The plane touched down at El Dorado International Airport and Adriana Pérez Sánchez pressed her forehead against the window, staring at the city spread out below. Bogotá looked the same, yet it carried a weight she had not felt in years. Five years in the United States had given her freedom, independence, and space to breathe. Now she was back in the place where expectations clung to her like shadows.
The moment she stepped out of the airport, the air wrapped around her with a familiar mixture of scents. Rain had fallen earlier, leaving the streets glistening. She caught the smoky exhaust of taxis fighting for passengers and, somewhere close, the soft aroma of arepas from a street vendor. It was Bogotá in its truest form, chaotic and comforting at the same time.
Her father's driver stood by a sleek black car at the curb. "Señorita Adriana," he greeted with a stiff nod, opening the door for her.
"Thank you, Carlos," she replied, sliding into the back seat.
The drive to the Pérez estate was both nostalgic and unsettling. Through the tinted glass she caught glimpses of her childhood streets, the mountain ridges beyond the city, and the familiar rhythm of Bogotá life. It was as if nothing had changed, but everything inside her had.
By the time the car pulled into the wide gates of her family home, her chest was tight. She had rehearsed greetings and polite phrases on the flight, but now all of them seemed useless.
Inside the grand living room, her parents were waiting. Her mother Rosa's face lit with warmth, and she rushed to embrace her daughter. "Adriana, my girl, you are finally home. Look at you, so beautiful, so grown."
Adriana smiled faintly and clung to her mother for a brief moment of comfort before her father's voice broke through.
"My daughter." Vicente Pérez Rodríguez stood tall, his arms behind his back, his gaze sharp as a blade. He was a man built on authority, both feared and respected in business circles. Even here, at home, he carried himself as though the entire board of directors were watching.
"Papá," Adriana said softly.
His eyes studied her, weighing her in silence before he finally spoke. "You are ready, I hope."
"Ready for what?" she asked, her brows furrowing.
"For what has always been yours. Pérez Holdings will pass to you, as planned."
Adriana's heart leapt. This was what she had prepared for in the United States. Every late night of study, every internship, every lecture had been for this moment. "Then I am ready," she said with conviction. "I have worked hard for this, Papá. I will not fail you."
Vicente's expression remained unreadable. "There is one condition."
The room seemed to still. "Condition?" she echoed.
"You will not inherit until you are married."
Adriana felt the ground shift beneath her. "Married? You cannot be serious."
"I am very serious," Vicente replied. His tone was steady, firm, without the smallest crack of compromise. "Leadership requires more than skill. It requires stability, respect, a family. No one will take you seriously if you stand alone."
"Papá, I spent five years building myself for this. You told me hard work mattered most. And now you are saying all of it means nothing unless I marry?"
Her mother Rosa touched her husband's arm. "Vicente, perhaps…"
But he silenced her with a glance. "This is not negotiable. Pérez Holdings cannot be led by a woman without a husband at her side. It is tradition, and it is the way of things."
Adriana's hands tightened into fists at her sides. Anger burned beneath her ribs, but she forced herself to stand tall, her voice low and steady. "We will see about that, Papá."
Her father's lips curved into something between a smile and a challenge. "Yes. We will."
Outside, thunder rolled across the Bogotá sky as if even the heavens were warning her of the storm that had only just begun.