Carmen’s fingers trembled as she pulled open the safe, her heart pounding so loudly she thought it might shake the walls.
She didn’t know what she had expected to find—money, documents, maybe something that explained who Ella really was.
But this? This was so much worse. Her breath caught as her eyes scanned the contents.
Old newspapers. Clippings about Rafael Moretti’s death. Carmen’s stomach twisted violently.
Rafael Moretti.
The man Marco had killed years ago. The man Marco had erased. What the hell was Ella doing with these?
She reached for the clippings, her hands shaking, flipping through them one by one.
Each article detailed Rafael’s life. His rise in power. His rivalry with Marco.
And finally—
His brutal execution.
Carmen’s chest tightened. Why would a nanny keep this?
Her fingers moved to the next item, and the second she saw it, she stopped breathing.
A journal. She picked it up carefully, her stomach sinking. She flipped it open. The first page had only one word.
Matteo.
Carmen’s hands shook violently as she scanned the pages.
It wasn’t just a journal. It was a detailed log. Matteo’s daily habits. What time he woke up. What time he ate. What he liked, disliked, feared. Almost like a mother tracking her child.
Carmen felt sick.
Ella had been watching Matteo. Studying him. Why? Her fingers turned the next page.
And then—
She saw it. A photo. A picture of her family. Marco. Matteo. Herself. Her stomach turned violently.
Because her face was scratched out.
The ink dug so deeply into the paper that the image was ripped where her face had been.
Carmen’s breath hitched in horror.
Oh my god.
This wasn’t just an obsession. This was something else. Something far worse.
Suddenly she hears footsteps.
Carmen’s entire body went rigid. The soft, steady sound of someone approaching. Coming straight toward the room. Her pulse spiked violently.
She shoved the journal back into the safe, her fingers fumbling to close it.
The footsteps grew closer. Carmen’s breath came in quick, panicked gasps.
She spun around, scanning the room for an escape. Too late.
The door creaked open. And standing there, bathed in the dim hallway light—
Was Ella.