Part 4
I watched the iPad screen in horror as the hidden camera audio played my biological father’s voice crystal clear.
"Make sure the poison goes into the gold goblet," my dad, Hector, was laughing on the recording alongside my stepmother Lydia. "Once that fat pig drops dead of 'heart failure' at the table, Victor’s doctor will sign the death certificate. Wait two weeks, then we tell the police we found leftover potassium vials in Clara’s nursing bag! She goes away for life, and as her next of kin, Lydia and I take control of the fifty-million-dollar spousal trust!"
I felt physically sick. My own father hadn't just sold me once to save himself from prison—he was trying to send me to death row in Florida so he could steal my husband's estate.
"The chef works for my private security detail," Sebastián said, placing a warm, steady hand on my shoulder. "He turned the vial over to me immediately. Tomorrow night, Victor invited all forty shareholders of Montemayor Holdings and two hundred Miami socialites to our anniversary dinner. He expects a funeral. Instead, we’re going to give him a resurrection."
By 7:30 PM on Saturday night, the grand crystal ballroom of the Montemayor estate was packed with two hundred and fifty of Miami’s wealthiest elites.
My stepmother Lydia and my stepsister were swanning around the champagne fountain wearing $8,000 Versace dresses they had bought on high-interest loan sharks' credit, bragging to anyone who would listen that they were practically the co-owners of the mansion.
At 8:00 PM sharp, the heavy double doors opened, and I wheeled Don Baste into the ballroom.
He was wearing the full 300-pound prosthetic suit, the scarred neck mask, and a custom tuxedo with a fresh red wine stain intentionally splashed across the white shirt. I walked beside him wearing a stunning, floor-length crimson silk gown that Sebastián had secretly had custom-made for me in Milan.
As we reached the head table, Cousin Victor stepped up to the podium, tapping his microphone with a gleaming smile.
"Ladies and gentlemen, board members, and family," Victor announced smoothly. "Tonight we celebrate one year of marriage between my dear cousin Baste and lovely Clara. As many of you know, Baste’s health and weight have deteriorated severely this past year. In fact, just before dinner, the board held an emergency vote—and starting tomorrow morning, I will be assuming full control as CEO and Chairman of Montemayor Holdings!"
Polite, awkward applause echoed through the room. My father Hector stood up right next to the stage, raising a heavy gold goblet filled with champagne while handing me a regular glass.
"And to celebrate," Hector boomed, his greedy eyes locked on the wheelchair, "I personally poured Don Baste a vintage 1996 Dom Pérignon! Drink up, son-in-law! To a very... short and restful retirement!"
The entire ballroom watched as Hector shoved the poisoned gold goblet into Baste’s thick, gloved hand. Lydia was grinning so hard she looked like a shark. Victor leaned against the podium, waiting for the potassium chloride to stop my husband's heart within sixty seconds.
Don Baste looked at the goblet. Then he looked up at Victor and my father.
"You know, Victor," Baste raspedinto the lapel mic clipped to his jacket—and then, halfway through the sentence, he dropped the gravelly rasp completely, his real, booming baritone voice echoing through the ballroom speakers. "For a guy who couldn't even blow up a yacht properly five years ago, you really think a little potassium chloride in a gold cup is gonna finish the job?"
Victor’s smile froze solid on his face. My father’s jaw dropped.
Before anyone in the room could process the voice change, Sebastián set the goblet down, gripped the armrests of the motorized wheelchair, and stood straight up to his full six-foot-three height.
Two hundred and fifty guests gasped in unison. A woman in the front row actually dropped her plate on the marble floor.
While the entire ballroom watched in dead, petrified silence, my husband unbuttoned his oversized tuxedo jacket, reached behind his neck, gripped the edge of the scarred silicone mask, and ripped the entire prosthetic disguise clean off his face and torso—revealing a tall, razor-sharp, athletic billionaire in a fitted black dress shirt underneath.
