“He’s a legal legend, but a lonely man. Everyone respects him; few really know him.” He paused. “Except perhaps Doña Verónica. She’s influential. His wife participates in the firm—not officially—but her family provided the initial capital, and she never lets anyone forget it.”
Joaquín looked at her intently.
“I’ll give you a piece of advice: stay on her good side. She’s destroyed careers with a single phone call.”
Lunch continued with professional conversation. Joaquín was charming and seemed genuinely interested in her. But Sofía kept her guard up.
She couldn’t trust anyone. Not yet.
When they returned to the office, commotion greeted them.
An elegant woman in her 50s advanced down the hallway as if she owned the place. Employees stepped aside, lowering their gazes with fearful respect.
“Doña Verónica,” Joaquín murmured, visibly tensing. “What a surprise.”
Sofía felt the air leave her lungs.
There she was—the woman who had separated her parents, who had threatened her mother, the cause of 26 years of absence.
Verónica Arteaga was striking: tall, slender, with a face that must have been beautiful in her youth and now maintained a cold elegance. Her black hair was perfectly dyed, without a single gray, and her jewelry—though discreet—probably worth more than everything Sofía had ever owned.
“Licenciado Vega,” Verónica greeted with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “How timely to find you.”
“And this young lady is Sofía Méndez, the new secretary for Licenciado Arteaga,” Joaquín introduced.
Verónica’s dark, piercing eyes examined Sofía with disturbing intensity. For a terrible instant, Sofía feared she would recognize her, that she would see Fernando’s or Isabel’s features in her.
“Interesting,” Verónica murmured. “Fernando doesn’t usually hire new faces.”
“It’s an honor to work for your husband, ma’am,” Sofía replied, forcing herself to maintain composure. “He’s a great lawyer.”
Verónica smiled slightly, as if Sofía had said something naive.
“He is, isn’t he? I hope you appreciate the opportunity you’ve been given, Miss Méndez. Not everyone gets to start so high up.”
There was something threatening in her tone, a subtle poison that made Sofía shudder inside.
“I appreciate it and intend to make the most of it.”
“I’m sure you do.”
Verónica turned to Joaquín.
“Licenciado Vega, I need to speak with my husband. Is he in his office?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll accompany you.”
As they walked away, Sofía let out the breath she had been holding.
Carmen appeared beside her with a worried expression.
“I see you’ve already met the ice queen,” she commented quietly. “And it seems she’s noticed you. Be careful, girl.”
“Why should I worry?” Sofía asked, though she already knew the answer.
Carmen looked around to make sure no one was listening.
“Because Doña Verónica doesn’t visit the firm unless she smells blood. And she never, ever pays attention to secretaries—unless they represent a threat.”
The rest of the afternoon passed in silent tension. Verónica remained in Fernando’s office for nearly an hour.
When she left, her face revealed nothing, but her eyes lingered on Sofía for a moment before heading to the elevator.
At the end of the day, as Sofía was about to leave, Fernando called her again.
“How’s the Rivera file coming?” he asked. His voice sounded more tired than in the morning.
“Almost finished, licenciado,” she replied, noticing the new lines of tension around his eyes. “I’ll have it ready early tomorrow.”
Fernando nodded, and for a moment it seemed he wanted to say something more.
His eyes briefly drifted to the silver frame on his desk. Then back to her.
“My wife mentioned she met you today,” he said finally.
“Yes. She was very kind.”
A bitter smile appeared on Fernando’s lips.
“Kind is not the word most people would use to describe Verónica.” He paused. “Miss Méndez, my wife has a lot of influence here. If at any moment you feel uncomfortable, let me know.”
The offer surprised her. Was Fernando trying to protect her?
“Thank you, licenciado. I’ll keep it in mind.”
That night, as Sofía told her mother about the day’s events, the phone rang in their small house.
Isabel answered, and her face transformed into a mask of worry.
“When?” she asked in a trembling voice. “I understand. I’ll be there tomorrow.”
When she hung up, she looked at Sofía with eyes full of fear.
“It was Dr. López. The results of my tests aren’t good. I need more exams and possibly start a new treatment—one that the public insurance doesn’t cover.”
Sofía felt the ground shift beneath her feet. The new job was no longer just a personal mission; now it was a desperate necessity.
“Don’t worry, Mom,” she said, hugging her. “Now I have a good job. We’ll find a way.”
Meanwhile, in the Arteaga mansion, Verónica watched Fernando sleep.
Her mind worked tirelessly, remembering Sofía Méndez’s face, searching for what had disturbed her so much upon seeing her.
There was something familiar about her—something that awakened an old suspicion.
She picked up her phone and dialed a number.
“I need you to investigate someone,” she said quietly. “A certain Sofía Méndez. I want to know everything about her—absolutely everything.”
The following weeks passed in a strange equilibrium. Sofía quickly adapted to her job, demonstrating an efficiency that surprised even Carmen.
Fernando began assigning her more important tasks, gradually trusting her ability.
“You have a natural gift for this,” he commented one afternoon while they reviewed a contract. “Have you considered studying law?”
“I thought about it,” Sofía replied cautiously, “but circumstances didn’t allow it. My mother got sick when I was finishing high school.”
Something changed in Fernando’s expression—a flash of guilt, compassion.
“It’s admirable how you take care of her,” he said quietly.
These small moments of connection became more frequent.
Sometimes Sofía caught Fernando watching her with a mixture of curiosity and something deeper, unidentifiable.
Other times it was she who studied him secretly, searching for gestures she might have inherited.
But this apparent calm hid a storm that was beginning to brew.
The first sign came on a Monday morning when Sofía couldn’t find the Valenzuela file she had left perfectly organized the previous Friday.
“I left it right here,” she exclaimed, frantically checking drawers. “It has to be here.”
Carmen approached, concerned.
“What’s wrong, girl?”
“The Valenzuela file disappeared. The licenciado needs it for today’s hearing.”
Carmen’s expression darkened.
“Check the dead file at the end of the hallway.”
Sure enough, there it was—mixed among old documents where no one would look.
Sofía rescued it just minutes before Fernando requested it.
“How strange,” she murmured as she handed it over on time. “I never would have put it there.”
It wasn’t an isolated incident.
The next day, someone canceled an important meeting without notifying Fernando, and the blame fell on Sofía.
Later, a crucial document appeared with transcription errors she was certain she hadn’t made.
“Something’s going on,” she confided to Carmen during lunch. “Someone wants me to look incompetent.”
Carmen looked around before replying quietly.
“Doña Verónica has been visiting the office more often since you arrived—and she always asks about you.”
“Why would I matter to her? I’m just a secretary.”
Carmen raised an eyebrow.
“Just a secretary who, in less than a month, has earned Licenciado Arteaga’s trust. Few people achieve that, girl—and Doña Verónica doesn’t like sharing what she considers hers.”
That same afternoon, while organizing the filing cabinet, Sofía felt a presence behind her.
She turned to find Fernando watching her with an indecipherable expression.
“Licenciado, I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Miss Méndez, have you noticed anything unusual lately?”
The question caught her by surprise. She should mention the sabotage.
“I don’t understand what you mean.”
Fernando stepped closer, lowering his voice.
“The missing documents, the canceled meetings, the mysterious errors.”
Sofía felt relief. He had noticed.
“I thought you’d believe it was my fault.”
“I’ve been running this firm for 30 years. I recognize sabotage when I see it.” He paused. “And I know my wife.”
A heavy silence followed those words.
“Why are you telling me this?” Sofía asked finally.
“Because I want you to know I’m aware—and that I don’t consider you responsible.”
Their eyes met for an intense moment.
There was something in Fernando’s gaze—a mixture of protection and remorse—that made Sofía’s heart race.
“Thank you for your trust.”
Fernando nodded slightly before leaving, leaving Sofía with a confusing mix of emotions.
It was possible this man—who had abandoned them—still had some decency after all.
That night, upon arriving home, she found her mother paler than usual.
“What’s wrong, Mom? Are you feeling bad?”
Isabel shook her head.
“I went to the hospital today. Dr. López says I need to start the treatment as soon as possible.”
“How much will it cost?” Sofía asked, sitting beside her.
“More than we can pay right now.”
Isabel took her daughter’s hands.
“Sofía, I’ve been thinking. Maybe you should talk to Fernando—tell him who you are.”
Sofía tensed.
“For what? To ask him for money?”
“No, my little girl, I won’t give him that satisfaction.”
“It’s not about satisfaction, my love—it’s about my health.” Isabel sighed. “Besides, there’s something I never told you about the letters.”
“What letters?”
“The ones I sent to Fernando after you were born.”
Isabel rose with difficulty and searched in her box of memories.
“Look at the return address and the delivery address.”
Sofía examined the yellowed envelopes.
All had been sent to Fernando’s personal office, not his home.
“And what does that mean?”
“It means I never knew if he really received them,” Isabel explained. “There was always the possibility that Verónica intercepted them.”
“But he accepted the money to get rid of us,” Sofía argued, though a seed of doubt began to grow in her mind.
“He gave me the money to start a new life, yes—but he never explicitly said he didn’t want to know anything more about us.”
Isabel coughed weakly.
“The truth, Sofía, is that I never told him I was pregnant. I didn’t have the courage. I left before I could tell him.”
This revelation struck Sofía like lightning.
“What are you saying? Fernando never knew I existed?”
“I don’t know for sure,” Isabel admitted. “I wrote to him afterward. I sent him your photo—but he never replied. And now I wonder if he ever received those letters.”
“But he has my photograph,” Sofía pointed out, confused. “The same one you sent him.”
“I know—and that’s what I can’t explain.”
Isabel lay back, exhausted.
“That’s why I think you should talk to him. There are parts of this story even I don’t understand.”
That night Sofía couldn’t sleep. Her mother’s words had sown doubts where before there had only been certainties.
It was possible Fernando truly hadn’t known of her existence until she showed up with that photo.
And if Verónica had intercepted all the letters…
The next morning she arrived at the office determined to observe more carefully, to seek answers instead of just feeding her resentment.
The opportunity came sooner than expected.
Mid-morning, the receptionist informed her that an important package for Licenciado Arteaga had arrived and she had to deliver it personally.
When she entered the office, Fernando was standing by the window, gazing at the city, seemingly lost in thought.
“Your package, licenciado,” Sofía announced, placing it on the desk.
Fernando turned, and for an instant Sofía saw vulnerability in his eyes. Then, as if lowering a blind, his expression returned to professional.
“Thank you, Miss Méndez.”
Sofía was about to leave when she gathered her courage.
“Licenciado, may I ask you a personal question?”
Fernando seemed surprised but nodded.
“The photograph on your desk.” Sofía pointed to the silver frame. “Who is it?”
A heavy silence filled the room.
Fernando looked at the photograph with an expression Sofía had never seen in him: pure, unfiltered pain.
“Someone I lost a long time ago,” he finally replied in a barely audible voice. “Someone I never got to know.”
Before Sofía could process those words—
The door burst open.
Verónica entered like an elegant but lethal storm.
Her eyes narrowed upon seeing Sofía so close to Fernando.
“Am I interrupting something?” she asked with false sweetness.
“Miss Méndez was delivering a document,” Fernando replied. His professional mask was back in place.
Verónica fixed her gaze on Sofía.
“How efficient! Although it seems lately there have been many mistakes in your work, hasn’t there, dear?”
“I do my best, ma’am,” Sofía replied with forced calm.
“Of course.”
Verónica smiled coldly.
“Fernando, we need to speak privately.”
Sofía recognized the order to leave as she headed for the door.
She heard Verónica say, “Don’t you think you should reconsider her hiring? Perhaps you made a mistake.”
Through the half-open door she caught Fernando’s reply:
“No, Verónica. The only mistake I made was 26 years ago—and I won’t repeat it.”
Fernando’s words echoed in Sofía’s mind.
The only mistake I made was 26 years ago—exactly her age.
What did he mean? The romance with her mother—or abandoning them?
The sabotage continued, increasingly evident.
A crucial report disappeared right before an important client meeting.
Fernando’s calendar was altered, making him late for a hearing.
Emails Sofía never wrote were sent from her account.
“Someone wants to destroy you, girl,” Carmen confided one afternoon while they reviewed correspondence together. “And I’m afraid it’s working.”
It was true. Despite Fernando’s initial support, Sofía noticed he was beginning to doubt.
Trusting looks became scrutinizing ones. Conversations grew shorter and more formal.
One morning after another inexplicable error, Fernando called her into his office.
His expression was grave.
“Miss Méndez, these incidents are becoming too frequent.”
He began, avoiding her gaze.
“Perhaps we should consider—”
“Firing me?” Sofía interrupted, feeling a pang of panic. She needed this job—not just to discover the truth, but to pay for her mother’s treatment.
Fernando sighed, running a hand through his graying hair.
For a moment he seemed older, more vulnerable.
“I don’t want to. There’s something about you…” He stopped as if he had said too much. “But these errors are affecting the firm’s prestige.”
“They’re not my errors,” Sofía stated firmly. “Someone is sabotaging my work—and we both know who.”
Fernando looked at her directly then, surprised by her audacity.
“Be careful what you insinuate, Miss Méndez. Verónica is my wife.”
“I know,” Sofía completed. “But she’s also the person who would benefit most if I disappeared from this office.”
A tense silence settled between them.
Fernando seemed to be waging an internal battle.
“I’ll give you one more week,” he said finally. “If these incidents continue, we’ll have to reconsider your position here.”
Sofía nodded, holding back her frustration.
As she left, she came face-to-face with Joaquín Vega. His expression suggested he had heard part of the conversation.
“Trouble in paradise?” he asked with a half-smile.
Sofía looked at him cautiously. Although Joaquín had been kind—even flirtatious—in recent weeks, something about him didn’t fully convince her.
“Nothing I can’t handle.”
Joaquín stepped closer, lowering his voice.
“You know? I could help you. I know this firm well—and its main players.”
“Why would you?”
His smile widened.
“Let’s say I like you. Besides, I don’t like seeing talent wasted.” He paused. “How about we discuss it over dinner tonight?”
Sofía hesitated. Was Joaquín sincere, or part of Verónica’s game?
“Thank you, but I have to visit my mother at the hospital.”
It wasn’t entirely a lie. Isabel had begun her new treatment, and Sofía spent afternoons with her whenever she could.
Joaquín’s expression softened.
“I’m sorry—I didn’t know your mother was ill.”
“Cancer,” Sofía replied briefly. “It’s an expensive treatment.”
The question seemed innocent, but something in his tone alerted Sofía.
“We’ll survive,” she answered evasively.
Joaquín nodded thoughtfully.
“If you need anything, Sofía—count on me.”
At the end of the day, as Sofía gathered her things, Carmen approached her desk stealthily.
“Don’t trust Licenciado Vega,” she whispered. “I saw him talking to Doña Verónica yesterday—very intimately.”
“Do you think he works for her?”
Carmen shrugged.
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