Chapter 4
I did not show the note to anyone at first.
That was my first mistake.
I folded it carefully and hid it inside my shoe, where the thin paper pressed against my heel all morning like a warning with teeth.
Stay away from the boy.
I knew it had to be Lucía.
Or someone loyal to her.
But knowing a thing and proving it are different worlds.
In houses like the Ríos mansion, proof was oxygen.
Without it, truth suffocated.
Mateo woke before sunrise.
I heard him before the cameras did.
A small choking sound came from the monitor outside his room.
Not a scream.
Not rage.
A nightmare.
I ran.
The guard at the north wing stepped in front of me.
“Orders?”
“Ask your boss if you want, but by then the child will be terrified.”
He hesitated.
Then moved.
I entered Mateo’s room slowly.
He was curled under the bed, trembling so hard the frame shook.
A broken lamp lay nearby.
Glass glittered across the floor.
“Mateo,” I whispered. “It is Valeria.”
His breathing hitched.
I knelt, careful of the glass.
“I am not coming closer unless you want me to.”
His tiny hand appeared first.
Then his eyes.
I lay flat on the floor so he could see my face.
“You had a bad dream.”
He stared at me.
“You do not have to tell me. You do not have to speak. But you can show me.”
I slid a small notebook and crayon under the bed.
He did not touch them.
I waited.
My ribs ached.
My knees hurt.
The mansion remained silent around us.
Then Mateo’s fingers closed around the crayon.
He drew hard.
So hard the paper tore.
When he pushed the notebook back, I saw black scribbles.
A car.
A woman.
Blood.
And a shape.
Not a man.
Not exactly.
A bird.
A black bird.
I looked at it too long.
Mateo grabbed the notebook back and shook his head violently.
“Okay,” I whispered. “I saw enough.”
A sound came from the doorway.
Alejandro stood there barefoot, wearing a black shirt, his face pale.
He had seen the drawing.
“What is that?” he asked.
I stood carefully.
“I think he remembers something.”
Alejandro stepped into the room.
Mateo scrambled back under the bed.
I lifted my hand.
“Stop.”
Alejandro froze.
Nobody told Alejandro Ríos to stop.
But he did.
I crouched again.
“Mateo, your father is here. He is not angry.”
The boy did not come out.
Alejandro’s face twisted.
Not with anger.
With pain.
“He used to run to me,” he whispered.
“He may again.”
“When?”
“When safe feels stronger than fear.”
His eyes moved to the notebook.
“The bird. What does it mean?”
“I do not know.”
But I had seen a black bird before.
Not in the house.
On Lucía’s necklace.
A tiny black raven hanging at her throat.
At breakfast, Lucía entered wearing it.
The same dark bird.
Polished obsidian.
Small.
Elegant.
I felt my pulse move into my ears.
Mateo sat at the far end of the table because Alejandro had insisted he eat with him.
I sat near the wall, pretending to be invisible.
Lucía kissed Alejandro’s cheek.
Then she bent toward Mateo.
“Good morning, mi amor.”
Mateo dropped his spoon.
Milk spilled across the table.
His face went white.
Lucía’s smile held.
“Still dramatic, I see.”
Alejandro’s eyes flicked to her necklace.
Then to me.
I looked down quickly.
Too quickly.
Lucía noticed.
Of course she noticed.
After breakfast, she found me in the laundry room.
Alone.
She closed the door behind her.
The click of the latch sounded like a gun.
“You are enjoying this,” she said.
I kept folding towels.
“Enjoying what, señora?”
“Being useful to him.”
“To Mateo?”
She laughed softly.
“To Alejandro.”
I said nothing.
She walked closer.
“You think because a damaged child hugged you, you belong here?”
“No.”
“Good. Because maids are replaceable. Poor girls especially.”
My hands stilled.
She saw she had hit something.
“Your brother is sick, yes?”
I looked at her.
Her smile widened.
“A dangerous world, hospitals. So many mistakes. So many delays.”
My blood went cold.
“You would threaten a child?”
“I am telling you reality.”
“No,” I said. “You are telling me who you are.”
Her face hardened.
Before she could speak, the door opened.
Doña Socorro stood there with a basket in her hands.
Her eyes moved between us.
Lucía smiled again.
“I was only asking Valeria to be careful with delicate things.”
Then she left.
Doña Socorro closed the door.
Her hands shook.
“She threatened Luis,” I whispered.
Doña Socorro made the sign of the cross.
“You need to tell the patrón.”
“I need proof.”
She lowered her voice.
“Then find the old nursery tapes.”
“What tapes?”
“After Isabela died, cameras were removed from many rooms. But before that, everything in the north wing was recorded because of threats against the family.”
“Where are they?”
Doña Socorro looked toward the hall.
“Locked archive. Basement. Only Alejandro, the security chief, and Lucía have keys.”
“Why would Lucía have a key?”
She swallowed.
“Because after Isabela died, she became the woman of the house.”
That night, Mateo drew again.
This time, the black bird was beside the car.
And beside it, one word.
Not spoken.
May you like
Written in shaky letters.
Luci.
