"Santiago," he greeted, voice warm as aged whiskey. Then, without pause or shame: "My daughter can be your second wife. What do you think? She is the best in everything."
The words dropped like a stone into still water. Nearby conversations dipped. Heads tilted. Ears strained. No one gasped—gasps were for amateurs—but the room listened.
Daniella's posture didn't change. Her face remained serene. But inside, something cooled, hardened. She had known this world would test her. She had not expected it to do so with such casual cruelty.
Santiago didn't hesitate. "Marcelo," he said, tone calm, almost indifferent. A deliberate pause stretched between them. "How many wives do you have?"
The older man's smile flickered, just at the edges.
"How many of them have tried to kill each other?" Santiago continued, relentless yet effortless. "And how many children do you have?"
Marcelo remained silent.
