“You’ve done this before,” you say, voice low.
Elena nods, eyes wet but fierce.
“Yes,” she says. “And that’s why I’m not scared of your diagnosis.”
Your throat tightens.
Outside, the gate camera shows Ramiro talking into the intercom.
Your intercom light blinks from the foyer.
You move fast, instinct taking over.
You scoop Pedrito’s chair straps tighter, check the locks, then gesture to Elena.
“Stay with him,” you say. “Don’t open any doors.”
Elena’s eyes sharpen. “Roberto—”
“Now,” you repeat.
You stride to the foyer, your footsteps hard.
The intercom blinks like an accusation.
You press the button.
“What do you want?” you say.
Ramiro’s voice comes through, slick.
“Roberto,” he says, laughing lightly. “Heard you traveled. Thought I’d pay my respects.”
Your jaw tightens.
“I’m not home,” you say.
Ramiro chuckles. “Liar,” he replies.
Then his tone shifts, darker. “You fired me, remember? Took food off my table.”
“You stole,” you say coldly.
Ramiro’s laugh dies.
“Maybe,” he says. “But today I’m here for what you owe.”
Your blood runs cold.
“What I owe?”
Ramiro pauses, like he’s savoring the moment.
“The nurse,” he says. “Elena.”
Your hand freezes on the intercom.
Your chest tightens.
“What about her?” you demand.
Ramiro’s voice drops.
“She doesn’t belong to you,” he says. “She belongs to the clinic. And the clinic belongs to someone who doesn’t like you poking around.”
He chuckles. “So open the gate, Roberto. Or I’ll tell the world what’s really in your safe.”
Your stomach flips.
Your safe.
The diagnosis. The documents.
The weakness you’ve locked away from everyone.
You realize with a sick twist that this wasn’t random.
Gertrudis didn’t “hear music.”
Gertrudis was the signal. The curtain spy.
And Ramiro isn’t here alone. He’s here with information.
You hang up without responding, fingers shaking.
You call security, but you know by the time they arrive, the damage could already be done.
You spin and rush back to the kitchen.
Elena looks up, alarm sharp in her eyes.
“Who is it?” she asks.
You swallow. “A man I fired,” you say. “And… he knows you.”
Elena goes pale.
She grips the counter. “Ramiro,” she whispers.
Your stomach drops. “You know him.”
Elena nods once, tight.
“He works for Dr. Salcedo,” she says. “He… he runs errands.”
Her voice shakes. “Salcedo wanted your son’s case.”
Your blood turns to ice.
“Wanted it?” you repeat.
Elena nods quickly.
“He’s building a private institute,” she says. “He collects cases like trophies. Wealthy families. Donations. Prestige.”
She looks at Pedrito, then at you. “And he didn’t like that you refused.”
You feel rage surge.
“I refused because he treated my son like marketing,” you hiss.
Elena swallows. “And now he’s sending people,” she says. “To scare you. To take me. To control the story.”
Your heart pounds.
The kitchen, moments ago full of laughter, now feels like a bunker.
Pedrito makes a small sound, sensing tension.
Elena immediately softens her face for him, does a silly motion with the spoon, and Pedrito giggles again, faint but real.
That giggle ignites something in you.
You straighten.
“No one takes him,” you say.
“No one takes you,” you add, and you surprise yourself with how certain it sounds.
Elena’s eyes flick to yours.
“Roberto,” she whispers, “this is dangerous.”
You nod. “Good,” you say. “I’m done being scared in my own house.”
You move fast.
