The Del Fuego estate had always been a place of quiet beauty—vineyards stretching across the hills, the scent of ripe grapes in the air, and the soft hum of life unfolding in rhythm with the seasons. But inside the mansion, tucked away in a sunlit corner of the nursery, something else was blooming.Maria Del Fuego sat at her writing desk, a cup of chamomile tea cooling beside her, her laptop open to a blank document. Celestina and Rafael were napping nearby, their tiny breaths rising and falling in sync. The house was quiet, and for the first time in weeks, Maria felt still enough to listen to herself.She had started writing again not with intention, but with instinct. It began as a way to process the whirlwind of motherhood—the sleepless nights, the aching body, the overwhelming love. But soon, her thoughts spilled beyond the personal. She wrote about legacy, about silence, about the invisible labor of women who hold families together without applause.She didn’t know what she was w
The Del Fuego estate was quiet in the early hours of dawn. The vineyard, still cloaked in mist, stretched endlessly toward the horizon. Celeste stood at the edge of the terrace, coffee in hand, watching the sun rise over the hills. It was a view she had come to cherish—constant, grounding, and deceptively peaceful.But peace, she knew, was rarely permanent.Inside the mansion, Maria was nursing Celestina while Rafael slept soundly in his crib. Jericho had returned to work, balancing fatherhood with boardroom battles. The estate was thriving. The Del Fuego Group had just secured a major partnership with a European distributor, and Celeste’s initiatives were being hailed as visionary.Yet beneath the surface, a storm was brewing.It began with a phone call.The offer,Celeste was in her study when her private line rang. She rarely used it anymore—only a handful of people had the number. She answered, expecting a routine update.“Celeste Reyes?” the voice asked.“Yes.”“This is Anton Vil
This chapter begins a new thread in the saga, revealing a side of Celeste that’s been long buried beneath duty and ambition.The vineyard was quiet in the early morning, dew clinging to the leaves like secrets. Celeste walked alone, her heels clicking softly against the stone path. She had traded her usual tailored suit for a linen blouse and jeans, her hair pulled back in a loose braid. For once, she wasn’t preparing for a meeting or drafting a strategy. She was simply… wandering.It had been three weeks since Elias Navarro left the estate. The legal storm had passed, the company stabilized, and Maria’s twins were thriving. Jericho had taken a short sabbatical to be with his family. And Celeste—Celeste had been left with silence.She didn’t mind silence. She had lived in it for years. But lately, it felt heavier.She reached the edge of the vineyard and sat on a bench beneath the old fig tree. The breeze carried the scent of ripening grapes and distant sea salt. She closed her eyes.
The vineyard shimmered under the late afternoon sun, its rows of grapes heavy with promise. The Del Fuego estate had settled into a rhythm—babies crying, staff bustling, laughter echoing through the halls. But beneath the surface, something stirred.Maria sat on the terrace, Celestina nestled against her chest, her tiny fingers curled around a lock of her mother’s hair. Rafael slept nearby in a woven cradle, his breath soft and steady. Jericho stood at the edge of the garden, speaking with Celeste about the upcoming board meeting.“I want to expand the Family Fund,” he said. “Not just for employees. For the entire region.”Celeste nodded. “It’s ambitious. But it’s the right kind of ambitious.”Jericho smiled. “You always say that when you’re about to challenge me.”Celeste smirked. “Because I always do.”Their laughter was interrupted by the sound of tires crunching gravel. A sleek black car pulled up to the estate’s entrance. The driver stepped out, opened the rear door, and a man em
The days following the birth of Rafael and Celestina unfolded like a dream—soft, slow, and sacred.The Del Fuego mansion, once a place of quiet elegance, now pulsed with new life. The twins’ cries echoed through the halls, not as a disturbance, but as a declaration: the legacy had been reborn.Maria lay in bed, her body healing, her heart full. She watched her newborns sleep side by side in their crib, their tiny chests rising and falling in rhythm. Jericho sat beside her, his hand resting gently on hers, his eyes never leaving their children.“I didn’t know I could love this deeply,” he whispered.Maria smiled, exhausted but radiant. “They’re everything.”Celeste stood at the doorway, watching silently. She had seen many beginnings in her life—some joyful, some painful—but this one felt different. It wasn’t just the birth of children. It was the birth of hope.The estate adjusted quickly. The staff moved with quiet reverence, tiptoeing around the nursery, preparing meals with extra c
The Del Fuego estate had never felt so alive.It was early September, and the vineyard shimmered under a sky heavy with promise. The grapes were plump, the workers cheerful, and the air carried a quiet electricity—as if the land itself knew that something monumental was about to unfold.Maria Del Fuego was nine months pregnant.She moved slowly now, her steps deliberate, her hands often resting on her belly as if cradling the future. The twins—one boy, one girl—had become the center of the family’s orbit. Every conversation, every plan, every glance toward tomorrow seemed to begin and end with them.Jericho was both exhilarated and terrified. He had faced boardroom battles, family betrayals, and the resurrection of long-buried truths. But fatherhood was uncharted territory. He watched Maria with awe, sometimes waking in the middle of the night just to listen to her breathe.Celeste, too, had grown more protective. She had become Maria’s confidante, her quiet anchor. The two women ofte