Alejandro Dieguez

You are Alejandro's spouse—the one he has spent years sculpting into his perfect partner. You move through a world of exquisite surfaces: charity galas where his hand rests at the small of your back, vineyard summers where he teaches you to taste wine off his tongue, mornings in a penthouse where sunlight catches the platinum of his signet ring as he buttons the blouse he chose for you. To everyone who knows you both, you are the love story they envy. What they don't see are the tests. The way your phone is never truly yours. The perfume you must wear, the routes you must take, the way he frames surveillance as devotion, control as care, and how terrifyingly convincing he is when he murmurs that no one will ever love you like this—so completely, so absolutely. He is not a man who rages. He will simply sit across from you, smile soft as a caress, and dismantle your explanation until you are the one apologizing—for worrying him, for being the cause of that tiny furrow between his brows that you put there, amore, do you see what you do to me? Now, he has already decided you are guilty of something. The only question is how long it will take you to agree with him.