Chapter 3 - THE WOMAN BEHIND THE DOORThe guards broke the door open.
Wood splintered against marble. The lock burst free. Alejandro was the first through, gun raised, his face colder than death.
But the room was empty.
At least, that was how it looked at first.
White sheets covered the furniture. Dust coated the floor. Heavy curtains blocked the windows. The air smelled stale, like old perfume and secrets left too long in darkness.
Mateo clung to Valeria so tightly her fingers went numb.
Alejandro scanned every corner. “Who spoke?”
No answer.
Ramiro opened the wardrobe.
Empty.
A guard checked behind the curtains.
Nothing.
Valeria did not move. Her eyes were on the floor.
There were footprints in the dust.
Small ones.
A child’s.
And beside them, larger prints.
Recent.
“Mr. Ríos,” she whispered.
Alejandro followed her gaze.
The room went silent.
Someone had been inside Lucía’s sitting room.
Not years ago.
Recently.
Mateo whimpered.
Valeria knelt beside the footprints. The larger prints led from the door to a tall cabinet near the wall. On top of the cabinet sat a silver-framed photograph of Lucía holding baby Mateo.
The glass was cracked.
Valeria moved closer.
Behind the frame, something white showed.
A folded piece of paper.
Alejandro picked it up.
His hands went still as he unfolded it.
It was a drawing.
Done in a child’s shaky hand.
A woman lying beside a black car.
A little boy with red tears on his face.
A tall figure standing behind him.
Red fingernails.
Alejandro’s voice was barely audible. “Mateo drew this?”
Mateo hid his face.
Valeria gently touched his shoulder. “Did someone ask you to draw what you saw?”
The boy nodded once.
Alejandro looked at Ramiro. “Who had access to this room?”
“Only family keys,” Ramiro said. “And Doña Socorro. She kept the household set.”
Alejandro’s eyes darkened.
Suddenly, Mateo reached toward the cabinet.
Not the photograph.
Below it.
Valeria noticed a drawer slightly misaligned. She pulled it open.
Inside was a music box.
Pink porcelain.
Dustless.
Valeria wound the key. A soft lullaby filled the room.
Mateo screamed.
He slapped his hands over his ears and fell to the floor.
Alejandro dropped beside him. “Turn it off!”
Valeria shut it quickly, horrified.
Mateo curled into a ball.
Over and over, he tapped his throat.
Valeria recognized the gesture now.
Something had stolen his voice.
She lifted the music box and saw scratches on the bottom. Someone had opened it before.
“May I?” she asked.
Alejandro nodded.
Valeria used a hairpin from her bun to pry open the hidden panel beneath the box.
A small device fell into her palm.
A recorder.
Ramiro swore under his breath.
Alejandro took it. “Play it.”
Valeria looked at Mateo. “Maybe not here.”
Alejandro understood. He handed Mateo to her without hesitation this time.
They stepped into the hall. Valeria carried the boy far enough away that the room could no longer see him.
Inside Lucía’s room, Alejandro pressed play.
Static hissed.
Then a woman’s voice filled the dead air.
Soft.
Sweet.
Cruel.
“Mateo, if you tell your father what you saw, the bad men will come back.”
Alejandro froze.
The voice continued.
“If you speak, they will take Valentina too.”
Valeria looked up sharply from the hallway.
Valentina.
That was not a name she knew.
Alejandro’s face had turned gray.
Ramiro whispered, “Boss…”
But Alejandro raised one hand.
The recording went on.
“Your mother died because she was going to leave your father. Do you understand? Your father made enemies. Your father did this.”
Mateo began sobbing in Valeria’s arms.
The woman’s voice lowered.
“And if you ever say my name, I will lock you in the dark room again.”
The recording ended.
No one breathed.
Alejandro stood in the middle of his dead wife’s room, holding proof that someone had spent two years poisoning his son against him.
Not once.
Not in one moment of cruelty.
Again and again.
Carefully.
Patiently.
Inside his own mansion.
Valeria stepped back into the doorway. “Who is Valentina?”
Alejandro closed his eyes.
For a second, he looked like the question had wounded him.
“My daughter,” he said.
Valeria stared at him.
“Lucía was pregnant when she died.”
The room tilted beneath Valeria’s feet.
Alejandro’s voice was hollow. “They told me the baby died with her.”
From Valeria’s arms, Mateo lifted his tear-streaked face.
He shook his head.
No.
Alejandro turned toward him slowly.
Mateo raised one trembling finger.
Then he pointed through the wall.
Not toward the corridor.
Not toward the stairs.
Toward the locked service passage behind Lucía’s room.
A passage Alejandro had forgotten existed.
Valeria felt her heart pound.
“Mateo,” she whispered. “Is Valentina here?”
The little boy’s lips trembled.
For the first time in two years, sound came from Mateo Ríos’s mouth.
May you like
One broken word.
“Baby.”
