Camila giggled nervously.
Lucía didn’t move.
She didn’t pick up the money.
She didn’t argue.
She only looked at the dress one last time—with an expression so serene it made Rafael uncomfortable.
Something about that look unsettled him.
Then—
The atmosphere shifted.
From the far end of the atrium, a line of men in black suits moved swiftly and silently. Security. Professional. Alert.
The mall’s general manager hurried forward, straightening his jacket, his face pale with urgency.
Guests turned. Whispers rippled through the crowd.
A woman entered.
She wore an ivory blazer, tailored to perfection. Her heels echoed with authority. Every step she took seemed to command space.
She walked straight toward the boutique window.
And stopped beside Lucía.
Rafael felt his stomach drop.
The woman inclined her head respectfully.
“Madam Morales,” she said clearly, her voice carrying through the atrium, “everything is prepared exactly as you requested.”
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