Chapter 32
Mr. Fernando had asked me for a favor. One I hadn't declined for fear of my Tía Elena's life. He'd threatened that he knew all about her and all about me. He went so far as to remind me how Cynthia had accepted a monetary gift from him some time back. Now he wanted me to play spy.
He'd predicted I'd be detained shortly after my return to Mr. Montoya's mansion. Then he'd told me he would instruct someone to arrange a meeting with me. A spy and a double agent.
I was growing more hopeless by the day.
I paced in my bedroom, now a confined prison. I looked around in search of a hidden camera somewhere but couldn't find any. I groaned out of utter frustration.
Ever since my second probation, which had lasted two weeks, my routine had been monotonously boring. My day would start with terrible headaches from fitful sleep, then I'd go about cleaning my room and myself.
Then I'd read a book or two from Mr. Montoya's study before breakfast. Breakfast was brought to my room to somehow punctuate the reality of a prison. Fucking princess treatment, I scoffed. After breakfast, I'd scroll through my phone before collapsing into a frustrated nap.
The rest of the day often passed in a blur. Lucy had never come. Calling or texting Cynthia about my situation was off the table. Two weeks. I was close to losing my mind. I had to see Mr. Montoya. Surely I could make him realize his foolishness.
But first, I had to see Ashley. That would be risky because she'd still be at work. I glanced at the wall clock: twelve thirty-five.
I hesitated briefly, torn between my restriction and my decision. Before I could talk myself out of it, I dashed out of the room. My heart raced, and adrenaline surged in my veins.
Mr. Montoya had not only forbidden me from free movement indoors but also within the estate environment. So much so that he'd gone as far as to ensure I adhered to these restrictions. He had even given strict instructions to security and the estate cab teams about me.
So, I walked to the servants' quarters, a short distance away from Mr. Montoya's mansion. As I walked further from the mansion and ignored my racing heart, I realized I'd made a nice prison break.
The cool breeze rushed over me as if to cleanse me of my anxiety. I looked back once in a while to ensure that I wasn't being followed. If I was caught, my probation would be worse.
Damn. I hadn't taken a scarf with me to at least cover myself. All I could hope for was that nobody recognized me. Soon enough, I approached the servants' quarters. So far, so good; everyone I passed didn't lift a brow in my direction.
I swiftly made my way to Ashley's room, careful not to draw attention. When I knocked and tried to unlock the door, it was locked. Damn. I mentally tried to recall Ashley's cleaning timetable. The kitchen. I hurried there, not caring who noticed me or not.
The moment I pushed through the swinging doors, heat wrapped around me like a slap. Pots clanged, voices overlapped, and the scent of spices hung thick in the air. For a second, I just stood there, disoriented by the noise after days of suffocating silence.
Then I saw her.
Ashley stood by the far counter, her back to me, carefully slicing vegetables with precise, practiced movements. Her posture was calm. Too calm. I hesitated. I moved fast and called out.
"Ashley."
She turned sharply at the sound of my voice.
Her eyes widened. Shock hit first. Then relief. Then something else: fear. She dropped the knife completely this time and rushed towards me.
Her hands grabbed my arms. Her eyes scanned me frantically, moving across my face and lingering on the healing bruises and the exhaustion I couldn't hide.
She pulled out a small notepad and a pen, then scribbled into it.
"Where have you been?! What happened to you? Are you okay??"
I swallowed.
"I'm fine," I said, though my voice betrayed me. "I'm not fine, Ashley."
Her expression tightened.
She scribbled again. "They said you were being disciplined. That you did something wrong. But no one knows what."
A bitter laugh slipped out of me.
"Of course they don't."
Her brows furrowed. I stepped closer, lowering my voice.
"I was taken, Ashley," I explained.
Her fingers froze mid-air.
"I was taken out of the estate," I continued, my voice quieter now, heavier. "And brought back." Her eyes widened in panic.
She scribbled quickly.
WHO TOOK YOU? WHY? DOES MR. MONTOYA KNOW?? I hesitated. Fernando's voice echoed in my head. Play the spy, he'd said. My chest tightened.
"I… I don't know everything," I lied carefully. "But yes. He knows."
Ashley stared long and hard at me, like she was trying to peel the truth out of me layer by layer. Then she scribbled a lot slower.
"You shouldn't be here."
I blinked in confusion.
As a reply, she showed me her notepad. "You're being watched. Nina has been talking. A lot."
My stomach dropped.
"What is she saying?" I asked.
Ashley exhaled sharply and scribbled. "That you're not who you say you are. That you have connections outside. That the attack… might have something to do with you."
I read the words one after the other and clenched my fists.
"That bitch," I seethed. Ashley grabbed my wrist firmly. Her eyes locked on me.
"Don't," she mouthed. I stilled.
"She's dangerous because she talks. And people listen," she scribbled. I looked away, jaw tight.
"So what? I just sit there and let her ruin me?" I asked.
Ashley just scribbled, "You survive."
Something about that made my chest ache. Before I could respond, laughter echoed from the entrance. Sharp. Familiar and annoying.
"Well, well… look who finally decided to show her face." I slowly turned to face Nina.
She stood at the kitchen entrance with two girls trailing behind her. Her eyes dragged over me. Slow, deliberate, judgmental.
"Thought you disappeared for good," she continued, stepping closer. "Or maybe you were just… busy," she scoffed. I said nothing, but Ashley stepped slightly in front of me. Protective.
Nina noticed and smiled wider.
"Ashely, darling," she mocked lightly, "you really should choose your friends better. This one?" She nodded toward me. "Bad news."
Ashley scribbled into her notepad, "Leave her alone."
Nina tilted her head.
"Oh? The mute speaks," she said with a laugh. "How touching."
My blood boiled.
"Nina—"
"Oh, be quiet," she cut in instantly, her tone snapping like a whip. "You don't get to talk."
The kitchen had gone quieter now. People were watching. Of course they were.
"Do you even know what they're saying about you?" Nina continued, circling slightly. "Or should I enlighten you?"
I held her gaze. "Then enlighten me," I said, and her smile sharpened. "They're saying you're a spy. That you let those men in."
A murmur rippled through the room after a brief silence.
Ashley shook her head violently and scribbled fast. "That's not true."
Nina didn't spare her a glance.
"They're saying Mr. Montoya is keeping you alive because he hasn't decided what to do with you yet," Nina continued to taunt. That one landed hard. But I refused to react. Nina stepped closer. Too close.
"You should be careful," she whispered, her voice dripping with mock concern. "People like you don't last long here."
That was it. I stepped forward.
Ashley grabbed my arm—
"Say one more thing—" I began.
"Oh? What will you do?" Nina challenged, eyes gleaming. "Cry? Lie again? Or—"
Before she could finish, a sharp sound cut through the tension. Not loud. But final. A phone vibrating against metal. Every head turned. Phones weren't allowed during work hours.
It was one of the security men who appeared by the kitchen entrance. He pressed a finger to his earpiece, listening.
Then his gaze snapped directly to me.
My stomach dropped.
No.
He stepped forward deliberately and unhurriedly. The entire room held its breath.
"Alice Ramírez," he called.
My name echoed louder than it should have. My heartbeat roared in my ears.
"Yes?" I managed.
His expression didn't change.
"Mr. Montoya sends for you."
The words didn't hit. Not fully. Until he added, "Now."
A chill ran down my spine. Ashley's fingers clutched my sleeve tightly.
I looked at her. She shook her head slowly.
Don't go, her eyes pleaded, but I didn't have a choice. I turned back to the guard.
"Where?" I asked, my voice steadier than I felt.
"The gym," he replied.
Something about the way he said it made the air feel heavier. Final. Like a sentence already passed. Behind me, Nina let out a soft, satisfied hum. I didn't look at her.
I couldn't.
Because suddenly I understood. This wasn't just a call. It was a reckoning. And whatever waited for me in that gym, Mr. Montoya had already decided something. I just didn't know what.
Yet.