Ashes of San Miguel

A Lesson in Loyalty

Walter Velázquez’s private villa stood like a blade against the hillside, sleek and angular, its sharp lines cutting through the twilight. All glass and white marble, it was the sort of place that whispered power and screamed vanity. The city below glittered like a promise just out of reach, but here, high above it all, everything was clean, sterile—perfect. And false.

Elena stood at the balcony, framed by the blood-orange sky. Her emerald dress fluttered softly in the breeze, but her expression was as still as carved stone. Arms crossed tightly over her chest, she didn’t bother to look at Walter as he approached from behind.

Inside, the hum of jazz music played on low, underscoring the silence between them.

Walter poured two glasses of red wine, the decanter’s neck catching the last rays of the sun like a dagger tip. His Rolex glinted with every movement, catching her eye just long enough to remind her exactly where she was—and who she was dealing with.

“You look beautiful,” he said, his voice as polished as the villa’s floors. “Even more so than back in university.”

Elena didn’t flinch. She accepted the glass without thanks and didn’t drink. Her eyes stayed fixed on the horizon.

“Why am I here, Walter?” she asked. Her voice was soft, but weary. “Spare me the flattery.”

He smiled—practiced, disarming. “To talk. To remind you of the life you deserve. You don’t belong to this… mess. I would never make you beg. I wouldn’t let your family drown in debt. You’d never worry about rent or humiliation again.”

Her shoulders tightened. “You mean I’d never be poor again.”

“Exactly,” he said, his smile growing. “I can give you everything Alejandro never could.”

Her grip on the glass tightened. His name cut through her like a shard of ice.

Walter saw it. He stepped closer, casual but calculating. “Don’t tell me you still have feelings for him.”

She didn’t answer.

Silence stretched between them like a live wire.

Walter’s voice darkened. “He’s nothing, Elena. A fraud. He’s been nosing around my family’s businesses—sabotage, theft, manipulation. Dangerous men get desperate when they lose everything.”

Her eyes snapped toward him. “How do you know that?”

He shrugged, far too casually. “People talk. And I listen.”

“Or you spy.”

“Semantics,” he said with a smirk. “I protect what’s mine. And I’m offering you protection, too.”

He reached for her hand. This time, the gesture lacked grace—his fingers clamped down too tightly.

“I said don’t touch me,” she snapped, yanking it back.

The mask slipped. Walter’s smile twisted into something darker.

“You think you still have choices, Elena? You’re drowning. Your father’s debt to the Velázquez Group is a noose. Your name’s a punchline in our circles. And your husband—”

“Say his name again,” came a voice from the doorway, cold and sharp as steel.

The doors had slammed open without warning.

Alejandro stood there in a tailored black suit, backlit by the hallway lights, eyes like twin storms. His presence hit the room like a thunderclap—undeniable, electric.

Walter’s smirk faltered. Elena stepped back instinctively, caught off-guard by the sudden collision of past and present.

“Speak of the devil,” Walter muttered. “You must really enjoy being humiliated.”

Alejandro didn’t move. His eyes found Elena’s, searching for something. She looked away.

“You said you wouldn’t see him,” he said, his voice calm but coiled tight.

“I needed answers,” she said quickly. “I didn’t want this to turn into a fight.”

He turned to Walter, jaw set like granite.

“I warned you,” Alejandro said. “I told you that one day, you’d be the one begging.”

Walter laughed—a dry, humorless sound. “You’re a glorified dockhand who stumbled into a few inheritance shares. You think you can play in our world?”

Alejandro chuckled darkly. “Then let me tell you a secret.”

He reached into his coat, drew out a slim black folder, and tossed it onto the marble coffee table.

Walter picked it up and flipped through. His expression shifted with every page. The color drained from his face.

“Stock acquisitions… hostile offers… Luz Holdings…” he whispered.

Alejandro gave a single, silent nod. “By next week, I’ll own controlling shares in Cuatro Mares and two of your primary partners.”

Elena gasped.

Walter looked up, rage and panic mingling in his eyes. “This is illegal. You’ll burn for this.”

“No,” Alejandro said, stepping forward, his voice like thunder. “You will.”

Walter snapped. He lunged, snarling, swinging with all the fury of a man whose empire was collapsing around him.

Alejandro moved like water—dodging, twisting, and slamming Walter against the wall in one seamless motion. The crash echoed through the villa.

Elena screamed. “Stop! Alejandro, please!”

His grip slackened. Walter slumped to the floor, gasping.

Alejandro turned to Elena. His eyes softened for a moment—but the pain was still buried deep, guarded.

“I loved you,” he said, voice hollow. “And you gave me away for thirty million pesos.”

Her lips trembled. “That’s not fair—”

“But it’s true.” He stepped back. “And now I’ve spent forty to teach you all a lesson.”

Elena reached for him. “Alejandro, don’t do this. This isn’t who you are.”

He paused. “No. This is who I was before I gave it all up—for you.”

He turned to leave.

The villa fell into silence—until his phone buzzed.

He stopped in the doorway, lifting the device and pressing the speaker.

Carlos’s voice came through, tight with urgency.

“Alejandro… the Velázquez accounts have been frozen. Everything’s in motion. But there’s a problem.”

Alejandro’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of problem?”

Carlos hesitated. “Someone else is making moves. Quietly. Fast. They’re buying up the remaining Jiménez debts.”

Alejandro’s hand clenched around the phone.

“Who?” he demanded.

The line crackled with interference.

“Joaquín Salgado,” Carlos said finally. “He’s making his move.”

Alejandro’s stomach dropped. His pulse surged.

Outside, thunder rolled in the distance.

Elena’s face went pale. “Joaquín Salgado… the arms broker?”

Alejandro didn’t answer. He was already stepping into the night.

His voice was low, almost to himself.

“Let him come,” he said, jaw tightening. “Let them all come.”

Behind him, the villa sat in silence—one empire falling, and another already rising in the shadows.