The invitation to María's party had arrived that morning, an unexpected proposal for an evening at her house that same night. The prospect of a gathering with friends, wine, and laughter seemed the perfect antidote to the week's stress. As Ana got ready, I watched her with a mix of love and desire; each movement of her body a silent invitation to a world of intimacy that only we shared.

Ana, with her natural elegance, chose a red dress that hugged every curve of her body. The fabric slid over her skin like a caress, and I couldn’t help but approach, my hands seeking her waist, my mouth eager to find the softness of her neck. "You look beautiful, Ana," I whispered, my lips brushing her skin, trying to reignite the passion that once came so easily between us.

But she, with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes, gently pushed me away. "Carlos, don't mess up my dress. We need to leave soon," she said, her voice tinged with a distance I didn't recognize. Her rejection, though subtle, hurt like a reminder that something had changed between us. I didn’t insist, respecting her space, but I tucked away that sense of rejection in a corner of my mind, a shadow over what I hoped would be a night of joy.

I decided then to focus on getting ready myself. I chose a shirt I knew Ana liked, another attempt to bring us closer, even if through fashion. As I dressed, I watched her finish her preparations, her concentration on every detail, each touch of makeup, each carefully selected piece of jewelry. It was like watching an artist work on her masterpiece, and she was, without a doubt, mine.

The tension from our exchange dissolved into the routine of preparation, and soon we were ready to leave. In the car, I placed her hand in mine, trying to reconnect, to feel that bond that had always been so strong. "Let's enjoy tonight," I said, more as a promise to myself than to her. Ana nodded, her smile now a bit brighter, but still, something in her look told me her mind was elsewhere.

We arrived at María and Sebastián's house, the atmosphere already charged with music and laughter. The house, lit up and cozy, seemed like a beacon in the night, promising a temporary escape from daily realities. I opened the car door for Ana, my heart filled with the hope of reclaiming what we felt before, that the night would bring us back to that place of love and passion that seemed to have lost some of its luster.

I made sure Ana entered first, her figure in that red dress like a vision I wanted to memorize. I followed, ready to immerse myself in the camaraderie of the night, unaware of the storms that were brewing, unaware that this party would not just be an escape but the beginning of the end of many things.

Upon entering María and Sebastián's house, the atmosphere enveloped us like a warm wave. The music, the laughter, the clinking of glasses; everything blended into a symphony of celebration. I greeted several acquaintances, but my gaze sought out my old friend Sebastián, someone with whom I shared years of friendship, confidences, and shared laughs.

I found him in the garden, surrounded by a group of friends, his charisma on full display. "Carlos, buddy! It’s been so long since I've seen you!" he exclaimed, embracing me with the familiarity that only years of friendship can give. Ana had already drifted away, chatting with María and some friends, leaving us in our own world of male camaraderie.

The conversation flowed easily, talking about work, sports, the latest gossip in our social circle. But then, the talk took a turn when Sebastián, with a smirk of self-satisfaction, began to boast about his latest conquest. "Brother, I'm having an affair with a married woman," he said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone, though his pride was evident.

I thought it would be one of those passing adventure stories, something to laugh about among friends, but what came next made me pay closer attention. "I have her in the palm of my hand," he continued, his descriptions of the sexual encounters so vivid I could almost see them. "The last time, I had her on her own desk, her legs spread for me, her body responding to each of my touches like it was a symphony."

My eyebrows raised, not so much in surprise, but at the rawness of his account. "I have her moaning my name, begging for more, her hands clinging to me as I penetrate her over and over." Each word felt like a blow, an image of desire and betrayal etching itself into my mind. The way he spoke about her, how he possessed her, how he made her feel, was like listening to a painter describe his masterpiece, but this masterpiece was one of flesh and desire.

Sebastián didn't give details about who she was, only reveling in his own ego, in how he could satisfy her in ways her husband, according to him, could not. "She’s like an addict to me, Carlos. Each encounter is more intense, more dangerous, and that just makes it more exciting."

I laughed, uncomfortably, unaware that I was listening to the chronicle of my own downfall. The conversation continued, but my thoughts drifted to Ana, wondering if she was okay, if she was enjoying the night as much as I was. I didn't know that every word from Sebastián was a brick in the building of my own tragedy.

The night wore on, and I kept talking, laughing, drinking, without noticing the signs, without seeing what was right in front of my eyes. But that men's talk, those confessions of conquest, would be the prelude to a revelation that would change my life forever.

The party continued its course, an intoxicating blend of music, laughter, and conversations intertwining like threads in a social fabric. I glanced at Ana from time to time, her figure moving among the people, her familiar laughter resonating, but something in her behavior kept me on alert. It wasn't just the distance I had felt before we left; it was a premonition, an unease I couldn't name.

While I chatted with other guests, I noticed both Ana and María had disappeared from sight. I assumed they were together, perhaps sharing some secret among friends or just needing a break from the crowd. I didn't give it much thought until Sebastián, with a quick apology, mentioned he had to make a call and also left.

I stayed talking with some friends, the conversation revolving around recent games, work, and planned trips. The night was young, but I could already feel the tension of waiting, that feeling that something was out of place. When Sebastián returned, there was a gleam in his eyes, a satisfaction you only see in someone who's had an encounter they consider triumphant. I didn't give it much importance at the time; I couldn't know.

Then, Ana reappeared. There was something different about her, an agitation she couldn't completely hide, her cheeks slightly flushed, her breathing a bit faster than normal. "Ana, are you okay?" I asked, approaching to ensure her well-being. She nodded, but her smile was strained. "Yes, I just needed some air," she responded, avoiding my gaze for a second too long.

The night moved on, and although I tried to recapture the joy of the party, the unease didn't leave me. We decided to leave after a while, using the excuse that we were both tired after a long week. On the way back, I tried to take her hand, but she pulled it away, citing fatigue, her mind clearly elsewhere.

Once at home, I attempted to reconnect with her, to find that bond that seemed lost. I kissed her, my hands seeking her body with the hope of rediscovering the passion that once bound us. But Ana pulled away, her eyes heavy with exhaustion. "I'm exhausted, Carlos. Can we sleep?" she murmured, and before I could respond, she had already turned away, curling up in our bed, falling asleep with a speed that left me speechless.

I stood there, watching her sleeping figure, trying to understand what had changed between us. I decided to make some food, seeking in the kitchen a comfort I couldn't find in bed. It was then that my phone vibrated, announcing a new message. I opened the attached video, and the world stopped.

The image of Ana, in Sebastián's arms, their bodies in an act of passion that should have been ours alone, hit me with every second of the video. The betrayal was tangible, the pain a burn spreading through my entire being. Seeing my wife, whom I loved with every fiber of my being, giving herself to another man was more than a stab; it was a soul-destruction.

I felt anger, an emptiness that only vengeance could fill. I went upstairs, the video still playing in my mind, and saw Ana's phone on the nightstand. With hands trembling from fury and pain, I unlocked it and found the messages from Sebastián.

"We've been discovered," one of them said, "but we could start over, together. What do you say?"

The betrayal was complete, and my response, typed with a poisoned heart, would be the beginning of our downfall.

My heart filled with a poison I didn't know it could harbor. I responded to the message as if I were Ana, "I'm on my way. Wait for me at the door." It was a calculated lie, a trap that would close in on Sebastián. I grabbed Ana's car keys, determined not only to confront my friend but to end this in a way I would never forget.

I drove back to Sebastián's house, every kilometer fueling my resolve. The streets were empty, the silence of the night a stark contrast to the noise of betrayal in my head. Upon arrival, I saw the scene unfolding before my eyes. María was throwing Sebastián out of the house, his suitcases on the sidewalk, her voice laden with a mix of pain and fury. I watched from a distance, my heart racing not just from adrenaline but from the certainty of what I was about to do.

Sebastián, wrapped up in his own drama, didn't see me until he approached the car, thinking it was Ana who had come for him. The door opened, and his surprise was palpable. There was no time for explanations, for verbal confrontations. I pulled out the gun I had taken from our home safe, an act driven by a rage I had never felt before. I fired, once, twice, emptying the magazine until the sound of the shots became an echo in the night.

I closed the car door, Sebastián's body falling like a puppet without strings. I turned the key, the engine roaring as if it too wanted to escape the scene. I didn't look back; I couldn't. I drove, without direction, only knowing I needed to get away from what I had done, from what I had seen, from what I had lost.

The road stretched out like a line of escape, but my mind was caught in a loop of images: Ana with Sebastián, the moment of the shot, María's expression seeing her husband on the ground. Vengeance had not brought peace; only a new form of pain, a loneliness I didn't know how to face.

I thought of Ana, asleep in our bed, unaware that life as we knew it had ended. How could we go back now? How could I look at her without seeing the image of her with Sebastián? The betrayal had been a poison that had infected us all, and I had responded with an even more potent poison.

What kind of man was I now? One who had taken justice into his own hands, who had taken a life in a moment of uncontrolled passion. The weight of that reality crushed me, and with each mile, I wondered if I would ever find peace or if I would simply be running from myself for the rest of my days.

Finally, I slowed down, stopping the car in a place where civilization seemed like a memory. I got out, the cool night air a small reprieve from my internal torment. I looked at the sky, the stars indifferent to human tragedy, and in that moment of solitude, I realized that revenge had not healed my heart; it had only hardened it.

I returned to the car, the engine still warm, ready to keep fleeing, but now with a new awareness. There was no going back, only forward, into an uncertain future, bearing the weight of my actions. The night had changed me, and as I restarted the engine, I knew I was driving into a new chapter of my life, one marked by the shadow of vengeance and the search for redemption that I might never find.