The courthouse smelled faintly of polished wood and damp coats. Inside, everything moved with bureaucratic calm—papers shuffled, heels clicked, lives ended in signatures.
Cristina walked in alone.
And immediately saw them.
Javier stood near the courtroom doors, impeccably dressed, his hand resting possessively on the lower back of Lucía—the woman he hadn’t even tried to hide anymore. She wore white. Not a wedding dress, but close enough to make the statement clear.
They weren’t just ending a marriage.
They were replacing it.
Lucía’s eyes dropped to Cristina’s belly, and a small, satisfied smile curved her lips.
Javier followed her gaze.
“Well,” he said, almost amused, “you look… comfortable.”
Cristina met his eyes.
“I am.”
That unsettled him more than tears ever could have.
Inside the courtroom, everything unfolded quickly.
Names. Dates. Formalities.
Cristina sat quietly, one hand resting on her belly, the other folded over a thin leather folder on her lap.
Javier’s lawyer did most of the talking—confident, polished, already behaving like the outcome was guaranteed.
“Given the circumstances,” he said smoothly, “my client proposes a straightforward division. The shared assets are limited, and the apartment—”
“Isn’t shared,” Cristina’s lawyer interrupted.
That was the first crack.
Javier frowned.
“I’m sorry?”
Cristina’s lawyer, a calm man named Esteban Ruiz, stood and adjusted his glasses.
“The apartment, the primary account holdings, and three investment portfolios in question are not marital assets.”
Silence fell.
Javier let out a short laugh. “That’s absurd. I built those before—”
“No,” Esteban said evenly. “You didn’t.”
He placed a sealed document on the judge’s desk.
“And this is where things become… precise.”
Leave a Comment