But she didn’t stop. Her face turned red with anger, her eyes blazing with a resentment that went far beyond the handbag incident. It was a disproportionate fury, an explosion of contempt for what she considered inferior.
She grabbed the tall, elegant glass of Coca-Cola from the table and, without a second thought, without the slightest remorse, emptied it all over Don Ricardo’s head.
The cold, sticky bubbles ran down her face, soaking her wig and uniform, trickling down her neck, mingling with the tears she could no longer hold back.
The drink’s sweetness felt like a bitter humiliation as she, beside herself, screamed at him at the top of her lungs, her voice echoing in the stunned silence of the room, words that shattered him inside.
Alejandro, beside her, stood motionless, eyes wide, unsure how to react.
Don Ricardo’s plan had worked, in a way he never would have wished. He had seen Sofia’s true colors, and they were far crueler than he had imagined.
But the question now was: how would Alejandro react to this scene? And, more importantly, what would this mean for the future of his inheritance ?
The silence in “El Dorado” was thick, almost palpable, broken only by the dripping of Coca-Cola from Don Ricardo’s hair and Sofia’s ragged breathing.
Her voice, though no longer shouting, was still a verbal whip. “Get out of here! I never want to see you again! You’re incompetent! You ruined my night, my dress, my purse! You don’t deserve to work in a place like this!” Her words were pure poison, uttered with a blood-curdling conviction.
Don Ricardo, soaked and humiliated to the core, could only murmur a “Yes, miss” and turned, head bowed, to leave the room. Each step was a stab to his heart.
He had expected a reaction, yes, perhaps some indignation over the handbag, but never this merciless cruelty. And what hurt him most, what burned in his soul, was his son’s silence.
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