Marco’s office was a rare haven of peace and quiet. Matteo was busy coloring on the floor, his crayons scattered around him like a burst of color. Ella sat beside him, keeping an eye on his progress while occasionally offering gentle guidance. For once, this was the closest they had to a family bonding moment—an unusual kind of tranquility that filled the space.
Carmen was perched on the edge of Marco’s desk, absently flipping through papers while Marco himself was engrossed in business reports, his brow furrowed in concentration.
Suddenly, Ella’s voice broke the calm.
“Who is Rafael Moretti?”
The room fell into immediate silence. Carmen stiffened, her body tensing as the question lingered in the air. Marco, who had been flipping through the reports, froze mid-turn, his entire body going rigid. His fingers gripped the pen in his hand so tightly that his knuckles turned white.
His eyes darted to the wall behind him, where several framed photographs hung in neat rows. Among them, one photo stood out—it was of Rafael.
Ella stood near the door, her head tilted curiously as she stared at the picture, clearly intrigued.
“I—” Ella began, but then paused, shaking her head with a soft chuckle. “I didn’t mean to pry. It’s just... I saw the name under the picture. It sounded familiar.”
Marco’s face darkened. He turned his gaze back to her, his expression unreadable.
Ella, noticing the shift, turned back to Carmen and Marco, offering an apologetic smile. “Was he someone important?”
The tone in Marco’s voice was flat, cold. “Why are you asking?”
Ella blinked, her curiosity clearly piqued. “Just curiosity.”
Carmen shifted uncomfortably in her seat, her unease growing. “Why was the name familiar to you?” she asked, though the question felt strangely heavy on her tongue.
Ella lifted her hands in a gentle, dismissive motion, her smile soft and sweet. “I don’t know, really. I just... feel like I’ve heard it before. And I think I’ve entered his office before, I saw his name written on the desk. It was accidental, though.”
Marco stayed silent, but Carmen didn’t miss the way his jaw clenched. “You were in his office… by accident?” Carmen pressed.
Ella let out a soft laugh. “Oh, yes. I was looking for the linen closet and must have opened the wrong room.”
Marco’s stare didn’t waver.
Carmen studied Ella’s calm expression, the gentle way she smiled, like a grandmother amused by her own forgetfulness. She should have believed her. She wanted to believe her. But something felt off.
“It won’t happen again,” Ella added, giving them both a reassuring nod.
Just then, Matteo stood up, his little voice clear and demanding. “I’m hungry.”
Carmen approached him, offering a warm smile. “Mommy can cook something for you, darling.”
But Matteo reached out for Ella’s hand, his eyes wide with trust. “Want Nanny’s sandwich.”
Carmen sighed in surrender, nodding at Ella. Ella, as graceful as ever, left the office without a word. The door clicked softly shut behind her, and in that instant, Carmen turned to Marco, her expression suddenly tight with unspoken questions.
“That name meant something to her,” she said, lowering her voice.
Marco rubbed a hand over his jaw, finally exhaling, tension rolling off his shoulders. “It didn’t mean anything, you’re being paranoid,” he muttered.
“Marco,” Carmen stepped closer, trying to meet his eyes. “Why do I feel like you’re keeping something from me?”
He didn’t answer. And that, more than anything, made her stomach twist. For the rest of the day, Marco was off. Distracted. Cold. Carmen caught him staring at his phone, not answering texts. Walking into rooms, then immediately leaving. Avoiding her gaze. He was hiding something. And it was eating at her.
By the time night fell, she couldn’t shake the feeling in her gut—something was wrong. And she was going to find out what. Carmen couldn’t sleep. Marco had gone to bed early, his back turned to her, his body tense even in sleep. She lay there for a long time, staring at the ceiling, the night pressing in around her.
And then—
A small noise from the hallway. She sat up, heart hammering. Not loud. Not sharp. Just a faint shuffling sound, followed by the soft click of a door closing.
Ella’s quarter.
Carmen’s breath caught. She threw on a robe and stepped out of bed as quietly as possible. The hallway was dark, except for the faint glow beneath Ella’s door. Carmen hesitated.
She should just go back to bed. Ella had done nothing wrong.
Right?
And yet—her hands moved on their own, slowly twisting the doorknob, pushing it open just an inch. Ella’s room was neat, perfectly organized, like a hotel suite. Nothing out of place.
Carmen swallowed hard.
Then, her gaze landed on the nightstand. A small wooden box sat there. Unlocked. Partially open. Inside, she saw a few old letters.
And underneath them—
A photograph. Carmen reached for it before she could stop herself. The second she pulled it out, her heart stopped. It was an old, slightly faded photo—but the face was unmistakable.
Rafael Moretti.Carmen’s stomach lurched.
Why the hell did Ella have a picture of him?