Chapter 1
Chapter 1: The Armor of the Invisible Man
The scent of pristine new leather and expensive lavender perfume always made my stomach churn.
I gripped the steering wheel of the armored Suburban until my knuckles turned a bruised white. I was parked in the sweeping, stone-paved circular driveway of the De la Vega mansion, right in the heart of the ultra-wealthy San Pedro Garza García. The air conditioning was running at full blast, blowing freezing air, yet I could feel a cold bead of sweat trickling down the back of my neck.
Today was my first official week as Doña Victoria’s private driver.
I glanced into the rearview mirror. The massive, solid oak double doors swung open. She stepped out. Victoria walked with a calculated elegance, her chin tilted slightly upward, as if the mere act of her feet touching the ground was a charitable donation to humanity. She wore an impeccably tailored cream suit and oversized dark sunglasses that concealed half her face.
The car door opened. She slid into the backseat, bringing with her a suffocating aura of arrogance.
"Mateo," she said, without bothering to glance at me for even a second. Her voice was sharp, soft but highly lethal. "Turn the air purifier up to the maximum. The smell of dust from the gates is giving me a headache."
"Yes, Doña Victoria," I replied.
My own voice sounded utterly foreign to me. Hollow. Soulless. I had to clench my jaw to keep from screaming. This was the exact voice that had berated my wife. This was the woman who had lifted that damned marble statue and driven it into the belly where my daughter was growing. And now, here I was, opening doors for her, saying "yes ma'am," playing the role of the loyal, obedient dog.
"Don't brake so abruptly like the last driver," Victoria continued, her long fingers gliding across her phone screen. "And this afternoon, when you pick me up from the club, make sure you wash the tires again. I don't want a single speck of street dirt brought onto my carpets."
"Understood, ma'am. There won't be a single speck."
The drive to the country club passed in a suffocating silence. Through the rearview mirror, I studied every furrow of her brow, every arrogant smirk. I had spent an entire year planning for this. A year of sleepless nights, scouring the black market for forged documents, completely erasing the existence of Mateo—the destitute husband who had cried himself dry in the hospital waiting room. Now, I was Mateo Sánchez, a quiet, childless widower with absolutely nothing to lose.
When I stopped the car at the club's entrance, Victoria stepped out.
"Be back here at twelve," she ordered, tossing the keys to the service gate into the cupholder. "And don't park in the VIP section. That area is not for the help."
May you like
"As you wish," I bowed my head.
I watched her walk away, blowing air kisses to other designer-clad society women. Enjoy it while it lasts, Victoria, I thought to myself. You have no idea that the man driving your car is the one digging your grave.
