Chapter 4 - The Woman They Tried to BuyBy morning, the Velasco mansion no longer smelled like lavender and cedar.
It smelled like boiled cotton, open windows, and fear.
Every room Mateo might enter had been stripped bare. Servants carried out rugs worth more than apartments. Upholstered chairs were covered. Perfumed candles disappeared. Cleaning sprays were locked away. A security team cataloged every product found in the nursery, laundry room, and storage closets.
Sofía had not slept.
Neither had Nicolás.
Valeria dozed beside Mateo, one hand resting near his tiny foot but not touching, as if she feared even her love might hurt him.
At seven-thirty, Dr. Torres returned and confirmed Mateo’s inflammation had already begun to settle. His redness had faded from angry crimson to tender pink. He still whimpered when startled, but the endless screaming had stopped.
For the mansion, it felt like resurrection.
For Sofía, it felt like the first step.
She was packing her medical bag when Nicolás entered the library.
“You’re leaving?”
“My shift starts in two hours.”
“Not anymore.”
She paused.
He placed an envelope on the table.
“This is for one week,” he said. “Stay here. Monitor Mateo. Train the staff. Tell me what needs to change.”
Sofía looked at the envelope without touching it.
“How much?”
“Enough.”
“That is not an answer.”
“More than your hospital pays in a year.”
Valeria woke at the sound of Sofía’s laugh.
It was quiet, humorless.
“You think money makes a decision easier.”
“It usually does.”
“For people who can be bought.”
Nicolás’s face hardened, but she continued before he could speak.
“I will help Mateo because he is a child. I will not become a paid prisoner in your mansion.”
“You would rather return to double shifts and buses?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I know who I am there.”
He stared at her.
Sofía closed her bag.
“I can come after my shifts. I can teach whoever cares for him. I can speak with Dr. Torres. But I will not live under a roof where your mother threatens my career and your security guards decide when doors open.”
Nicolás looked away.
He hated that she was right.
He hated more that he admired it.
“Name your terms,” he said.
“My terms are simple. Respect. Freedom. Written medical instructions followed exactly. Pilar protected. Valeria included. And Doña Leonor kept away from Mateo until Dr. Torres agrees.”
Valeria sat upright.
“Nicolás…”
He looked at her.
“She’s right,” Valeria whispered. “Your mother loves him, but she is not safe right now.”
A month earlier, Nicolás might have rejected any criticism of Leonor as disloyalty.
Now he saw Mateo’s red skin every time he closed his eyes.
“Agreed,” he said.
Sofía nodded and lifted her bag.
At the doorway, two guards stepped aside without being told.
Nicolás followed her down the corridor.
In the entry hall, morning light poured through glass doors. Outside, her old Nissan waited among black armored SUVs like a stray dog in a kennel of wolves.
“Your car is unsafe,” Nicolás said.
“It has survived more than some men.”
“It smokes.”
“So do half your guards.”
He almost smiled again.
Almost.
Then his phone rang.
He looked at the screen and froze.
Sofía noticed.
“What is it?”
He answered.
No greeting.
A man’s voice crackled through, too low for her to hear clearly.
Nicolás’s expression changed from tired father to something colder.
Deadlier.
“When?”
A pause.
“Send me the footage.”
He ended the call.
“What happened?” Sofía asked.
For a moment, he seemed to consider lying.
Then he said, “Someone broke into your apartment last night.”
Her body went still.
“My apartment?”
“My people checked once I decided you were connected to Mateo’s care.”
“You put guards on me?”
“Yes.”
“Without asking?”
“Yes.”
She looked furious.
He did not apologize.
“Be angry later. Your door was forced. Your room was searched.”
Sofía’s mind flew to the tiny apartment she rented above a bakery. Her grandmother’s photograph. Her nursing certificates. Her savings envelope hidden inside a rice tin.
“Was anyone hurt?”
“No. You were here.”
Her breath caught.
If she had gone home after her shift…
Nicolás saw the realization hit her.
“This is not about laundry anymore,” he said.
Sofía looked toward the mansion behind him.
“Your mother?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who else knew I was coming here?”
“Too many people.”
The driveway suddenly felt less open.
Less safe.
A black SUV pulled up. One of Nicolás’s men stepped out and handed him a tablet.
Security footage filled the screen.
Sofía saw her apartment hallway.
A man in a gray hoodie forced her door with practiced ease. He disappeared inside for six minutes. When he came out, he carried her medical bag’s spare notebook.
Her chest tightened.
“That notebook has my patient observations,” she said. “Nothing valuable.”
Nicolás replayed the footage and zoomed in.
The man’s wrist flashed as he adjusted his sleeve.
A tattoo appeared.
A black crown with three thorns.
Nicolás’s face changed.
Sofía noticed the guards tense around them.
“What does that mean?” she asked.
He did not answer at once.
Then, quietly, “It means this did not come from my mother.”
“Then who?”
May you like
Nicolás looked at the tattoo again.
“An enemy who knows exactly where to hurt me.”
