Now Valeria was here, in the Santillán mansion, fulfilling a promise.
She tried to be invisible. Worked hard. Kept her head down. But watching Matías broke her. The boy was quiet, withdrawn, neglected by nannies glued to their phones. At night, he cried alone. No one came.
Except her.
She’d slip into his room under the excuse of cleaning. She sang softly, offered water, rocked him to sleep. One night, feverish and ignored by the staff, he clung to her as she cooled him down with wet cloths.
That night, Rodrigo saw them: the new maid, exhausted, cradling his son on her chest.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
Valeria panicked, expecting to be fired. But Rodrigo only warned her: “Patricia won’t like this. Be careful.”
She wasn’t wrong. Patricia noticed Rodrigo’s changing gaze. Noticed how Matías only responded to Valeria. Jealousy—deadly and boiling—returned.
First came venomous remarks. Then, the trap: a planted pearl necklace, a fake theft, a public accusation.
“She’s a thief!” Patricia declared, holding up the necklace. “I knew it!”
Valeria froze. If the police came and checked her false ID, it would be over. Worse—Sebastián might find her.
But Rodrigo’s lawyer, Bruno, had a better idea: “Let’s check the security footage.”
They watched Patricia enter Valeria’s room with a key, and exit four minutes later—her purse lighter.
Patricia exploded, shouted, cursed Matías, and without meaning to, admitted everything.
Rodrigo was done.
“Our engagement is over. Leave my house.”
But Patricia wasn’t finished. She hired a private investigator.
Who found Sebastián Ugarte.
“He knows who you are,” Bruno told Valeria. “And he knows where you are.”
