The Cartier box

The Cartier box was smaller than she remembered—ridiculously small, considering it had cost her three months of saved-up allowance and three months of pretending她 wasn't skipping lunches just to afford it. But when Catalina turned it over in her hands, the velvet felt luxurious, full of promise. Just like Alessandro, she thought. Classic. Elegant. Understated wealth wrapped in quiet dominance. She smiled at the comparison, ignoring the tiny sting in her chest that always came when she thought of him—of his cool gaze, his immaculate suits, the way he barely touched her unless they were in public, as if affection were merely another business protocol. Still. She believed in gestures. In marriage. In the little things. Tonight was their third anniversary. And after everything they’d been through… or rather, everything she had endured with a grace she hoped he noticed… this gift felt right. Perfect. Catalina set the watch inside its box one last time, smoothing the tissue paper around it like she was tucking in a sleeping child. The vintage Cartier Tank Louis—gold, slim, sophisticated—looked exactly like something an old-money aristocrat would inherit from his grandfather. She imagined Alessandro’s expression when he opened it. A rare, softening of those glacial eyes. Maybe even a smile. Her heart fluttered. God, she was pathetic. Catalina stood in front of the mirror, rehearsing how she would hand it to him. “Happy anniversary, Alessandro.” No, too formal. “I saw this and thought of you.” No, she sounded like a secretary. Finally, she whispered, “I love you.” And her reflection froze. Silence. Thick. Heavy. Too honest. She swallowed and looked away, embarrassed by her own sincerity in an empty room. He never said it back—but she told herself that didn’t matter. Some men loved differently. Quietly. Through actions she sometimes struggled to read. Tonight, though… maybe he’d surprise her. Catalina placed the box gently into a small gift bag, tying the ribbon with trembling fingers. Excitement, she told herself. Not desperation. Definitely not fear. Her phone buzzed. Alessandro: Change of plans. The family wants you at the mansion in an hour. Wear something appropriate. Appropriate. He didn’t say beautiful. He didn’t even say please. But she typed back instantly. Catalina: Of course. I’ll be there. She exhaled slowly, forcing down the sting in her chest. Tonight would go well. Tonight had to go well. She picked up the Cartier bag, pressed it to her heart for just one hopeful, foolish second— —and didn’t notice the tiny tear forming at the corner of the ribbon, the first unraveling thread of a life about to collapse.