Twilight was falling over the city, tinting the sky with a burnt orange that seemed to mask, for only a few moments, the dust of the streets of the Colonia Obrera. In the small bedroom she shared with Mia, Isadora stood upright, almost motionless, while Marisa adjusted the final details of her outfit for the evening.
— Breathe, my dear, Marisa whispered, a pin between her lips. If you stay this tense, the fabric won't fall naturally.
— I am not tense, Marisa. I am more than relaxed, Isadora replied in a monotonic voice.
The dress that Marisa had crafted for this occasion was a masterpiece of illusion. A deep black satin, salvaged from an old high-quality remnant the seamstress had kept for years, draped Isadora's body with a regal insolence.
The V-neckline highlighted the slenderness of her neck, while the mermaid cut emphasized her curves without ever falling into vulgarity. To anyone who did not know luxury labels, Isadora seemed to have stepped straight out of a boutique on Reforma Avenue.
— Your mother must not see you go out like this, Marisa warned while smoothing a strand of Isadora's wavy black hair. Otherwise, she will say again that you are looking for trouble.
Isadora gave a bitter smile.
— Mama thinks that the simple act of wanting to be clean is a sin of pride. She would prefer to see me in an apron, scrubbing the floor with Mia. She calls that the "dignity of the poor." I call it a sentence.
Suddenly, the bedroom door opened to Pablo. He stopped short, his breath taken away by the vision of his eldest daughter. He still carried the smell of grease and fatigue from his day at the garage, but his green eyes—the same as Isadora's—shone with pure emotion.
— Isadora... you are... I have no words.
— Thank you, Papa. Luisa is picking me up in ten minutes. Were you able to...?
Pablo nodded and pulled a few crumpled bills from his pocket, handing them to her discreetly.
— This is for the taxi back, just in case. Don't say anything to your mother. She thinks this money should go into the reserve for the roof repairs.
Isadora squeezed the bills in her hand, touched by her father's sacrifice. She knew he must have worked overtime for this small sum.
— I will pay you back, Papa. A hundredfold. I promise you.
— I know you will, m'ija. Go and have a good time.
Ten minutes later, the horn of Luisa's sedan sounded at the bottom of the decrepit building. Isadora went down the stairs with a surprising agility for someone wearing high heels. She did not want to cross Josefina in the hallway. She did not want her mother's reproaches to tarnish the brilliance of her dress.
In the car, Luisa was waiting for her, dressed in a powder pink dress that probably cost Pablo's annual salary.
— My God, Isadora! You are absolutely magnificent. Papa is going to be delighted to see you, he never stops asking me how you are doing.
— Your father is too kind, Luisa, Isadora replied while adjusting her clutch. I am simply impatient to attend this evening.
The reception for the law faculty was held in an old colonial palace in the city center, transformed into a private club for the elite. Upon crossing the threshold, Isadora felt a shiver run down her spine.
It was not fear, but a recognition. It was here that she belonged. The crystal chandeliers, the polished marble, the scent of expensive flowers, and the clinking of champagne glasses... it was her true mother tongue, the one she had not yet had the opportunity to speak.
Luisa led her toward a group of notables.
Isadora played her role to perfection. She listened with feigned attention, made pertinent legal remarks that left seasoned lawyers admiring, and above all, she observed. She quickly spotted Dr. Monterro, Luisa's father, who gave her a respectful nod.
But it was not him she was looking for.
It was then that the hubbub of the room seemed to fade slightly. A movement occurred near the main entrance. A man had just entered, accompanied by a young girl who seemed thoroughly bored.
— There they are, Luisa whispered in Isadora's ear. Alejandro Jáuregui. And his little sister, Camila.
Isadora turned her head slowly. Alejandro was exactly as she had imagined him, but with an aura of danger that no rumor had been able to describe. He wore a dark suit of impeccable cut, his hair was swept back with disconcerting precision, and his eyes scanned the room with a sovereign indifference. He was not there to see; he was there to be seen.
By his side, Camila Jáuregui seemed to be his perfect opposite. She was pretty, but her gaze was fleeting, almost anxious, as if she were looking for an exit.
— They say he took over all of his father's business after the accident, Luisa continued. He is ruthless in business. Camila, she is very protected. Alejandro lets no one get close to her.
Isadora felt a jolt of adrenaline. Alejandro Jáuregui was not just a fortune; he was the ultimate challenge.
She saw Julian Vaca approach them to greet them. Julian, with his suit a bit too large and his air of being top of the class, appeared almost invisible next to Alejandro.
— Look at Julian, Luisa snickered. He's trying to put on a good face, but Alejandro doesn't even acknowledge him.
Isadora did not answer. She waited for the right moment. She detached herself from Luisa's group and headed toward the buffet, feigning interest in the appetizers.
She knew that Alejandro would eventually step away from the crowd to catch his breath or to avoid a boring conversation.
The moment arrived faster than she had hoped. Alejandro left Camila with an acquaintance and headed toward the balcony overlooking the interior patio. Isadora followed him at a reasonable distance, her heart beating a steady, almost military rhythm.
She stepped out onto the balcony. The cool night air did her good. Alejandro was there, leaning against the stone balustrade, a glass of champagne in his hand that he was not drinking. He did not turn around immediately.
— The air is purer here, isn't it? he said at last, his voice being a deep and self-assured baritone. Far from the hypocrisy and the cheap perfume of flattery.
Isadora stepped forward to place herself beside him, also looking at the patio.
— I wouldn't say the air is purer, Mr. Jáuregui. I would simply say it is less crowded. But hypocrisy has its advantages: it is the bargaining chip of this kind of evening.
Alejandro turned his head toward her. For the first time, Isadora felt the full weight of his gaze. He studied her, from head to toe, lingering on her green eyes and the cascade of her black hair. A slight smile, almost imperceptible, stretched his lips.
— You know me, but I do not know you. It is a tactical disadvantage that I hardly appreciate.
— Isadora Perez, she replied simply, without blinking. And consider this a lesson, Monsieur. The world belongs to those who observe before being seen.
— Isadora... he murmured, tasting the name like a rare wine. You are no ordinary woman, are you? Your dress... it is ravishing.
— It is unique. Just like me, she replied with an audacity that would have made her mother shudder.
Alejandro laughed, a short and dry laugh, but not mocking.
— Audacity is a rare quality among women of your age in this circle. Generally, they try to please me by being docile.
— Docility is for the weak, or for those who have nothing to offer. That is not my case.
At that moment, Julian Vaca appeared at the entrance of the balcony, looking worried. He saw Isadora with Alejandro and his face tightened.
— Isadora? I was looking for you. Luisa is worried about your disappearance.
Isadora did not take her eyes off Alejandro for one more second before turning to the professor.
— I was simply discussing urban planning with Mr. Jáuregui, Mr. Vaca. Nothing that cannot wait.
She turned back to Alejandro.
— Delighted by this brief encounter. We will no doubt meet again.
She walked away, leaving the two men on the balcony. She felt Alejandro's gaze burning her back. She did not need to turn around to know that she had just planted a seed. A seed that, if she watered it with care, was going to make the walls of her damp bedroom crumble.