nodded slowly.
That night, I returned to my office long after most of my employees had gone home.
The city lights reflected against the windows.
On my desk sat a framed copy of the first research grant that had helped me start the company.
It was not worth millions.
It was worth something better.
It reminded me who I had been before anyone decided my value depended on the family name I might marry into.
The Valenzuelas had invited me into their mansion believing they were protecting their legacy from me.
Instead, they forced me to remember my own.
I had walked into that room as a bride three days away from a wedding, terrified of losing the future I had planned.
I walked out without a fiancé, without a ceremony, and without the approval of a family that had never truly respected me.
But I still had my parents.
I still had my company.
I still had my name.
And for the first time in a long time, every decision about what happened next belonged entirely to me.
