Chapter 3 - THE ECHO OF A FACE
For a terrifying, breathless eternity, the service corridor was perfectly silent.
Diego Alcázar stood frozen beneath the dim wall sconces.
Nine years had sharpened his features. The reckless, laughing boy who had played a broken piano in the snow was gone. In his place stood a billionaire who commanded boardrooms and industries. His dark hair was neatly styled, but his eyes—those striking, intense dark eyes—remained exactly the same.
He stared at me.
I stood in the doorway of the tiny servant’s room, clutching the gold button in my hand so tightly the edges bit into my palm.
“Mamá,” Valentina whispered, shrinking back against my legs. “Who is that man?”
The sound of her voice broke the spell.
Diego blinked. The color completely drained from his face. He took a slow, unsteady step forward.
“Marisol?”
His voice was a raw, jagged whisper. It sounded like a man who had just seen a ghost walk out of a grave.
My heart screamed at me to slam the door. To hide. To run.
But I couldn't move.
“Señor Alcázar,” I said. The formal title tasted like ash in my mouth. I forced my posture to remain rigid, adopting the subservient tone of a maid. “I apologize. My daughter was just getting a glass of water.”
Diego didn't seem to hear the apology. He didn't seem to care that I was wearing a cheap cotton nightgown.
His eyes dropped back down to Valentina.
He studied her face.
The shape of her jaw. The dark, thick wave of her hair. The way she instinctively touched the space between her eyebrows when she was nervous—the exact same way Diego always did when he was deeply troubled.
I saw the recognition flare in his eyes. A sudden, violent spark of calculation.
He looked at me. Then at Valentina. Then back at me.
“How old is she?” Diego asked. His voice was no longer a whisper. It was a command.
“Señor, please—”
“How old is she, Marisol?”
He closed the distance between us, stopping only three feet away. I could smell the faint scent of cedar and rain on his suit.
“I am nine,” Valentina answered for herself, holding her stuffed rabbit tighter. “My name is Valentina.”
Diego stopped breathing.
I watched the math work its way through his mind. Nine years. The winter in San Aurelio. My sudden, unexplained disappearance in the middle of the night without a word of goodbye.
His jaw tightened. A storm of anger, betrayal, and shock brewed in his eyes.
“Diego, darling!”
The sharp, musical voice echoed from the grand hall.
The spell shattered.
High heels clicked rapidly against the marble floor. A woman appeared in the doorway of the service corridor.
Paulina Serrano.
She was breathtakingly beautiful, wrapped in a white cashmere coat, diamonds glittering at her ears and throat. Her blonde hair was perfectly blown out. She looked like old money and new power.
She stopped beside Diego, slipping her arm possessively through his.
“What are you doing in the servant’s wing?” Paulina asked, wrinkling her perfect nose. She didn't even look at me. She treated me like a piece of furniture.
Diego didn't look at her. His eyes were still locked onto my face.
“Just an old acquaintance,” Diego said coldly.
The cruelty in his tone felt like a physical blow.
Paulina finally looked at me. Her gaze swept over my worn nightgown, over the tiny, cramped room behind me. Then her eyes snapped down to Valentina.
For a fraction of a second, Paulina’s perfect mask slipped.
Her eyes widened. She saw the resemblance. She saw the danger.
But she recovered instantly, tightening her grip on Diego’s arm.
“Well,” Paulina said smoothly, her voice laced with venom. “The agency certainly scrapes the bottom of the barrel these days. Come upstairs, Diego. My father wants to discuss the merger before the press arrives tomorrow.”
Diego didn't move.
“Marisol,” Diego said, ignoring his fiancée entirely. “You and I are going to have a conversation tomorrow. In my office.”
“I have work in the laundry room tomorrow, Señor,” I said, keeping my eyes fixed firmly on the floor.
“You will be in my office,” he repeated softly. “Or I will have security carry you there.”
He turned and walked away, pulling Paulina with him.
I quickly ushered Valentina back into the room and locked the door. I leaned heavily against the wood, gasping for air as if I had been drowning.
“Mamá?” Valentina asked softly, climbing back into bed. “Why did that lady look at me like she hated me?”
“She doesn't hate you, corazón,” I lied, pulling the blanket up to her chin. “She doesn't even know you.”
But I knew the truth.
Paulina Serrano knew exactly who I was.
When morning finally broke, I left Valentina in the kitchen with Rosa, the cook, who happily fed her sweet bread and hot chocolate.
I put on my gray housekeeper's uniform and tied my hair back. I had a job to do. But more importantly, I had a mystery to solve.
Inés had given me the gold button. Don Rafael’s key.
I slipped the heavy button into my apron pocket and hurried down the east corridor. Inés had told me Valentina was allowed in the old schoolroom. That meant it was a safe zone.
I pushed open the heavy double doors of the abandoned schoolroom.
It smelled of dust and old leather. Bookshelves lined the walls. A globe stood in the corner.
I walked slowly around the room, running my fingers over the antique wooden desks. I didn't know what I was looking for. A lock. A keyhole. A hidden panel.
I reached the large fireplace at the back of the room. Above the mantel hung a large, intricately carved wooden crest of the Alcázar family. The lion beneath the crescent moon.
I stared at the lion.
It had six decorative brass buttons carved into its mane.
But one of the buttons was missing.
My heart leaped into my throat. I reached into my apron pocket, pulled out the gold button, and pressed it firmly into the empty circular slot in the wood.
It fit perfectly.
I pushed hard.
A loud, mechanical click echoed behind the wall.
The wooden panel beneath the mantel slowly popped open, revealing a hidden steel wall safe.
Before I could reach inside, the schoolroom doors swung violently open.
“I knew I recognized you from the photographs.”
I spun around.
May you like
Paulina Serrano stood in the doorway, holding a thick, manila folder. Her beautiful face was twisted into a cruel, triumphant smile.
And in her other hand, dangling by its delicate chain, was the silver locket I had hidden inside my red suitcase.
