Chapter 4 The First Mission

Dawn was timidly breaking over Villa Esperanza, but in the small room Beatriz shared with her brother, the light barely dared to enter. Martín slept beside her, his breathing weak as a whisper. Beatriz sat on the edge of the bed, clutching the small envelope she had received hours earlier.

Her fingers were still trembling.

"Deliver this letter to the library desk. I trust you."

Those had been the instructions.

So simple. So lethal.

She looked at Martín, his pale face, his fragile body. She closed her eyes for a moment. She had no choice. She had to do it.

She washed her face with cold water, gathered her hair into a tight braid, and dressed in her worn maid's uniform. She adjusted her apron over her dress, as if she could summon the courage to do so.

Before leaving, her mother crossed her path.

"Are you leaving early today?" she asked, her voice raspy with exhaustion.

Beatriz lowered her gaze.

"Yes, Mom. There's a lot to do at the mansion."

Her mother caressed her cheek, that silent gesture that was her only way of telling her how much she loved her without words.

Beatriz could barely smile. If her mother knew that what she was about to do could cost them everything...

She walked the few kilometers to the entrance of the Moura Mansion. The large black gates, adorned with wrought iron leaves, rose like a sleeping monster. She took a deep breath. She feigned confidence. She pretended to be one of many.

The head servant, Don Matías, watched her as she crossed the entrance. A burly man, with a stern expression, and eyes trained to detect any irregularity. Beatriz lowered her head and moved forward, hiding the envelope among the dirty clothes in the basket she carried. The interior of the mansion smelled of polished wax, expensive perfume, and ancient secrets. The echo of her footsteps resonated in the marble corridors. Every servant who passed her lowered their gaze, accustomed to not being seen.

She slipped into the east wing, where the library was. Her heart pounded in her ears. She knew this area was guarded with particular suspicion.

The library door loomed before her, intimidating, massive, carved with motifs of vines and bunches of grapes.

Beatriz took one last look around. No one was there.

She turned the handle. It creaked.

For a moment, she thought someone would come running to catch her. But the hallway remained silent, unconcerned.

Inside, the library was an otherworldly sanctuary. Endless bookshelves, the intoxicating scent of antique paper, heavy curtains that filtered the light in golden beams.

The desk was at the back, an imposing piece of black oak.

She advanced with light steps, like a ghost.

When she arrived, she found the middle drawer locked. She pushed carefully.

It opened slightly.

Her fingers trembled as she placed the letter inside. She placed it reverently, as if it were an offering on a forbidden altar.

Then, a sharp click broke the silence.

Beatriz bolted upright.

A figure appeared in the doorway.

Doña Estela Moura.

The matriarch.

Tall, elegant, wearing a black dress that seemed to absorb the light around it. Her eyes, two icy needles, pierced Beatriz.

"What are you doing here, girl?" Her voice was like a whip.

The basket fell from Beatriz's hands, scattering dirty clothes at her feet. She stammered.

"M-ma'am... I came to clean... The head servant sent me..."

Doña Estela moved forward, each step echoing like a sentence.

"Clean? In the library?" she inquired, an eyebrow raised. "How curious. I didn't order anything."

Beatriz lowered her head, feeling her cheeks burn.

"Excuse me, ma'am. I'm just following orders."

The silence grew dense.

Beatriz didn't dare breathe.

Finally, the matriarch came close enough for Beatriz to smell her heavy, enveloping, suffocating scent.

"Remember your place, child," Doña Estela whispered, her voice sharp as a kitchen knife. "In this house, those who forget their place... end up out."

The message couldn't be clearer.

One false move and not only she, but her family as well, would suffer the consequences.

Beatriz nodded quickly, picked up her basket, and left the library without looking back.

Every step was a challenge to her own fear.

When she finally crossed back into the main hall, her legs buckled.

She leaned against the wall, feeling the world spin.

It hadn't just been a letter.

It had been a declaration of war.

A war in which, for the first time in her life, Beatriz Sosa wasn't a spectator.

She was a piece, a soldier...

Or perhaps a doomed pawn?

And the worst part was, the battle had barely begun.