3. A Monster Made of Pain.

The receptionist didn’t seem to pay him much attention.

"Please lower your voice," she said.

Emiliano pulled the card from his pocket and placed it in front of the woman’s face.

"Is this you?"

"Yes, that’s us."

"Good. Well, she works here, and I need you to give me this information."

The woman pulled out the catalog she kept under the desk. It was a large magazine filled with photographs of beautiful women.

"If she’s in there, maybe."

Emiliano took the magazine and began flipping through the pages. Most of them had the names of companions, but he knew very well what they really were. When he reached the dancers’ category, he found her in the very first spot. She smiled with her short blond hair and cheerful eyes—but they weren’t truly cheerful. Only he had known her well enough to see that those eyes were filled with many emotions, not just happiness, and far less than happiness.

"It’s her."

Beneath her photograph appeared the name: Golden Dove. It was her dancer pseudonym.

"I need you to tell me where I can find Golden Dove."

The woman took the magazine back and slid it into her desk.

"I’m sorry. I already told you I can’t give out information about our employees."

Emiliano leaned forward.

"I need it. She was at my apartment last night and stole something important from me. I have to know where she lives," he lied.

The woman’s eyes widened.

"If that’s the case, then I’ll personally make sure she returns what she stole… that damned girl."

She picked up the phone and began dialing a number, but Emiliano snatched it from her hand.

"Listen to me carefully. I’ll say this only one more time. My name is Emiliano Monter. I am the legal representative, president, CEO—or whatever you want to call it—of the fashion company Casa Monter, and I know very well what happens in this place. This isn’t just exotic dancers and companions. This is a brothel. And if you don’t tell me right here and now where I can find Sara, I will use every bit of my influence to shut this place down and have every one of you thrown in jail."

The woman’s hands trembled as she took a pen and wrote an address on a piece of paper. She handed it to Emiliano, who snatched it from her hand and rushed out of the place at full speed. He got into his car and gave the driver the address.

When he arrived, he ordered the young man to wait for him on the corner and walked the rest of the way on foot. By the time he reached the woman’s house, his heart was pounding violently. He was furious. His mouth was dry.

His hands trembled when he knocked on the door a couple of times.

Nothing happened, so he knocked again.

When the door opened, Sara appeared.

His knees trembled. She was as beautiful as she had always been, as beautiful as she had been the day they got married.

The young woman’s eyes were shining. She stepped toward him, grabbed his shirt, and then slapped him so hard it knocked him off balance and nearly sent him to the ground.

"What’s wrong with you?" he asked, stunned.

"What’s wrong with me? Last night I told you to leave me alone, but no—you had to go to the place where I work and threaten them and tell them I stole something. My boss just called me five minutes ago. I’m fired because of you."

"Well, that’s what had to happen," he said, forcing his way into the house despite the woman’s protests as she tried to push him back, but he entered anyway. "Where are the children?" he asked. "Where are my children?"

Sara’s eyes widened.

"I already told you they’re not your children."

Emiliano stepped closer to her. He wanted to grab her by the neck and squeeze.

"Do you think I’m an idiot, Sara?!" he shouted, slamming the door shut. "Do you think I didn’t see my eyes in that boy’s eyes? Do you think I didn’t see my mother’s face in that little girl’s face? I don’t care about the reasons why you left, but believing I’m that stupid offends me."

He turned his back on her and walked toward the back of the house. It was worn and damp, and he wondered how Sara had ended up in a place like that with the promising future she had once had as a designer.

At the back were the dress forms the woman used for her designs. On the table lay a notebook filled with several sketches that, at first glance, seemed very good.

"Emiliano, I want you to leave now."

Hearing his name in the woman’s voice made him swallow hard, but he turned toward Sara.

"Of course not. I won’t allow you to keep me away from my children again. That won’t happen… it won’t happen because you are going to become the new designer of Casa Monter."

Sara suddenly looked dizzy and sat down in the nearest chair.

"What are you talking about? I will never go back to that place."

Emiliano stepped closer and leaned down toward her.

"Do you think I’m giving you a choice? If you don’t do it, I’ll take the legal route. I will take my children away from you, Sara. I’ll take them if you don’t obey me. It will be easy for the CEO of Casa Monter to gain custody of his children when their mother is nothing more than a simple, filthy erotic dancer."

Sara’s eyes filled with tears, but they didn’t move Emiliano. He had cried too much for her, and now she would cry as punishment.

"You can’t take my children from me," she murmured, her voice broken.

"Yes, I can. But I won’t if you obey me. I won’t take their mother away from my children the way you took their father away from them."

He straightened up and brushed off his expensive suit.

"I have to go. My wife is waiting for me. I hope you tell the children about me. I’ll see them soon…"

"They hate you."

Emiliano slammed his fist against the wall.

"If that’s your fault, then you’ll pay for it."

He walked toward the exit, and before closing the door behind him, he turned back toward Sara.

"Tomorrow there will be interviews to hire the new designer. I want you there early. If you don’t show up, you already know what will happen. Ruining a dancer of such a low level as you will be easy for me."

He left, closing the door behind him.

Sara stood up, grabbed a mannequin, and hurled it at the mirror in a storm of rage and pain. The glass shattered into a thousand fragments.

What had happened to the loving and sensible man she had fallen in love with? The man she was still in love with…?

The answer reached her lips, and she spoke it in a broken voice.

"I killed him. I killed that Emiliano, and now I must face the monster that was born from that pain."