During the trial, her husband mocked her, saying, "You have nothing left," but when she took off her coat, she revealed her scars and disclosed who the real owner of this medical empire was.

Standing proudly beside Julián was Renata.

She was a significantly younger woman, dressed impeccably in a chic off-white ensemble that highlighted her youth and arrogance. A wildly expensive designer handbag hung loosely from her delicate wrist.

Renata wore a perfectly rehearsed, pitying smile—a smile she had undoubtedly practiced in front of a mirror for hours before arriving at the courthouse.

She did not look like the woman who had snuck into Claudia’s apartment every time Claudia traveled for business over the past two years. She did not look like the woman who had fraudulently used Claudia’s signature to book luxury hotel suites. And she certainly did not look like the woman who had callously texted Julián, in deleted messages, saying, "That pathetic woman doesn't even have the energy left to defend her own reputation."

Renata squeezed Julián’s arm affectionately, leaning in to whisper something in his ear, casting a venomous, sweet smile in Claudia's direction.

"Don't be too hard on her, Julián,"

Renata cooed, making sure her voice carried just enough for the front row to hear.

"She looks so exhausted. Poor thing."

From the second row of the gallery, a loud, dramatic sigh cut through the murmurs.

Doña Elvira, Julián’s mother, sat draped in dark, expensive fabrics. She pressed a laced handkerchief to her chest, pretending to be deeply sorrowful about the divorce, though her dark eyes gleamed with absolute, triumphant malice.

She had despised Claudia from the very first day. She hated that her son, the heir to the Salvatierra legacy, had married a woman from a humble background—the daughter of a simple nurse from Iztapalapa, a girl who had clawed her way through an engineering degree on scholarships and sleepless nights.

"I warned you, my sweet boy,"