CHAPTER 1 — THE PERFECT HUSBAND

“Your daughter is already conspiring against me,” Isabella Laurent complained, catching Alejandro’s hand as their unborn baby kicked beneath her nightdress. “Feel that? She waits until you touch my stomach before she starts showing off, and you still have the audacity to claim she loves you more.”

Alejandro laughed, pressing his palm against her belly. “Perhaps she recognises superior intelligence, Isabella. I would advise you not to take it personally.”

“Superior intelligence?” Isabella lifted her head from his shoulder. “You spent twenty minutes yesterday trying to assemble a cradle that came with instructions, and you want to discuss intelligence with me?”

“That cradle was defective,” Alejandro protested.

“The instructions were upside down,” Isabella reminded him.

He pulled her against him, laughing as she tried to escape his embrace. “Keep mocking me, sweetheart. When our daughter arrives, I will teach her everything I know, and you will have two people in this house who refuse to admit when they are wrong.”

Isabella kissed him, unable to maintain her pretence of annoyance. She loved this version of Alejandro, the man who remembered every detail of her pregnancy and wanted their daughter's nursery to be perfect.

“What if she takes after you in everything?” Isabella asked, resting her hand over his. “What if she becomes stubborn, possessive, and convinced that the entire world should do exactly what she wants?”

“Then she will be an extraordinary woman,” Alejandro replied, kissing her forehead. “And I will spend the rest of my life making sure nobody ever makes her feel small.”

His words touched something deep inside her. After losing her father, Isabella had learned that wealth could provide security without replacing the comfort of family. She wanted her daughter to grow up feeling loved, protected without being controlled, and free to become whoever she wished.

“I want us to give her a happy home,” Isabella whispered. “Not just a beautiful house and everything money can buy. I want her to grow up watching two people who still choose each other, even when life becomes difficult.”

Alejandro drew her closer and promised that nothing would ever come between their family. Isabella believed him, then fell asleep in his arms, unaware that the promise she treasured would soon become the cruelest lie she had ever heard.

The following morning, Isabella discovered an unfamiliar transfer in her inheritance account.

She checked the transaction twice, convinced she had opened the wrong statement, but the figures remained unchanged. Almost eight hundred thousand euros had been moved into a private holding company she did not recognise, and the transaction had been completed three days earlier without her knowledge.

Across the breakfast table, Alejandro was reading messages on his phone when Isabella turned her laptop towards him.

“Alejandro, do you know why money from my inheritance was transferred into this company?” Isabella asked, pointing at the transaction details. “I never authorised this, and I cannot find the company anywhere in the documents my financial adviser gave me.”

Alejandro glanced at the screen before returning his attention to his coffee. “It is probably connected to the restructuring we discussed last month. Some investments needed to be moved into separate entities, and the finance team was handling the arrangements.”

“We discussed reviewing the portfolio, not transferring almost eight hundred thousand euros into an unfamiliar company,” Isabella replied. “Who authorised it?”

“I would have to check with the finance team,” Alejandro answered, his voice becoming noticeably impatient. “Isabella, these things happen when you are managing several investments at once. It doesn't mean anything is wrong.”

She studied him, troubled by how quickly he had dismissed her concerns.

“If everything is legitimate, why wasn't I informed before the money moved?” Isabella asked.

Alejandro put down his cup and crouched beside her chair, taking her hand and kissing her knuckles.

“Listen to me, sweetheart. I would never put you or our daughter at risk. I've been dealing with complicated transactions all week, and perhaps I should have made sure you were informed. I'll speak to the finance team and have the full documentation sent to you today,” Alejandro promised.

His affection eased her frustration, but it did not answer her question.

“All right,” Isabella replied, closing the laptop. “I want the authorisation, the receiving company's details, and every document connected to the transfer. Please don't ask me to trust an explanation that nobody can support with evidence.”

Alejandro kissed her forehead and promised to handle everything before leaving for his office.

Isabella watched him go, reminding herself that marriage required trust. However, her father had entrusted her with more than money, and she had a responsibility to protect his legacy, even when doing so meant questioning the people she loved.

That evening, Isabella accompanied Alejandro to an exclusive business reception in central Madrid, where investors and influential executives gathered to discuss new ventures over expensive wine and carefully rehearsed compliments.

She had barely finished greeting a property developer when Alejandro excused himself, claiming he needed to speak with an associate. Isabella followed him with her eyes and noticed him approach Don Daniel, a silver-haired businessman whose influence extended into circles that rarely welcomed public attention.

The two men exchanged a few quiet words beside a tall window. Then Don Daniel slipped a cream-coloured envelope into Alejandro's hand beneath the cover of their handshake.

Alejandro concealed it inside his jacket, his expression hardening when Don Daniel said something Isabella could not hear.

The exchange lasted only seconds, but it reminded her of the unexplained transfer she had discovered that morning. She wondered whether the envelope contained business documents, financial instructions, or something Alejandro had deliberately kept from her.

Before she could consider approaching him, a deep voice interrupted her thoughts.

“Your husband seems remarkably comfortable around men who prefer conducting business in private,” Damián Montenegro observed.

Isabella turned to find Damián standing beside her in a black suit, tattoos visible beneath his cuffs. She knew his name from Madrid's business circles, where rumours about his criminal organisation circulated alongside stories of his influence over legitimate companies.

“You seem remarkably comfortable commenting on other people's business,” Isabella replied, meeting his gaze. “Is that how you introduce yourself to everyone, Mr Montenegro, or am I receiving special treatment?”

Damián's mouth curved into an amused smile. “I usually reserve my observations for people who appear intelligent enough to appreciate them.”

“Then I hope you won't be disappointed when I tell you that unsolicited opinions are rarely as impressive as their owners imagine,” Isabella retorted.

He laughed quietly, clearly more entertained than offended.

“Your husband didn't mention that you were so direct,” Damián remarked.

“My husband doesn't introduce me to strangers by listing my personality traits,” Isabella replied. “Although, judging by your reputation, I imagine you're accustomed to people telling you whatever they think you want to hear.”

Something in Damián's expression sharpened.

“Perhaps that's why I find honesty refreshing, Mrs Laurent. It's considerably rarer than people pretend,” Damián said.

“And perhaps people would be more honest with you if they weren't afraid of what might happen when they disagree with you,” Isabella countered.

For a moment, Damián watched her with an intensity that made it clear he was accustomed to being the one asking questions.

“You have a habit of saying things other people would rather leave unsaid,” Damián observed.

“I prefer knowing where I stand, even when the truth is uncomfortable,” Isabella replied.

“An admirable habit, provided you're prepared for what you discover,” Damián said.

Before Isabella could respond, Alejandro appeared beside them and placed a hand possessively around her waist.

“Montenegro,” Alejandro greeted him, his smile polite but strained. “I see you've met my wife.”

“Your wife has been kind enough to entertain me,” Damián replied. “We were discussing honesty and the difficulty of knowing what people are hiding.”

Alejandro's fingers tightened against Isabella's waist.

“An interesting subject, although I doubt you'll find many people willing to discuss it honestly at a reception like this,” Alejandro remarked.

“Especially when money is involved,” Damián said, briefly looking at Alejandro. “I heard about a suspicious transaction involving one of the investment groups connected to your latest projects. I hope the documentation is in order.”

The smile disappeared from Alejandro's face for a fraction of a second before he recovered.

“I'm not aware of any suspicious transaction,” Alejandro replied coolly. “If you have concerns about my business, you can contact my office rather than raising them with my wife.”

Damián lifted his glass, appearing unbothered. “Of course. I would hate to interrupt a happy evening.”

Isabella looked between the two men, increasingly certain that their exchange concerned something neither intended to explain. Alejandro's reaction had been too immediate, and Damián's question had sounded too specific to be casual conversation.

Before she could ask what they were discussing, Alejandro guided her away.

On the drive home, Alejandro remained unusually quiet until Isabella finally asked why he had reacted so sharply to Damián's question.

“I don't like the way he speaks to you,” Alejandro replied, keeping his eyes on the road. “Men like Montenegro are accustomed to getting what they want, and I won't let him believe he can approach my wife whenever he pleases.”

Isabella turned towards him, surprised by the possessiveness in his voice.

“He spoke to me at a public reception, Alejandro. We had a conversation, nothing more. You cannot expect me to avoid every man whose reputation you dislike,” Isabella said.

“I'm trying to protect you,” Alejandro insisted. “You're carrying our child, and the last thing I want is for you to become involved in something dangerous because you were too trusting.”

His words sounded reasonable enough, but she disliked the implication that she could not judge a situation for herself.

Nevertheless, when they arrived home, Alejandro apologised for his tone and drew her into his arms, promising that his concern came from love rather than a desire to control her. He kissed her gently, asked about the baby, and discussed the nursery until the tension between them faded.

Isabella allowed herself to believe that his behaviour came from fear of losing his family.

She did not know that Alejandro later received a message confirming that the transfer had been completed and that the next stage was ready to proceed.

The following morning, an email from Isabella's independent financial adviser destroyed the last of her doubts.

Attached to the message was a confidential transaction instruction bearing her full name and a digital signature authorising the transfer of her inherited funds. The receiving company matched the unfamiliar name in her account, and the approval record indicated that the transaction had passed through a secure channel associated with her family's financial arrangements.

Isabella enlarged the signature, examining every curve and stroke.

It looked convincing, but she knew it was not hers.

Someone had forged her signature to move her money without permission.

Her hands began to tremble as she read the accompanying note. Her adviser had flagged the authorisation for verification and wanted her to confirm whether she had approved the transaction before he initiated a formal review.

Isabella saved the document, forwarded a copy to her adviser, and instructed him to preserve every record connected to the transfer without contacting anyone involved until she had reviewed the evidence.

Then she looked at the message Alejandro had sent that morning, asking whether she had eaten breakfast and reminding her to rest.

For a moment, she remembered his promise that he would never put her or their daughter at risk, and the tenderness with which he had held her the previous night.

She wanted to believe there was an innocent explanation, but the forged signature offered no comfort.

Someone had begun moving her inheritance behind her back, and the evidence suggested that the person responsible had access to information only a trusted insider could possess.

Isabella closed the document, pressing a protective hand against her stomach as a cold realisation settled over her.

Whoever was stealing from her had already found a way to make it look as though she had given permission.