Chapter Two

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 silk, sharper than razors.

He flicked the safety off without looking. The click felt louder than a cannon.

Inés’ pulse ricocheted. She had one chance.

“Then shoot,” she whispered, chin lifting.

His brows twitched. Surprise? maybe respect? definitely annoyance.

“I don’t like mess,” he said. “Bullets splatter.”

“But you’d still pull the trigger?”

He stared, weighing her like contraband.

Slowly, the gun dipped, but didn’t lower.

“Who sent you?” He asked.

“No one.” Inés responded.

“Everyone answers to someone.” Alejandro retorted.

Inés’ gaze darted to the door. No footsteps, no rescue.

Gabriel patrolled the south wing tonight; Alonso was probably charming a socialite; Thiago? Abandoned her at the most crucial time.

She breathed once, steadying. “You think I’m a spy?”

“I think you’re stupid enough to steal from the Delgados.”

His finger flexed on the trigger guard. “Tell me why.”

“Because you burned my past. Because you stamped ash across everything I loved, and because your notebook might prove it.” 

She wanted to utter these words so badly, but she didn't. 

Instead she said, “I wanted to know who I work for.”

“Curiosity gets maids fired.”

“Bullets splatter,” she reminded.

A tense beat. Then he exhaled; frustration, not relief.

“Put the book down,” he repeated.

She didn't realize she had unconsciously picked the book again, in the heat of the argument. 

She laid it atop the desk, careful not to expose the open page.

Names glared in her periphery. Montoya still screaming in ink.

Alejandro slammed the cover shut.

“Leave,” he ordered.

Inés hesitated.

One second too long.

The study door burst inward.

Alonso strode in, curls rebel-wild, grin gone. 

“What is going on?”

His gaze ping-ponged; gun, brother, maid.

“Your new plaything was snooping,” Alejandro said.

Inés felt heat flood her cheeks. Anger, not embarrassment.

Alonso’s jaw tensed. “Put the gun away.”

“Handle your toys,” Alejandro shot back.

Alonso crossed the room in two strides. “Give me the pistol.”

“You trust her?”

“I don’t trust you with it.”

Their standoff crackled like exposed wires.

Inés seized the friction. Edges make cracks; cracks let secrets slip.

“Alonso, I was cleaning,” she said, steady as she could.

Alejandro scoffed.

Alonso reached out with his palm up. “Brother.”

For a moment Inés thought Alejandro might pull the trigger out of spite.

Then he handed the weapon over.

Alonso slid it into his waistband. “Go cool off.”

Alejandro’s lip curled. “She still has to answer.”

“And she will,” Alonso said, softer. “Elsewhere.”

He jerked his head toward the hall.

Alejandro left, but not before pinning Inés with a promise of future reckoning.

Silence settled.

Alonso rubbed a hand over his face. “He’s wound tight tonight.”

“Tonight?” she asked.

He gave a humorless laugh. “Fine. Always. Did he scare you?”

Inés released a breath. “Should he have?”

“Probably.” Alonso leaned against the desk, casual façade already creeping back. “What did you really see?”

Lie. Tell half-truth. Or trust a devil?

She chose the middle path. “Numbers. Dates. Nothing I understood.”

“Figures.” He sighed. “Come on, walk with me before you hyperventilate.”

***

The corridor lights were dimmed for the night, throwing long shadows along tapestried walls.

Alonso matched her steps; his shoulder brushed hers, deliberate.

“You don’t strike me as the timid type,” he said.

“Because I didn’t faint?”

“Because your eyes are on fire.”

She blinked. “Allergies.”

He chuckled, genuine, warm enough to thaw the winter in her bones. Dangerous warmth.

“Look,” Alonso said, embers of mirth fading. 

“Alejandro guards our business like a dragon hoards gold. Best advice? Keep clear of his study.”

“I didn’t know whose room it was.”

“Now you do.” A beat. “Still curious?”

“Always.”

Inés tucked stray hair behind her ear. “Curiosity hasn’t killed me yet.”

“Yet,” he echoed.

They reached the servants’ staircase.

Alonso paused, fingertips grazing the railing. 

“Try to sleep. Tomorrow’s busy. Father’s hosting a charity gala.”

“Charity?” In this house, the word felt counterfeit.

“You’ll be serving champagne,” he continued. “Wear flats, you’ll be on your feet.”

His gaze softened, almost apologetic. “Take care, Inés.”

It was the first time he’d said her name.

She swallowed the odd flutter in her chest. “Good night, Alonso.”

He descended the grand staircase, footsteps fading into hush.

Inés pivoted, north wing, maids’ quarters.

Instead, she slipped south.

***

The laundry room was empty.

She locked the door, pulled out her phone, and snapped blurry pictures of the notebook page lodged in her memory. Names, dates, PROJECT 5D, scribbled as best she could recall.

Not proof, but a breadcrumb.

A floorboard creaked.

Inés’ stomach dropped.

She shoved the phone into her pocket and turned.

Gabriel filled the doorway. A silent wall in charcoal suit.

“How did you…? The door….?”

“Keys,” he said, voice low, unblinking.

Inés straightened. “I’m off duty.”

“So am I.” he retorted.

He stepped inside, closed the door behind him. No lock this time. He didn’t need it.

“Alonso asked me to keep an eye on you.”

Her pulse skittered. “Why?”

“Alejandro’s temper. And your curiosity.”

Gabriel took two steps; the room shrank. “You’re playing a perilous game, signorina.”

“I’m just a maid.”

“No,” he said. “You’re a question mark. And questions draw bullets.”

He studied her face like a puzzle. “Why do you really work here?”

Inés's mind raced. Lie? Confess?

Instead, she deflected. “Why do you?”

He almost smiled. “Because bullets pay well.”

Before she could reply, his earpiece crackled. He touched it, listening.

“Understood,” Gabriel murmured.

He opened the door. “Stay out of locked rooms.”

Then he was gone.

Inés exhaled, legs suddenly molten.

One wrong move and Alejandro, Gabriel, maybe even Thiago, would crush her.

Yet every instinct screamed to press harder.

She left the laundry, returned to her narrow bunk, and collapsed fully clothed.

Sleep stole her quickly, but not kindly.

Firelight flickered behind her eyelids; smoke clawed her throat; a child’s sobbing, hers, echoed against burning walls.

She jerked awake before dawn, gasping.

Tomorrow was gala day.

***

By six p.m. the mansion pulsed with silk gowns and whispered conspiracies.

Crystal chandeliers turned champagne into molten gold.

Inés floated among guests, tray balanced, smile welded in place.

Alonso worked the room like a favorite son.

Alejandro lingered at the edges, predator-still.

Thiago? Absent so far.

Halfway through the event, Alejandro’s gaze snagged hers across the ballroom.

Steel met flint. He inclined his head toward a side corridor, summoning.

Inés’ chest tightened. She wove through dancers, slipped behind velvet drapery, and followed.

The corridor was empty, save him and a single door she’d never noticed.

“Inside,” he said.

“No gun this time?”

“Door,” he repeated, colder.

She stepped through.

A private lounge, mahogany bar, low sofas, no windows.

Alejandro shut the door. Click.

He moved past her to a safe embedded in the wall.

Dial spun; hinges groaned.

Inside, black velvet bundles and rows of files.

He withdrew a slim folder and tossed it onto the table.

“Open it.”

Inés’ fingers shook as she flipped the cover.

Surveillance photos of her.

Buying coffee, boarding the bus to the estate, kneeling at her parents’ grave, each shot dated weeks before she applied for the maid job.

Her lungs seized.

“You think you infiltrated us,” Alejandro said softly. “Truth is, we let you in.”

The floor tilted.

“Why?” she managed.

Before he could answer, the lounge door banged open.

Thiago strode in, hair windswept, eyes blazing.

“Alejandro, what the hell are you doing?”

“She needs to know,” Alejandro snapped.

Thiago’s gaze cut to Inés; sharp, unreadable.

“Not tonight.”

“She’s a liability.” Alejandro said.

Thiago stepped between them. “She’s leverage.”

Inés’ voice shattered the standoff. “Leverage for what?”

Both men turned.

Thiago’s expression softened. Regret or calculation, she couldn’t tell.

“You’re not the only one who lost family in that fire,” he said quietly.

The words slammed into her like shrapnel.

“What are you talking about?”

But before he could answer, gunfire exploded in the ballroom.

Three shots, then screams.

Thaigo’s head snapped toward the door. “Stay here.”

He shoved Alejandro toward the hallway. “Protect the guests.”

They vanished, door slamming behind them, lock clicking.

Inés stood alone, heart pounding, photos of her life scattered like fallen leaves.

Smoke alarms shrieked somewhere distant.

She grabbed the folder, stuffed it under her apron, and scanned the room.

Second door? Window? Vent? Nothing.

The only way out was the way they had gone.

She tried the handle, locked.

A burst of heat licked through the keyhole. Flames? No, impossible.

But the smell; burning fabric, plastic, flesh, hit her like déjà vu.

She stumbled back, chest heaving.

Not again.

From the hallway came a final, echoing scream, and then the unmistakable crackle of fire.