crossed me, Cristiano."

The air was thick with tension as we faced off, our breathing heavy and our hearts racing with anger. I knew I had to end this toxic cycle, but Teresa was not going to let me go; her tears were stark reminders that I had to apologize. And immediately, she stormed off.

"Damn it! What have I done?!" I bellowed, slamming my fist on the table with a force that sent shockwaves through my arm. I sprang up from the couch, my eyes scanning the room frantically for my suit jacket. "Teresa, wait!" I yelled, grabbing the jacket and storming out of the room like a madman.

I sprinted down the corridor, my feet pounding the floor with a desperation that bordered on panic. But it was too late. She was already gone; she vanished into thin air like a ghost. I skidded to a stop in front of the elevator, my chest heaving with exertion and my mind reeling with thoughts of my son and Teresa.

I felt like I was losing my grip on reality, with my world crumbling around me like a house of cards. I punched the elevator button repeatedly, willing it to move faster, but it seemed to be stuck in slow motion. Finally, the doors slid open, and I leapt in, my heart racing like a jackrabbit.

I burst out of the elevator and sprinted to my Toyota Tacoma, flinging open the door and diving into the driver's seat. I started the engine with a roar, peeling out of the compound like a bat out of hell. My heart was racing, and my mind was a jumble of toxic thoughts and emotions. What was Roberto thinking right now? Was he blaming me for his mother's departure?

I punched the steering wheel in frustration, the traffic ahead of me seeming to mock me with its slow pace. "Come on, come on!" I yelled, my fists clenched in impotent rage. How was I supposed to catch up with Teresa now? The thought sent a chill down my spine, and I floored it, weaving in and out of traffic with a recklessness that bordered on suicidal.

I drove straight to her estate, parking outside her gate. I ran into her compound, knocking repeatedly on the door, but there was silence. I pushed open the door, calling out, "Hello? Teresa?" But there was only silence. I made my way to her bedroom and sighed softly, seeing her curled up on her bed, clinging to her bedsheets.

Tears streamed down her face as she wept. "What are you doing here, Cristiano?" she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Leave, please."

I tried to touch her to comfort her, but she was having none of it. She threw the duvet at me, her eyes blazing with anger and hurt. "Leave, or I'll call 911!" she shouted, her voice cracking with emotion.

I felt a surge of adrenaline coursing through my veins as I backed away, my hands raised in surrender. "Teresa, please..." I tried to plead, but she was beyond reason.

I turned and made my way to the door, feeling her eyes on me like a dagger. I heard her footsteps behind me, and then the door slammed shut, the sound echoing through the silent night like a gunshot.

"Teresa, I'm sorry!" I shouted, pounding on the door with my fist. "I'm so sorry!" But she was drowning in her emotions, unable to hear me.

I leaned against the door, my forehead pressed against the cold wood, and felt the weight of my mistakes crushing me. I could hear her sobs, muffled by the door, and my heart broke all over again.

I pushed off the door and stumbled back to my car, my legs feeling like lead. I slid into the driver's seat, my eyes fixed on the dark shape of her house, and felt the tears prick at the corners of my eyes.

I started the engine and pulled away from the curb, leaving her estate and my shattered dreams behind.

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"Roberto, please listen to me!" I begged, my voice cracking with desperation. But my son was unfazed; his eyes fixed on me with a cold, unyielding gaze.

I tried to explain to make him understand, but he was deaf to my words. His face was a mask of anger and disappointment, and I couldn't bear the weight of his judgment.

My eyes, weak and pleading, searched his face for a glimmer of understanding. But it was like looking into a stone wall.

"Why are you begging him, Cristiano?" My wife, Graciela, asked, her voice laced with disdain. She turned me to face her, her eyes blazing with a mixture of anger and pity.

I forced a smile, a weak attempt to reassure her. "It's nothing, Graciela," I lied, hugging her tightly to shield her from the truth. But my eyes betrayed me, and I knew she saw the desperation lurking behind them.

"What's going on?" Graciela screamed, her voice echoing through the hallway as she clutched my arm, her nails digging deep into my skin.

I winced, feeling a surge of guilt and shame. "Nothing, Graciela, I swear," I pleaded, trying to extricate myself from her grasp.

But Roberto's silence was deafening. He shrugged his shoulders, his eyes cold and unforgiving, and walked away, leaving me feeling like a condemned man.

As he reached the stairs, he turned back, his eyes blazing with anger. "I hate you,

"He spat, his voice venomous. "I wish my mother knew who she was married to."