Instead, I asked him as I smiled while looking at him, “What now, Mr. Fuentes? Are you planning to send me to prison again … for your precious mistress?”
His gaze lingered on my blood-soaked face. For a moment, his expression faltered. But he then continued, “This time, I’ll let it go since Gloria wasn’t hurt. But I’ll move up my wedding with her. You owe her that much.”
After that, he told me, “As for us … After I marry Gloria, I’ll still get a marriage certificate with you as proof of our long-standing relationship. You’ll stay quietly at the estate. Gloria will handle everything else by my side.”
A laugh almost escaped me.
Robert Fuentes always knew how to have it both ways.
My mocking smile made his expression darken.
“Send Amelia to the apartment outside Mexico City immediately. No one is to let her out without my permission. Let her reflect on her mistakes before she hurts Gloria again!”
Four or five bodyguards seized me roughly and dragged me into a car. But the road stretched on far longer than it should have. When the vehicle finally stopped, I realized we weren’t at any apartment. Instead, we were at an abandoned factory.
One of the men pulled out a knife, smirking.