The way Martina calmed down when Rosa sang softly to her.
The way his daughters seemed more at ease with the maid than with their future stepmother.
Before, he'd thought it was sweet.
After Patricia, it seemed suspicious.
So he fabricated the trip.
That morning, the driver put the suitcase in the car. Patricia saw him off with a perfect, elegant, magazine-worthy smile.
Rosa was in the back, holding a tray of fruit and toast. Emiliano looked at her one last time through the tinted window.
She lowered her gaze respectfully.
It seemed like a normal goodbye.
A father traveling.
A wealthy household returning to its routine.
But it was all calculated.
Thirty minutes later, Emiliano entered through a private hallway that almost no one used. Rubén opened a reinforced door in the basement.
Inside was a monitoring room.
Screens on.
Kitchen.
Living room.
Garden.
Upstairs hallway. Playroom.
Informal dining room.
Every corner of the house where he lived, paid for everything… and yet knew nothing.
