The sound of footsteps grew closer. Damián Gaviria’s voice—dry, sharp, and commanding—echoed from the main hall as he called out to Camila.
“Camila! Are you finished in the east wing? I need you to sign the receipt for the extra hours!”
Panic surged through her. If the lawyer found her here, with the triplets exposed, she wouldn’t just lose her job—she would be dragged into a nightmare of legal trouble.
She turned quickly to the children.
“Listen to me,” she whispered urgently. “My name is Camila. I’m not going to hurt you. But you must stay completely silent. Do you understand? Not a sound.”
All three nodded, eyes wide with fear.
Camila gently lowered the lid of the trunk, making sure it rested in place—but she didn’t lock it. Then she straightened her uniform, grabbed her cleaning bucket, and slipped out of the storage room, closing the door as quietly as possible.
When she reached the main corridor, Damián Gaviria was waiting near the grand staircase, arms crossed, dressed in his perfectly pressed three-piece suit.
“You took too long,” he snapped. “The east wing isn’t that large.” His gaze was sharp, suspicious.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Camila replied, forcing calm into her voice while her heart raced. “There was a lot of dust, especially on the ceiling moldings.”
Damián studied her, his eyes lingering on the slight tremble in her hands.
“Fine. Sign here and leave. And remember—what happens in this mansion stays in this mansion. Mr. Montenegro is very particular about his privacy.”
Camila scribbled her signature, barely able to focus. As Damián handed her the stack of bills, a chilling thought struck her: Why was the lawyer so protective of the east wing? And why was the trunk’s key new, while the lock was rusted?
“One question, Mr. Gaviria,” she said carefully, trying to sound casual. “Does Mr. Montenegro have… grandchildren? I saw some old photographs in the hallway.”
Damián stiffened. For the first time, his expression cracked.
“Mr. Montenegro,” he said coldly, “is a lonely man. He has no direct descendants. The photos you saw were of distant relatives or old acquaintances. Now leave.”
The denial was far too aggressive.
Camila left the mansion, but her thoughts were no longer on her sister’s tuition. They were on three pale, starving faces locked inside a wooden chest.