
They were married at midnight in a colonial church on the edge of Coyoacán.
The decision had been sudden, the way all their important decisions seemed to be. Alejandro had woken her before dawn that morning, his shoulder still bandaged but his eyes clear and sharp, and said four words that changed everything. "Marry me. Today. Now." She had blinked at him in the dark, her mind still fogged with sleep, and he had explained. The legal system in Mexico was complicated, but one thing was simple. A wife could not be compelled to testify against her husband. If his enemies ever tried to use the law against him, if they ever tried to drag Mariana into court as a witness, a marriage certificate would be her armor. Spousal privilege. A shield built from vows and signatures.



















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