Chapter 2 - The Confrontation
"You missed a spot on that roasting pan, Camila," Patrícia snapped, her voice dripping with venomous authority. She adjusted a diamond bracelet on her wrist—a bracelet Ricardo recognized from a credit card statement he had paid two months ago. "And hurry up. Marcelo wants the dessert trays out in ten minutes. Honestly, you can't even get simple chores right."
Camila didn’t argue. She just lowered her head, her shoulders trembling slightly as she scrubbed the heavy iron pan, soapy water soaking the front of her faded t-shirt.
Ricardo’s vision actually blurred with rage. The woman who had eaten instant noodles with him on the floor of a studio apartment, the woman who had held his hand when his first business failed—was being treated like a peasant in the palace he had built for her.
He didn't shout. The fury inside him was far too cold for that.
"She won't be washing anything else," Ricardo said.
His voice wasn't loud, but it cut through the thick, smoky air of the outdoor kitchen like a machete.
Patrícia whipped around, the arrogant sneer on her face melting instantly into absolute, paralyzing horror. "R-Ricardo?"
The heavy iron pan slipped from Camila’s soapy hands, crashing into the industrial sink. She spun around, her eyes wide, exhausted, and brimming with tears. "Ricardo?"
He ignored his sister entirely. He closed the distance between him and his wife in three long strides, taking her wet, raw hands in his. Her skin was cracked and red from the hot water and harsh chemicals.
"I'm so sorry," he whispered, his voice cracking as he pulled her against his chest, ruining his designer suit with grease and dish soap. He didn't care. "I am so damn sorry."
"I... I wanted to keep the peace," Camila sobbed into his shoulder. "They said if I didn't help out, they would tell you I was ungrateful. I just wanted them to accept me."
Ricardo pressed a kiss to her forehead. "You don't need their acceptance, meu amor," he vowed, his eyes shifting over Camila's shoulder to lock onto Patrícia. "Because they don't live here anymore."
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Patrícia took a step back, her face entirely drained of color. "Ricardo, wait, it's just a misunderstanding—"
"Go into the dining room," Ricardo commanded, his voice vibrating with lethal authority. "Now."
