MasukThe mansion was quieter now, unnaturally so, like the walls themselves were holding their breath.Inés paced her room, her thoughts spinning out of control. Thiago’s words echoed in her skull: “He’s not who he says he is.”Esteban Gallego. The name was acid in her throat. She’d read about him years ago, feared, cunning, and ruthless. A man who had disappeared after the Gallego-Delgado war. But if he was alive… and under their roof? Pretending to be Alonso Delgado?How could she have been so blind?A sharp knock jerked her out of thought. She backed up instinctively, eyes darting toward the closet where she’d hidden the black notebook she stole from Thiago’s study.“Inés?” came a familiar voice. Gabriel.She opened the door cautiously.Gabriel looked worn, his hair damp from a recent shower, shirt unbuttoned just enough to reveal the inked stretch of muscle and vein beneath. He looked at her like he hadn’t slept.“You okay?” he asked, voice low.“No,” she whispered, the words cracking.
Inés didn’t remember running. Only the pounding of her heart, the burning in her lungs, the sting of smoke clinging to her eyes and clothes. Her bare feet slapped against the polished marble as she fled down the corridor, clutching the folder to her chest like a lifeline.Somewhere behind her, a fire raged.Somewhere behind her, someone had screamed.She didn’t look back.The hallway twisted like a labyrinth. Flames hadn’t reached this part of the mansion, but the acrid smoke curled under doors, spilling from vents. Her chest tightened. Her family had died like this; fire, screams, smoke.Déjà vu.A sharp pain cut through her foot. Glass. She winced, staggered, but didn’t stop.Footsteps echoed behind her.Not many. Just one. Slow. Measured. Deliberate.“Inés,” a voice called, familiar and soft.Alonso.Or so she thought.She ducked into a side room—dark, silent—and pressed her back to the wall, struggling to steady her breathing.“Inés,” he said again, closer now. "You're hurt."She
The crackle of fire whispered death.Inés staggered back from the door, the scent of burning fabric and flesh clawing at her throat. The shriek from the hallway still echoed in her ears, followed by a deafening silence that made her knees weak. Smoke slithered through the crack beneath the door like a serpent, hungry and relentless.She backed into the room, clutching the folder tight beneath her apron, the sharp corner digging into her ribs grounding her in reality. Her breath came in short gasps, but she forced herself to think. Fire meant destruction, but also distraction. If she could just find a way out….A loud click.She spun.The door behind her creaked open.Not the hallway door.The panel behind the bookcase.A man stepped through the narrow passageway, dark curls damp with sweat, a gun in one hand, blood on the other. His shirt clung to his sculpted torso, open down to the middle of his chest, smeared with soot. But it was his eyes, those ice-blue eyes that rooted her to th
The barrel glinted like a silver secret.“Close the drawer,” Alejandro ordered, voice flat but crackling with threat.Inés’s fingers hovered over the wood, too aware a twitch could spark gunfire.She eased the drawer shut, her heart hammered loud enough to shame a drumline. If Alejandro heard it, he gave no sign.“Step back.”She obeyed, retreating until the desk pressed the backs of her knees. Thiago who had been watching all the while, chuckled, and made to leave the study. “I'll leave you both to it.” He said, and made his way for the door, jamming it shut as he strode out.Every inch she moved, those steely eyes followed, as precise as the laser of a sniper scope.“Tell me why you were digging through my brother’s files,” he said.Not our files, “my brother’s.” A fracture between twins, noted.“I clean,” she managed, forcing the words through a throat gone desert-dry.“I dust drawers. Sometimes drawers stick.”“You’re lying,” Alejandro murmured. Two measured words, softer than s
The smell of smoke never left her.Even after five years, Inés still woke up coughing some nights, the phantom scent of ash curling through her dreams like a ghost refusing to rest.“Name?” the guard at the Delgado estate gate asked, his voice flat but suspicious.Inés gripped the strap of her cheap bag tighter. “Inés Montoya. I’m here for the maid position.”The man’s eyes raked over her; young, pretty, average enough not to draw attention, which was the point. He muttered something into his walkie-talkie, then motioned for her to go inside.She stepped through the iron gates, and the chill that ran down her spine had nothing to do with the morning air.This was it.She was inside.The Delgado mansion was exactly what she'd imagined; elegant, intimidating, and soulless. Black stone, endless windows, and security cameras that tracked every step. The kind of place that didn’t just keep secrets. It buried them.A tall woman in a gray uniform led her through a marble hallway. “You’ll cle







