I don’t serve dinner at 8:00 PM the next night.
I don’t make coffee at 6:00 AM.
I don’t iron his shirt.
When Alejandro comes downstairs at 7:15, in his boxers and a wrinkled T-shirt, looking for his coffee, he finds me sitting at the kitchen table. In front of me: a stack of printed photos, a USB drive, and a manila folder with the words “DIVORCE PETITION” written in bold red letters.
“What is this?” he asks, his voice confused, then annoyed.
“Breakfast,” I say. “Eat up.”
He picks up the first photo. His face goes pale. It’s a picture of him and Isabella, kissing outside the penthouse. The timestamp is visible: 11:47 PM, three nights ago.
“You followed me?” he whispers.
“I finally paid attention,” I say. “Sit down, Alejandro. We need to talk.”
He doesn’t sit. He slams the photo down. “How dare you spy on me? I am the man of this house!” quiero el divorcio ya no te sirvo mas novela
“You are a man who broke his vows,” I say, my voice steady. “You are a man who made me feel worthless for five years. You are a man who told me I didn’t ‘serve’ you anymore.”
“You don’t!” he shouts. “You’re boring, Valeria! You have no ambition, no passion, no life! Isabella understands me. Isabella challenges me. What do you do? You cook. You clean. You wait.”
I stand up slowly. I’m wearing jeans and a plain white T-shirt—not the designer dresses he likes me to wear at home. For the first time, I feel comfortable in my own skin.
“You’re right,” I say. “I waited. I waited for you to see me. To love me. To treat me like a wife and not a maid. But you know what, Alejandro? I’m done waiting.”
I slide the divorce petition across the table.
“Sign it,” I say. “Or I take all of this to the press. The photos. The videos. The receipts. Your investors won’t like seeing their CEO playing house with his secretary while his wife eats cold lamb alone.”
He stares at me. For the first time in five years, I see fear in his eyes.
“You wouldn’t,” he says.
“Try me.”
The lawyer’s name is Daniela Fuentes. She’s small, sharp, and doesn’t smile. I like her immediately.
We meet in a café across town, where no one knows me. I wear sunglasses and a hat, even though Alejandro wouldn’t notice if I walked past him naked in the street.
“Mrs. Castro,” Daniela says, opening a leather notebook. “Tell me everything.”
So I do. I tell her about the cold dinners. The hotel key cards. The way Alejandro looks at me like I’m furniture. The way Isabella calls him “Ale” and touches his arm and laughs like a wind chime while I sit at home like a forgotten doll.
“And the financials?” Daniela asks. “Do you have access?”
“He gives me a monthly allowance. For groceries, the house, my ‘personal expenses.’” I make air quotes. “But the properties, the investments, the companies—they’re all in his name.”
Daniela nods slowly. “He’s been preparing for this. Whether he knows it or not.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean,” she says, closing her notebook, “he’s kept you dependent. No access to money. No career. No social life outside of his circle. That’s not a marriage, Mrs. Castro. That’s a prison.” I don’t serve dinner at 8:00 PM the next night
The word hits me like a slap.
Prison.
I’ve been a prisoner in a mansion with marble floors and a garden no one walks in.
“Can I divorce him?” I ask. My voice shakes, but only a little.
“You can,” Daniela says. “But you need evidence. Proof of infidelity. Proof of financial abuse. Without it, he’ll bury you in court.”
I think of the hotel key card. The late nights. The perfume that isn’t mine on his collar.
“I’ll get the proof,” I say.
The novel is primarily distributed via digital reading apps such as Wattpad, Inkitt, or serialized story platforms (like Dreame or GoodNovel). Due to its popularity, fan-made audio narrations are flooding TikTok and YouTube, using dramatic background music and AI voices to bring the text to life.
Dado que el keyword incluye la palabra "novela" (que puede ser tanto literaria como televisiva), aquí tienes el top de plataformas: The lawyer’s name is Daniela Fuentes