THE SCREAM AT THE GALA

They say that fear has a metallic smell, like dried blood or old coins. I felt it in the back of my throat that October night in Madrid, as I rubbed an imaginary stain the plinth of the great hall of the Santillán mansion. Outside, the autumn wind whipped the chestnut trees of La Moraleja, but inside, the air was tainted by the scent of expensive perfumes, exclusive lacquers and that unmistakable mixture of arrogance and old money.

The mansion was glowing. Glass chandeliers from La Granja, Persian rugs that cost more than my parents’ house, and waiters moving like shadows with trays of acorn-fed Iberian ham and glasses of French champagne. Fifty guests, the crème de la crème of Spanish society, walked around in their Italian-designed suits and family jewellery. They were all there for Rodrigo Santillán.

Rodrigo. The owner of the most prestigious hotel chain in Europe. The widower of Spain. From my corner, kneeling and trying to make myself small, I saw him. He was standing in the center of the room, with that rigid posture of an ex-soldier that he had never completely lost. Tall, with dark hair combed back and those gray hairs on his temples that gave him an air of painful distinction. His gray eyes, usually cold as steel, swept around the room without really seeing anything. At her side, clinging to her arm like a tick with diamonds, was her: Patricia Velasco.

Patricia was everything I wasn’t at the time: powerful, visible, platinum blonde from a salon in the Salamanca neighborhood, sheathed in a blood-red dress that screamed “look at me.” He smiled with too many teeth, a smile rehearsed in front of the mirror for the photos of ¡Hola!. That night their official engagement would be announced. Rodrigo, the broken man, was going to try to put his life back together with the woman who, according to rumors, had returned his smile.

What a big lie.

“Friends, family,” Rodrigo’s voice cut through the murmur of conversations. There was a respectful silence. As you know, this last year has been hell after the loss of my beloved Camila.

A murmur of sympathy ran through the room. I saw several elderly ladies touching their pearls with a sorrowful expression. I squeezed the cleaning rag until my knuckles turned white. If they knew… if only they knew.

“But life goes on,” Rodrigo continued, his voice devoid of real emotion. And Patricia has been a fundamental pillar. That is why tonight I want to announce that in three months’ time…

“Mom!

The word exploded in the room like a shot. It was not a babble. It was a heartbreaking, clean, urgent cry.

All heads turned towards the main staircase. There, struggling in the arms of Doña Mercedes, Rodrigo’s mother, was Matías. Little Matías, two years old. The boy who hadn’t uttered a single syllable since his mother’s funeral. He was red, bathed in tears, kicking with a despair that shrank the soul. He wore a little blue velvet suit that made him look like an old doll, but his pain was terribly human.

“Matías, for God’s sake, calm down!” Doña Mercedes begged, a woman who exuded class and kindness, but who at that moment was overwhelmed.

The boy let go. With supernatural strength for her age, she broke free from her grandmother’s grip and started running. His patent leather shoes clattered against the marble. He didn’t run to his father. She didn’t run to “Aunt Patricia.” He ran to the dark corner where I was trying to merge with the wall.

Time stopped. I felt the air leave my lungs. No, no, no. Please, my love, don’t come here. You’re going to give me away. But a child’s heart does not understand dangers or social classes.

Matías bumped into my legs and hugged my knees with such impetus that he almost knocked me to the ground. He buried his face in my dirty apron and sobbed that word that changed everything:

“Mom… Mom, don’t go!

The silence that followed was sepulchral. The violinists stopped playing. A waiter was left with the bottle of wine suspended in the air. Fifty pairs of eyes were fixed on me. In the employee “Rosa”. In the nobody.

I felt Matías’ trembling hands tightening the fabric of my uniform. My instinct, that cursed instinct that had gotten me into this mess, took over. I crouched down, ignoring the looks, ignoring the danger, and wrapped him in my arms. It smelled of baby soap and sadness.

“Shhh, my life, I’m here,” I whispered in her ear, forgetting that she shouldn’t speak, that she shouldn’t exist. It’s over, my love.

“But what the hell does this mean?”

Patricia’s voice broke the spell. He crossed the room, pushing the guests aside as if they were nuisances. He stood in front of me, his face ablaze with fury.

“Release that child right now, dirty!” She shrieked, and for the first time in the night, she lost her façade as a society lady.

Rodrigo arrived seconds later. He looked dazed, as if he had just woken up from a coma. She looked at her son, clinging to the cleaner’s neck, and then looked at me. Our eyes met. Grey against honey. And in that instant, I saw the confusion, but also a spark of something else. Recognition.

“Matías…” Rodrigo knelt down. Son, come with Dad. She is not a mother.

“No!” Matías turned and shouted at his father, hiding in my neck again. It’s mom! Mom is back!

Patricia let out a hysterical laugh.

“This is ridiculous!” It’s a trap! He turned to the guests, seeking support. Don’t you see? This… She is starving and has been manipulating the child. He has brainwashed him to get into this house. She’s a gold digger!

“Miss Patricia, I never…” I tried to defend myself, but my voice came out like a strangled thread.

“You shut up!” Patricia raised her hand as if she were going to slap me, but Doña Mercedes intervened with surprising speed.

“Enough!” The old woman ordered, regaining her composure. We are putting on a show. Rodrigo, take the child to your office. And you, Rosa, come with us.

“You should fire her right now!” Patricia insisted. Call the police! I’m sure you’ve given the child drugs to make him act like this!

“I said we’re going to the office,” Rodrigo said, in a tone of voice that didn’t admit of reply. He looked at me, and for the first time, he spoke directly to me. Get up. And bring the child, as it seems that he does not want to let go.

I walked towards the stairs, feeling the weight of the looks of contempt, curiosity, morbidity. I felt Patricia’s eyes fixed on the back of my neck like hot daggers. But I also felt Matías’ little heart beating against my chest, calming down little by little. And I knew that, whatever happened, it was worth it.

What no one in that room knew was that Matías was right. In every way that mattered, I was his mother. And what Patricia didn’t know is that I knew who she really was. Not the perfect fiancée. But the murderer who smiled at me from the covers of magazines.

 ESCAPE AND REFUGE

To understand why a millionaire child calls a cleaner a mother, I have to take you back in time. Three years ago. And I have to tell you my real name. I am not Rosa Valeria Jiménez, the orphan girl from Vallecas that I put on my false resume.

I am Valeria Montes de Oca. Heiress of Laboratorios Montes de Oca, one of the largest pharmaceutical fortunes in Spain.

I was born in a golden cradle in Barcelona. My life was written before I learned to read: the best schools, summers in San Sebastian, riding lessons, and an advantageous marriage to merge companies. My father, Leonardo, was a good man, but he was sick. Pancreatic cancer was eating him alive, and his only wish before he died was to see me “safe.”

That “security” had a name and surname: Sebastián Ugarte.

Sebastian was the dream of any father-in-law. Handsome, from a traditional Basque family, with a smile that delighted grandmothers. But behind the closed doors of his penthouse on Paseo de Gracia, Sebastián was a monster. It started with subtle comments about my clothes. Then, control over my mobile. Finally, the pushing, the grabbing that left bruises in places that the wedding dress would cover.

“If you say something to your father, you kill him with disgust,” he whispered in my ear as he squeezed my wrist until I cried. “He thinks you’re happy. Are you going to ruin his last days with your hysteria?”

The night before the wedding, I overheard Sebastian talking on the phone with his lawyer. They did not talk about love. They talked about how to legally incapacitate me after the wedding to take full control of my father’s actions. I was going to lock myself up. I was going to become a prisoner in my own life.

I fled that same morning. With the clothes on my back, a backpack with cash that I had been taking out little by little, and my heart broken for leaving my father. I left a letter: “Dad, forgive me, but I want to live.”

I became Rosa. I dyed my hair dark brown, I stopped wearing makeup, I learned to clean floors, to wash dishes, to be invisible. I traveled south, then downtown. I ended up in Madrid, the city where no one asks who you are if you do your job well.

I got the job at the Santillan mansion three months ago. They were looking for someone discreet, internal. Perfect for hiding. Doña Mercedes hired me because she liked that I didn’t have a family, that I didn’t have “burdens”.

The first day I saw Matías, something broke inside me. He was sitting in his high chair, staring blankly into the garden, while two hired nannies looked at their phones and laughed at a TikTok video. The boy had a dirty diaper and was hungry, but they didn’t even flinch.

“Poor boy,” I heard the cook, Carmen, say. “Since Doña Camila died, she is like another piece of furniture. Mr. Rodrigo doesn’t look at him because he reminds him of her, and Patricia’s witch can’t stand him.”

That night, when the nannies fell asleep watching a series, I entered Matías’ room. She was crying silently, a dry cry of abandonment. I took him in my arms. It tensed up at first, but then relaxed. I sang a lullaby in Catalan that my mother sang to me.

The moon, the plum, dressed in mourning…

Night after night, I became his mother in the shadows. He fed him when no one was looking. I played with him to build silent towers. I read him stories in a whisper. I gave him back the human warmth that had been stolen from him. And he, in his innocence, gave me back the will to live. He gave me back the identity that Sebastian had almost taken from me.

But there was something else. Something that connected me to that house in a way that I didn’t even understand at first.

A year and a half earlier, when I was working as a cleaner at La Paz Hospital on the night shift, I met a patient. She was hospitalized for a serious car accident on the road to A Coruña. His legs were broken and his soul was on edge.

Her name was Camila Santillán.

I went in to clean his room at dawn. She couldn’t sleep because of the pain and fear. We started talking. He told me that his accident had not been an accident.

“The brakes didn’t fail, Rosa,” he told me, his eyes bulging with fever and terror. “Someone cut them off. I know. And I know who it was.”

“Who?” I asked him one night, while changing his sweaty sheets.

“Patricia. Patricia Velasco. She has always loved my husband. He hates me. He told me at the last charity gala that my time was running out.”

Camila made me promise her something that night. She showed me a photo of her baby, Matías.

“If something happens to me… if she wins… Promise me that if you ever can, you will take care of him. He has his father’s eyes, but he needs his mother’s love.”

I promised her to calm her down, not thinking that fate, with its twisted sense of humor, would bring me to her doorstep a year after her death in a “second accident.” When I saw the photo of Camila in the mansion’s living room on the first day of work, I almost fainted.

I was taking care of my dead friend’s son. She was living under the roof of the man she loved. And she was serving coffee to the woman who had murdered her.

THE TRIAL IN THE OFFICE

We return to the present. Rodrigo’s office was an imposing room, full of leather-bound books and the smell of pipe tobacco. Rodrigo sat behind his desk, with Matías still clinging to my neck. Patricia walked from one side to the other like a caged lioness. Doña Mercedes watched us from an armchair, pale but attentive.

“Good,” said Rodrigo, intertwining his fingers. I want explanations. And I want them now.

“It’s obvious, Rodrigo,” Patricia jumped in. This woman is an opportunist. You’ve been manipulating your child to…

“Shut up, Patricia,” Rodrigo cut her off without raising his voice, but with an icy authority. I want to hear from her. Rose. Why does my son call you mom?

I swallowed hard. Matías had stopped crying and was playing with a button on my uniform, calm for the first time in months.

“Because I’ve been taking care of him, sir,” I said, trying not to let my voice tremble. Because when she cries at night and the babysitters sleep, I go. Because when he is hungry and no one notices, I feed him. Because a child knows who loves him, sir.

“Are you insinuating that I don’t love my son?”

“I imply that you’re too busy with your grief to see that your son was dying of loneliness,” I blurted out. It was a daring, but I had nothing to lose.

Doña Mercedes let out a small groan of approval. Rodrigo seemed to receive a slap.

“Insolent!” Patricia shouted. Do you see how he talks to you? It’s a simple mop! Rodrigo, say goodbye to her. Throw it out on the street right now.

“No,” Rodrigo said. He got up and walked around the desk. He came to us. Matías, seeing his father nearby, stretched out a little hand and touched his face. You’re right, Rosa. I’ve been blind.

Patricia was speechless.

“What?” Are you going to agree with the maid?

“I agree with the woman who got my son to talk,” Rodrigo looked at Patricia with a new coldness. And I wonder, Patricia, why has Matías never run to you? You’ve been trying to win it over with expensive toys for months.

“Children are capricious,” she snorted. But this does not stay that way. I have proof that this woman is not who she says she is.

My blood froze. I knew it? Had he discovered me?

Patricia took out her mobile phone with a triumphant smile.

“Yesterday I was missing my emerald necklace. The one my grandmother gave me. And coincidentally, this morning I saw it glow under the mattress of the bed of this… thief.

“That’s a lie,” I said instinctively. I haven’t stolen anything.

“Oh no?” Patricia raised an eyebrow. Then you won’t mind us checking your room right now. And if we find the necklace… We will call the police.

The police. That was it. If they called the police, they would ask for my ID. My footprints. The disappearance alert would go off. Sebastian would know where I am.

I was trapped. Patricia didn’t know my true identity, she just wanted to incriminate me for theft to throw me out, but without knowing it, she was condemning me to death.

“Let’s go,” Rodrigo said. If you have nothing to hide, Rosa, let’s go to your room.

The procession to the service area was funereal. My room was a simple cubicle. Patricia came in like a gale, went straight to bed, lifted the mattress and…

There it was. The emerald necklace. Shining green and damned on the bed base.

“Aha!” Patricia shouted victoriously. I knew it! Thief! Rodrigo, calls the Civil Guard. I want her arrested right now.

I leaned against the doorframe, feeling like I was fainting. Matías began to cry again when he noticed my anguish.

“I didn’t go,” I whispered. Someone put it there.

“Sure, the elves,” Patricia sneered. Call the police, Rodrigo. The theater is over.

Rodrigo looked at the necklace, then he looked at me. His expression was indecipherable. He took out his cell phone.

“Yes, I’m going to make a call,” he said.

I closed my eyes, waiting for the end. Waiting for the sirens. Hoping to return to Sebastian’s hell.

“Bruno,” Rodrigo said on the phone. Come home. And bring in the security team. I want to review the recordings from the hidden cameras we installed last week in the service hallway.

The color disappeared from Patricia’s face faster than the light when it went out.

“Cameras?” He stammered. No… There are no cameras here. You told me there was only at the entrance.

“I lied,” Rodrigo said, hanging up the phone. After I fired the last chauffeur for stealing gas, I put cameras in all the common areas, including this hallway. If Rosa stole the necklace, we will see her enter with it. But if someone planted it… we’ll see that too.

Patricia began to tremble.

“Rodrigo, darling, you don’t need to go that far. Maybe… Maybe it fell out of my bag when I came to inspect the cleanliness and rolled up under the mattress.

“Did it roll under a raised mattress?” Doña Mercedes interjected, with a sharp smile. Interesting physics, my dear.

Ten minutes later, we were looking at the security monitor in the office. The video was clear, in high definition.

10:00 AM: Rosa (me) leaves the room with the scrub bucket. 11:15 AM: The hallway is empty. 11:30 AM: Patricia Velasco appears. Look both ways. Take a master key out of your bag. Come into my room. 11:32 AM: Patricia comes out of my room, smiling, and puts the key away.

The silence in the office was absolute. Rodrigo stopped the video and slowly turned to his fiancée.

“Explain this to me, Patricia.

She tried to speak, but only disjointed babbling came out.

“Why?” he asked, coming closer. Why incriminate a poor employee? What has it done to you?

“He has stolen your attention!” Patricia burst out, hysterical. Since she arrived, you look at her! You watch how he treats the child and you melt! I was going to be your wife! I deserve to be the lady of this house! That starving woman is nobody!

“That ‘starving woman,’” I said, stepping forward and dropping the bomb I’d been putting away for three years, “is worth more money than you could spend in ten lifetimes, Patricia.

They all turned to me. I took the elastic out of my hair, letting my hair fall, and stood up, regaining the posture I had been taught in Swiss boarding schools.

“My name is Valeria Montes de Oca. And you, Patricia, are not only a liar. You are the reason why Camila is dead.

 THE TRUTH AND THE END OF FEAR

Chaos broke out. Rodrigo looked at me as if I were a ghost.

“Montes de Oca?” he whispered. The missing heiress?

“Yes. I ran away from a man who was mistreating me. But that doesn’t matter now. What matters is Camila.

I told him everything. Nights in the hospital. Camila’s fear. The brakes cut. The promise.

“He’s lying!” Patricia screamed, cornered. She’s crazy!

“There’s an easy way to tell,” Rodrigo said, his voice trembling with suppressed anger. Bruno, my lawyer, is on his way. He handled the case of the accident. We will reopen the investigation. We will check the car. We’ll question the mechanic you recommended, Patricia. That “exclusive” workshop where you took Camila’s car two days before the accident.

Patricia turned pale until she looked like a corpse. He knew that the mechanic, a weak man with gambling debts, would sing as soon as the police pressed him a little.

—Rodrigo… I did it for you… for us…” he sobbed, falling to his knees.

That confession was his sentence. Rodrigo did not touch it. He was too disgusted by him to get his hands dirty. He called the police. This time, for real.

While they were taking Patricia away in handcuffs, shouting threats and curses, Rodrigo approached me. Matías had fallen asleep on the sofa, exhausted by emotions.

“Valeria,” he said my name as if it were something precious and fragile. Why? You could have run away. You could have left when you saw the danger.

“I promised Camilla,” I replied, feeling the tears I had held back for three years begin to come out. And because… Because I fell in love with your son. And perhaps, a little bit of the man who suffers in silence for his wife.

Rodrigo took my hands. His hands were warm and strong.

“Sebastián Ugarte is looking for you,” he said. It was in the news yesterday. The reward has gone up.

“I know. Now that my identity has come to light, it will come for me.

“Let him come,” said Rodrigo, and in his eyes I saw a promise of protection stronger than any wall. This house is a fortress. I have the best lawyers in Spain. And I have something that Sebastian doesn’t have: the truth. I won’t let anyone touch you. Not you, not my son.

EPILOGUE: ONE YEAR LATER

Madrid is beautiful in spring. I am sitting in the garden of the mansion, which is now also my home. But I don’t wear a gray uniform anymore. I wear a silk dress and a ring on my finger that is not of forced commitment, but of chosen love.

Sebastian tried to come. Oh, yes. He appeared with his lawyers and their threats two days after the gala. But Rodrigo was waiting for him. Not with violence, but with a dossier. During my years of flight, my father—who miraculously was still alive and waiting for me—had collected evidence of the Ugarte family’s dirty dealings. Tax fraud, money laundering. Rodrigo handed them to her with a smile.

“Either you forget about Valeria forever and leave Spain, or tomorrow this dossier is on the table of the judge of the National Court”.

Sebastián left with his tail between his legs. My father died a month later, but he died peacefully, holding my hand and knowing that I was free and loved.

Patricia is in Brieva prison, serving a sentence for premeditated homicide. The mechanic confessed everything in exchange for a reduction in sentence.

And Matías… Matías doesn’t stop talking. He runs through the garden chasing the dog we adopted.

“Mom, look!” He yells at me, showing me a crushed flower.

Rodrigo goes out to the terrace, with two coffees. He kisses me on the forehead and sits next to me.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks me.

I look at our son, I look at the life we have built on the ashes of pain and fear.

“I think that miracles exist,” I tell him. Only sometimes they come disguised with a cleaning uniform and a scrubbing bucket.

 THE FORBIDDEN LINK AND THE VIPER’S TRAP

If you thought that Matías’ shout at the gala was the beginning of the end, you are wrong. That was just the explosion. The gunpowder had been accumulating for months, grain by grain, in the silent corridors of that mansion in La Moraleja. And to understand why Patricia Velasco hated me with the force of a thousand demons, you have to know what happened behind closed doors in the weeks leading up to that fateful night.

Everything changed one night of fever.

It was mid-November. Madrid was freezing and the rain hit the windows of the mansion as if it wanted to enter. I had already been working there for a month, being “Rosa”, the invisible shadow. The “official” nannies, two young girls plugged in by a cousin of Patricia’s, were in the utility room watching a series with their helmets on. None of them heard the muffled cry coming from the boy’s room.

I did hear it. My room was at the other end of the service hallway, but my ear was tuned to that child’s breathing from day one.

I climbed the stairs two by two, my heart in my mouth. When I entered his room, I found him drenched in sweat, burning. Matthias writhed between the Egyptian thread sheets, delirious.

“Mommy… water…” she moaned, although at that time she only emitted guttural sounds.

I didn’t think about it. I sent the “employees don’t touch children without permission” rules to hell. I took him in my arms. It was boiling. I ran to the bathroom, soaked towels with warm water, and started to lower her fever. I spent the next six hours in the rocking chair, with him glued to my chest, singing softly to him, rocking him, promising him that I wouldn’t let anything bad happen to him.

Near dawn, the fever broke. Matías fell asleep, breathing easy, with his little hand clinging to my little finger as if it were an anchor.

That’s when the door opened.

I expected to see one of the nannies, or Doña Mercedes. But no. It was Rodrigo. He had just arrived from a business trip to London, still wearing his suit and undone tie. He had dark circles under his eyes and that expression of infinite tiredness that he wore like a second skin.

He froze in the doorframe. He saw me, a simple employee, taking the place that his dead wife should have taken. Or his fiancée.
Gifts for mothers
“What are you doing here?” He asked, but his voice had no anger, only surprise.

“He had a fever, sir,” I whispered, afraid to wake the child. A lot of fever. Babysitters don’t… they did not wake up. I didn’t want to disturb anyone.

Rodrigo entered the room. He came over and touched his son’s forehead. Then he looked at the wet towels, the glass of water, my exhausted face.

“Thank you,” he said. It was a single word, but it weighed a ton.

Our eyes met in the bluish gloom of dawn. And at that moment, something dangerous happened. Rodrigo Santillán did not see the employee. He saw the woman. And I didn’t see the intimidating millionaire. I saw a terrified father who didn’t know how to love his son without breaking.

“You should go to rest, Rosa. I’m staying.

“Don’t worry, sir. I’m doing fine.

I passed the child carefully. The touch of our hands was electric, a static spark that made us withdraw our fingers quickly. I left the room with a racing heart, knowing that I had just crossed an invisible line.
Life Technology
What I didn’t know is that we weren’t the only witnesses to that scene.

In the darkness of the corridor, hidden behind a marble column, Patricia Velasco had seen it all. She had seen the tenderness in Rodrigo’s eyes. I had seen how he looked at me. And at that precise moment, while her perfectly manicured nails scratched the paint on the column, Patricia signed my sentence.

THE SPIDER’S STRATEGY

Patricia was not stupid. I knew I couldn’t fire without cause. Doña Mercedes adored me and, now, Rodrigo respected me. So he decided to weave a net to catch me.

It began subtly. Poisoned comments over dinner, loud enough for Rodrigo to hear, but soft enough to seem like genuine concern.

“Rodrigo, darling, haven’t you noticed that Rosa is wearing earrings that are too expensive for her salary?” he said as he poured himself wine. I wonder where he will get the money. Maybe you have… generous “friends”.

Or when he “casually” threw a glass of red wine on the white carpet and called me out loud.
Cleaning products
“Clean this up, useless!” My God, Rodrigo, the service of this house is becoming more and more incompetent!

But I held on. He held on for Matías. I was holding on because I had nowhere to go. And because, every time Patricia humiliated me, I saw how Rodrigo frowned, not with me, but with her.

The straw that broke the camel’s back for Patricia came a week before the gala.

I was in the garden with Matías. It was a rare sunny day in November. The boy was playing with a dog that had sneaked into the farm. He laughed. A singing, pure laughter that had not been heard in that gloomy house for months.

Rodrigo went out to the terrace to have a coffee. He stared at us. I tickled Matías and he tried to escape by crawling through the grass.

“You look happy,” Rodrigo said. He had come closer without me noticing.

I jumped to my feet, shaking off my uniform.

“Excuse me, sir. We were just…

“Don’t apologize,” he interrupted. It’s the most beautiful sound I’ve heard in years. My son’s laughter.

He came one step closer. We were dangerously close. I could smell their cologne, a mixture of sandalwood and sea.

“Rosa, I… Sometimes I feel like you’re the only person in this house who really gets it. That he really understands us.

“Sir, I am just doing my job.

“No, you do much more. You make this house feel like home again.

She raised her hand as if she wanted to touch my face, to push aside a strand of hair that had escaped from my ponytail. I stood still, hypnotized.

“Wow, wow! What a moving scene!

Patricia’s voice broke the moment like glass on the floor. He stood at the garden gate, his sunglasses on and a blood-curdling smile.

“I’m interrupting something, right?” He asked, descending the stairs with predatory slowness. It seems that the “maid” is taking too many confidences.

“Patricia, don’t start,” Rodrigo sighed, moving away from me.

“That it doesn’t start?” She took off her glasses. I’m hosting our engagement party, Rodrigo. And I find you in the garden flirting with the mop. Do you think I’m blind?
Gift baskets
“No one is flirting. Rosa was taking care of Matías.

“Of course. Taking care. Patricia came up to me and whispered, so quietly that only I could hear her, “Your days are numbered, you dead fly.” I’m going to crush you.

THE PERFECT ROBBERY

Two days later, Patricia put her master plan into action.

It was Tuesday. A day of deep cleaning in the guest wing. Patricia announced with great fanfare that she would stay overnight at the mansion because “the wedding dress fittings had her exhausted.”

They sent me to prepare the blue suite, the most luxurious guest room. I changed the sheets, polished the mirrors, vacuumed the carpets. I left everything spotless.

In the middle of the morning, Patricia came into the room while I finished placing the fresh flowers.

“You can go, Rosa. I’m done arranging my things.

“Yes, miss.”

I left without suspecting anything. I didn’t see how, as soon as I closed the door, she opened her travel jewelry box. I didn’t see her take out an antique necklace of pearls and diamonds, a family inheritance valued at more than fifty thousand euros. And I didn’t see how she put the necklace in her jacket pocket before leaving the room herself.
Cleaning products
That afternoon, all hell broke loose.

“I’ve been robbed! I’ve been robbed!”

Patricia’s screams echoed throughout the house. Rodrigo, Doña Mercedes, the housekeeper and I ran to the living room.

“What’s wrong?” Rodrigo asked alarmed.

“My necklace! Grandma Velasco’s necklace! I left it on the bedside table and it’s gone!” Patricia shouted, feigning a perfect anxiety attack.

“Calm down, Patricia. I’m sure you’ve kept it somewhere else.”

“No! I know where I left it! Someone has come into my room!”

Her predatory eyes swept around the room and landed, of course, on me.

“Her. It was her.” He pointed an accusing finger at me. “She was the last person in the room. I kicked her out because she was looking at my jewelry with envy.

“I haven’t touched anything, miss,” I said, feeling the floor open.

“Liar! Rodrigo demands that his room be searched. Right now.

Rodrigo looked at me. There was doubt in his eyes, but also pressure. He couldn’t ignore an accusation of burglary in his own home.

“Rosa… do you have any problems?”

Doubted. If they searched my room, they would find something worse than a necklace. They would find my fake passport. My money hidden. The picture of my father that I kept under my pillow.

“Sir, please… it’s my privacy…

“Aha!” Patricia exclaimed. See? He refuses! It’s her!

I had no choice. We went to my room. Patricia led the march, triumphant. Rodrigo was behind, serious. I walked at the end, praying to all the saints, feeling that my life as a fugitive was coming to an end.
Life Technology
They entered my small room. Patricia went straight to the bed. She lifted the mattress with a theatrical gesture.

“Look!

There it was. The pearl and diamond necklace. Shining obscenely on the rusty spring bed base.

“I knew it!” he shrieked. Thief! Call the police, Rodrigo! I want to see her handcuffed!

I leaned against the wall, unable to breathe. “It’s over,” I thought. “Sebastian will find me at the police station. My father will die without seeing me. It’s all over.”

Rodrigo picked up the necklace. He looked at it. Then he looked at me. I was crying, not from guilt, but from pure terror.

“I didn’t go,” I whispered. “I swear on my life that I didn’t go.”

“The evidence is clear,” Rodrigo said in a hard voice.

Patricia was smiling. A smile of absolute victory. But then, the miracle happened. Or rather, poetic justice.

Bruno, Rodrigo’s lawyer and best friend, who had arrived for dinner and had witnessed the scene from the door, cleared his throat.

“Rodrigo, before you call the police… don’t you think we should watch the tape?”

“What tape?” Patricia asked, and her smile wavered.

“The one with the security camera you installed last week in the service corridor to monitor the wine cellar,” Bruno said calmly. He points directly at the door of Rosa’s room.

Patricia’s face transformed. It was like watching a wax mask melt under fire.

“No… There are no cameras here. Rodrigo told me…

“Rodrigo doesn’t tell you everything about the security of his house, Patricia,” Doña Mercedes interjected, enjoying the moment. Let’s go to the office. Now.

What we saw on the computer screen left no room for doubt.

We saw Patricia, at four in the afternoon, taking advantage of the fact that I was in the kitchen. We saw her look at both sides of the corridor, furtively. We watched her pull a master key out of her purse. We saw her come into my room and come out two minutes later, empty-handed and with a mischievous smile.

The silence in the office was sepulchral.

“Explanations,” Rodrigo demanded. His voice was so cold that it could have frozen hell.

Patricia tried to stammer. He tried to say that he was looking for something of his, that he had gone to the wrong door. But the lie was so obvious that it was insulting.

“You tried to destroy this girl’s life,” Rodrigo said, approaching her. You framed her. Why? Do you hate it that much?

“Yes!” Patricia finally burst out, dropping her mask. I hate it! I hate her because you look at her like you’ve never looked at me! Because that brat of your son adores her and he’s afraid of me! Because she’s a nobody and yet she manages to take up more space in this house than I do!

Patricia breathed heavily, her makeup smudged with anger.

“I feel sorry for you,” Rodrigo said. Get out of my house. The engagement is cancelled.

“What?” You can’t do this to me! My father is a senator! I will destroy your reputation!

“Try it,” Bruno said, picking up the USB with the recording. And we will publish this video where the senator’s daughter commits a crime of trespassing and slander. I think the press will love it.

Patricia left the mansion swearing, swearing revenge. And I… I stood there, trembling, knowing that I had won a battle, but that the war had just begun. Because Patricia Velasco wounded was more dangerous than any wild animal.

And he was right. Because the first thing Patricia did when she left there was not to go home to cry. It was to make a call. A call to a private detective to whom he paid a fortune to find out who “Rosa Jiménez” really was.

And when the detective brought him the answer… when he told him that I was Valeria Montes de Oca and that Sebastián Ugarte was offering millions for my head… Patricia smiled.

I knew he had found the ultimate weapon to destroy me.

 WHEN THE PAST KNOCKS ON THE DOOR

The calm that followed Patricia’s expulsion was deceptive. It was like that heavy, static silence that precedes an earthquake. For two days, the Santillán mansion seemed to breathe easy. Rodrigo and I started talking, but really talking. Not as a boss and employee, but as a man and a woman who have seen too many shadows.

But fate, or rather human wickedness, has its own times.

It was nap time. Matías slept in his crib, clinging to a stuffed animal that I had sewn for him. I was in the kitchen helping Carmen prepare dinner, when the intercom at the front entrance rang with aggressive insistence.

“Who is it at this hour?” Carmen muttered, drying her hands.

I looked at the kitchen security monitor. And the plate in his hands crashed to the floor, shattering.

There, on the grainy screen, he was.

Sebastián Ugarte.

It hadn’t changed in three years. He wore that impeccable suit, that arrogant posture and that half-sided smile that he used to put on before hurting me. But his eyes… His eyes through the camera exuded a cold fury.

“Valeria,” I whispered, and my legs failed. I slid to the ground, shaking uncontrollably. I had found myself. The monster had found me.

Carmen looked at me scared.

“Rosa, girl, what’s wrong with you?” Do you know that man?

Before he could answer, Rodrigo’s voice echoed through the house’s general speaker, tense and urgent.

“Rosa, come to my office. Now.

I went upstairs as if I had lead in my shoes. When I entered the office, Rodrigo was standing looking at the large monitor. Bruno, his lawyer, was on the phone, his face serious.

“That man at the door,” Rodrigo said without turning, “says he’s coming to get his fiancée.” She says her name is Valeria Montes de Oca. He says he has her kidnapped here.

He turned slowly. His gray eyes searched for the truth.

“Tell me it’s a lie, Rosa.” Tell me that man is crazy.

I couldn’t lie anymore. Not anymore. Tears ran down my face uncontrollably.

“It’s not a lie,” I said in a thin voice. I am Valeria. And he… He is the man I fled from so as not to die.

The silence that filled the room was deafening. Rodrigo ran a hand through his hair, processing the information. The humble employee was a millionaire heiress. The frightened girl was a high-profile fugitive.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I was afraid. Because he has power. Because I thought if no one knew who I was, I’d be safe.

“Mr. Santillan,” Sebastian’s voice sounded through the intercom, distorted but terrifying. I know she’s there. Patricia Velasco has given me the direction. Open the door or I’ll go in with the Guardia Civil. I have a court order that says Valeria is mentally incapacitated and that I am her legal guardian.

“It’s a lie! I shouted, panicking. He forged papers! My father would never sign that!

Rodrigo looked at me. He saw the sheer terror in my eyes. He saw the invisible scars I carried. And in that moment, he made a decision that would change our lives.
Life Technology
“Bruno,” he said in a steely voice. What options do we have?

“Legally, if you have that guardianship order…” it’s complicated, Rodrigo. The police will agree with him until we prove that the papers are false. And that takes time.

“We don’t have time,” Rodrigo said. He walked towards me and grabbed me by the shoulders. His hands were firm, warm. Listen to me well, Valeria. I’m not going to open that door. I’m not going to let it take you.

“It will tear you apart,” I sobbed. His family is powerful. It will ruin your reputation, your business…

“I don’t give a shit about my reputation,” he said, and the intensity of his gaze stole my breath. You took care of my son when I couldn’t. You gave him back his voice. Now it’s my turn to give you back your freedom.

Rodrigo walked over to the intercom and pressed the button.

“Ugarte,” he said.

“Santillan.” Stop playing and give me my girl.

“There is no “girl” of yours here. And if you try to set foot on my property, I’ll let the dogs loose. And then, I’ll release my lawyers.
Family Games
“I’m going to sink you!” Sebastian shouted, losing his composure. She’s mine!

“She belongs to no one,” Rodrigo replied. And if he wants war, he will have it. But I warn you one thing: I don’t play fair when they touch my family. And Valeria… Valeria is family.

He cut off communication. He hugged me. It was a desperate, protective embrace, the embrace of a man who has found something valuable and does not intend to let go of it.

“We’re going to fight,” he whispered in my ear. But we need the full truth. I need to know everything about Camila.

THE FINAL CONNECTION: THE PROMISE BROKEN AND FULFILLED

We sat down. And finally, I dropped the last piece of the puzzle. The piece that explained why Matías had recognized me.

“I met Camila in the hospital,” I told Rodrigo. After your first accident.

Rodrigo turned pale.

“Did you know her?”

“Yes. I cleaned his room. She was afraid, Rodrigo. Very scared. He told me that Patricia had cut the brakes. He told me that if something happened to him… that if she died… I had to look for her son. He showed me photos of Matías. He made me promise him that I would take care of him.

Rodrigo began to cry. Silent tears rolling down her cheeks.

“That’s why… that’s why Matías hugged you,” he said with a broken voice. Not only out of affection. It’s because… somehow… He knew that you were his mother’s envoy.
Gifts for mothers
“I didn’t want to come at first,” I confessed. But when I saw the news of his death… the “second accident”… I knew that Patricia had succeeded. And I knew that Matías was in danger. I came to protect him.

“My God…” Rodrigo covered his face with his hands. My wife was murdered. And I let the murderer into my house. I almost married her.

“You didn’t know. She is an expert at manipulating.

“But now I know,” Rodrigo raised his head, and his eyes no longer had tears, only fire. And Patricia is going to pay. By Camila. By Matías. And for what he has done to you by bringing that monster to my door.

THE OUTCOME: DIVINE JUSTICE

The next few hours were frantic. Sebastian did not leave. He camped outside the fence with a patrol car that he had managed to mobilize thanks to his corrupt contacts. The press began to arrive, alerted by the scandal: “Millionaire retains fugitive heiress.”

It seemed that we were cornered.

But then, the coup de grace came. Not Sebastián’s, but ours.

Bruno ran into the office, phone in hand and a wild smile.

“We have it!” he shouted. We have Patricia!

“What?” We asked in unison.

“The mechanic. The man who “fixed” Camila’s brakes. He has just presented himself at the police station.

“Why?” Rodrigo asked, astonished.

“Because Patricia made a mistake. He did not pay him the last installment of the bribe. He told him that with his reputation ruined by the video of the robbery, he had no liquidity. The guy got scared, thought she was going to get rid of him so as not to leave loose ends, and he sang La Traviata. He has delivered recordings, bank receipts… all.

The police didn’t come for me. They came for Patricia. She was arrested in her penthouse in Serrano while she was trying to pack her bags to flee to Brazil.

And with Patricia the dominoes fell.

When the scandal of Camila’s murder was uncovered, the press went crazy. And in the midst of the chaos, my father, Leonardo Montes de Oca, watched the news from his hospital bed in Barcelona.

My father wasn’t dead. Nor mentally incapacitated to sign guardianships. He was alive, very sick, but alive. And when he saw that I was in Madrid, he mobilized the last of his energy and power.

He made a public statement via video from the hospital.

“My daughter, Valeria Montes de Oca, fled to save her life from the mistreatment of Sebastián Ugarte. She’s not crazy. She’s terrified. And if something happens to him, I hold the Ugarte family personally responsible.”

That video went viral in minutes. Sebastian’s “guardianship order” became a dead letter. The police who were at the door of the mansion received new orders: arrest Sebastián Ugarte for falsifying documents and harassment.

I saw it from the window. I saw how they handcuffed him. I saw how he shouted my name full of hatred as they put him in the patrol car.

And for the first time in three years, I breathed. Really.

EPILOGUE: GOODBYE AND THE BEGINNING

That same night, Rodrigo and I flew to Barcelona in his private jet. Matías came with us, sleeping on my lap.

We arrived at the hospital just in time.

My father was very weak. It was skin and bones, consumed by cancer. But when I entered the room, his eyes lit up with a light that he thought was lost.
Life Technology
“My child,” he whispered. My brave girl.

I hugged him crying, asking his forgiveness for having run away, for having left him alone.

“No, my love. You were saved. That’s all I care about. You gave me the peace of knowing that you are strong.

Rodrigo approached the bed. He was carrying Matías in his arms.

“Señor Montes de Oca,” Rodrigo said respectfully. I’m Rodrigo Santillán. I promise you, here and now, that I will dedicate the rest of my life to making your daughter happy.

My father looked at Rodrigo, then he looked at me. He saw how we looked at each other. He saw that there was no longer fear in my eyes, only love.

“Take care of her,” my father said, squeezing Rodrigo’s hand. And take care of that child. She is lucky to have a mother like her.

My father died two days later. He left calmly, while I read aloud to him and Rodrigo held my other hand.

THE HAPPY ENDING

Two years have passed since then.
Family Games
The wedding was small. Only family and close friends. It was in the garden of the mansion, the same place where Patricia tried to humiliate me, but which was now full of white roses and laughter.

I didn’t wear a princess dress. I wore a simple one, made of antique lace, the one my mother would have wanted me to wear.

When I walked down the aisle, I wasn’t alone. Matías was in front of me, throwing petals and shouting:

“Here comes Mommy!” Here comes mommy!

Rodrigo was waiting for me at the end. There were no shadows on his face anymore. Only light.

Patricia was sentenced to 25 years in prison. Sebastián fled the country, persecuted by justice and socially ruined. Evil, in the end, devoured itself.

But we… We build something beautiful.

I legally adopted Matías six months after the wedding. The day the judge signed the papers, we went to the cemetery to visit Camilla’s grave.

We bring fresh flowers. Rodrigo cried a little, but it was a healing cry. I knelt in front of the granite tombstone.
Gift baskets
“I kept my promise, friend,” I whispered to the wind. “Your son is fine. Your child is happy. And I… I will love him for both of them until the last day of my life.”

As I left the cemetery, Matías grabbed my hand.

“Mommy, shall we go for ice cream?”

“Yes, my love. Let’s go for ice cream.

Rodrigo put his arm around my waist and kissed me on the temple.

“I love you, Valeria.” Thank you for saving us.

“No,” I answered, looking up at the blue sky of Madrid. Thank you for saving me.

And so, the cleaning girl who hid from the world, ended up being the queen of a home built on truth, courage and a love that was able to defeat death.