Chapter 3 - The Ghost of the Past
Two weeks passed.
The Villarreal mansion remained under strict lockdown. The staff had been completely vetted, security protocols were quadrupled, and Alejandro worked entirely from home, refusing to leave Renata’s side for more than an hour at a time.
Renata’s physical health was improving rapidly. Her skin had regained its natural, healthy glow, and her stomach aches had vanished under a diet of soft creams, organic broths, and fresh fruits prepared by a deeply apologetic Doña Lupita, whom Alejandro had forgiven after realizing the immense terror Estefanía had inflicted on the elderly woman's family.
Yet, the emotional scars remained open wounds.
Renata rarely spoke. She followed Alejandro around the house like a silent shadow, holding onto the hem of his trousers. If he stood up too quickly, she would flinch, her small hands instantly flying to her head as if expecting a dictionary to appear.
Realizing he needed professional intervention, Alejandro brought in Dr. Elena Vance—Javier’s sister and one of the country’s leading child psychologists specializing in severe trauma recovery.
Elena arrived on a Tuesday afternoon. Unlike the corporate wolves Alejandro usually surrounded himself with, Elena radiated a calm, grounding serenity. She wore a simple pastel sweater, carried a soft canvas bag filled with art supplies, and didn't try to force Renata into a conversation.
Instead, she sat down directly on the plush carpet of the sunroom, pulled out a box of clay, and began sculpting a small, imperfect bird without saying a word.
Renata watched her from the safety of Alejandro’s lap, her dark eyes wide with cautious curiosity. After ten minutes of silence, Renata slowly crawled down, crept toward Elena, and sat a foot away, her eyes fixed on the clay.
Alejandro watched from the doorway, his heart aching with a mixture of hope and sorrow. Elena looked up, meeting his gaze with a gentle, reassuring nod.
"She doesn't need to talk right now, Alejandro," Elena whispered later that evening, after Renata had fallen asleep holding a small clay star she had made herself. "Trauma removes a child's sense of control. Estefanía took away her voice, her food, and her choices. Right now, Renata needs to know that she is the author of her own space. We don't push. We follow her lead."
"How long will it take?" Alejandro asked, his voice raspy with exhaustion.
"As long as it takes," Elena said softly, her hand gently touching his arm in a gesture of pure empathy. "You are doing great, Alejandro. The fact that she holds onto you means her anchor is still strong. You just need to let her be a child again."
As Elena left the mansion, Alejandro felt a strange, unfamiliar warmth in his chest. For the first time since Sofia's death, a woman had entered his home not to take, not to manipulate, but to heal.
But the peace was shattered at midnight.
Alejandro’s personal phone rang, a secure line reserved only for critical updates. It was Carlos.
"Boss, we have a situation," Carlos said, his voice tense over the static. "The federal warrant was issued, but Estefanía has vanished. She skipped her motel room two hours ago. Our trackers show she received a significant wire transfer from a dark-web account linked to the Mendoza Syndicate—your primary rivals in the European shipping sector."
Alejandro’s eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. "The Mendozas are funding her?"
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"They aren't just funding her, boss. They’re using her. She knows our domestic security schedules, the layouts of your properties, and the transit routes for the corporate servers. She’s selling your family’s safety to buy her freedom."
Alejandro stood up, walking to the window, looking out over the dark, expansive lawns of his estate. "Let them try. If the Mendozas want a war using my trash as a weapon, I will give them a massacre."
