Chapter 8 - Echoes in the Empty Mansion
Three days later, Lucía stood inside the cavernous, silent hallways of the Sterling family estate.
With Beatriz remanded to a detention facility awaiting trial and Julian locked in a desperate legal battle to avoid asset seizure, the massive mansion felt less like a home and more like a mausoleum. The white gardenias from the wedding had long since been thrown out, their sweet scent replaced by the sterile smell of polished wood and emptiness.
Lucía walked up the grand staircase, her hand gliding along the polished mahogany banister. She stopped in front of a heavy, double-locked oak door at the end of the east wing corridor—a room that the staff had whispered about for years, a room no one was ever allowed to enter.
Using a master key provided by Victor, Lucía turned the lock. The mechanism gave a heavy, rusty click.
She pushed the door open.
The room inside was completely preserved in time. It was a nursery, painted in soft pastel yellows and whites. A pristine white crib sat in the center of the room, draped in delicate lace. A rocking chair stood beside a tall bay window, and shelves were lined with silver rattles, porcelain dolls, and custom-made baby clothes embroidered with the exact same silver lilies and phoenix crest that Lucía had worn on her wedding dress.
Tears, hot and unbidden, finally spilled over Lucía’s eyelashes.
She walked slowly into the center of the nursery, running her fingertips over the edge of the crib. This was where she should have slept. This was where her mother—a woman who had died of a broken heart a year after giving birth, according to Arthur Sterling’s private journals—should have sung her to sleep.
Instead, she had grown up in a cramped, drafty apartment, learning the value of every single penny, stitching clothes by lamplight while her adoptive mother, Martha, whispered stories of a stolen past.
"I found you," Lucía whispered into the empty room, her voice breaking. "I finally found you."
"I figured you’d be up here."
Lucía turned quickly. Standing in the doorway was Mateo.
He looked exhausted. Dark shadows bruised the skin beneath his eyes, and his hair was slightly disheveled, a stark contrast to the immaculate groom he had been just days ago. He wasn't wearing a tuxedo; instead, he wore a simple black sweater and jeans.
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"Mateo," Lucía breathed, her hand dropping from the crib. "How did you get in?"
"Uncle Victor let me through the side gate," Mateo said quietly, stepping slowly into the nursery. His eyes swept over the room, taking in the small clothes, the untouched toys, and the lingering ghost of a childhood that never was. "He told me you’d be up here."
