Then his eyes moved to you.
“Elena Salgado?”
“Yes, sir.”
His gaze was sharp, not rude, but empty of welcome.
“Most people last less than a week here.”
You held his eyes. “Then I’ll focus on today.”
For the first time, something moved in his expression.
Not a smile.
Almost interest.
Mrs. Herrera looked at you like you had broken a rule that had not been written yet.
Rodrigo said nothing else.
He turned and left the kitchen, water still sitting on the counter.
That night, you cleaned the west hallway alone.
Outside, rain slid down the tall windows. The mansion reflected itself in the dark glass, making every corridor look twice as long. You passed the locked room at the end of the second floor and slowed without meaning to.
There was a small silver plaque on the door.
Sofía.
You stared at the name.
A child’s name.
That was when the house changed shape in your mind. It was no longer only a rich man’s cold mansion. It was a place where someone small had once existed, and every adult inside had decided never to move the air she left behind.
