The air inside La Promessa had always been heavy, but now it was suffocating — as if the very walls were pressing inward, ready to crush anyone who dared to breathe too loudly.

For decades, Rómulo had moved through these corridors with silent dignity, his head bowed in respect for the noble house he served. But that morning, something in him had shifted. The mask of the obedient butler was gone. In its place stood a man ready to stare the dragon in the eye.

He marched to the study door of Marqués Alonso, his knock firm, deliberate, almost like a declaration of war: I’m here. And I’m not leaving.

Alonso looked up from his papers, instantly recognizing that this was no ordinary visit. Rómulo’s stance was rigid, his eyes steady but shadowed by exhaustion — the kind that seeps into the bones over years of silence.

“Señor Marqués,” Rómulo began, his tone stripped of servility. “I need a moment of your attention.”

What followed would shatter the fragile peace of the household.

The Truth Breaks Free

“I’m here to hand in my resignation,” Rómulo declared.

The words landed like a cannon blast. Alonso shot to his feet, stunned. “Resignation? This is madness! You’ve given your life to this house. You are the most loyal, wise man I’ve ever known. What happened? Tell me, and I’ll fix it.”

But Rómulo shook his head. “It’s not you, señor. It’s the air here… it has become poisonous. I can no longer breathe it.”

When Alonso pressed further, desperation in his voice, the dam finally broke.

“I’ve been threatened,” Rómulo said hoarsely. “By Petra. She told me if I didn’t leave, she’d ruin my name and destabilize this house. She hinted at scandals I don’t even fully understand — making it seem I had a hand in the darkest moments of this family’s history.”

Alonso reeled back, as if struck. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“Because I thought leaving quietly would stop the chaos. But my silence… has only made her stronger.”

The Marchese Makes His Move

Alonso’s expression hardened. “No more. She will never threaten anyone in this house again. And you, Rómulo, are not going anywhere. Together, we’ll expose her.”

Something flickered in Rómulo’s eyes — surprise at the marqués’s fierce determination. Alonso was no longer just defending his servant; he was defending the soul of La Promessa.

But Rómulo had more to say. Leaning closer, he murmured, “There’s something else… she keeps a document, a letter. It concerns your son, Manuel. And… I’ve heard her mention his name alongside Jana’s.”

The color drained from Alonso’s face. This was no longer about power games. This was about the survival of his family.

Into the Shadows

That night, while the household slept, Rómulo moved like a ghost. He descended into the forgotten crypt beneath the old monastery — a place of dust, shadows, and unspoken fears.

There, hidden inside a rotting oak cabinet, he found them: letters in venomous handwriting, faded photographs of Petra with dangerous figures, and a small dark glass vial containing the remains of some opaque liquid. One letter bore a signature Alonso knew all too well — his father’s — binding Petra’s shadow to the family’s past.

Rómulo took everything. These were not just objects; they were weapons.

The Poison in the Past

In the morning, Alonso examined the evidence with trembling hands. The truth was worse than imagined: two decades ago, under another name, Petra had been at the center of a noble estate scandal involving a mysterious poisoning, a false accusation against an innocent butler, and a “suicide” that reeked of foul play.

“She hasn’t acted alone,” Rómulo warned. “She didn’t back then, and she isn’t now. Someone close to you may be involved.”

And in that very moment, outside the study door, Manuel overheard enough to freeze his blood.

The Dinner of Silence

That evening, dinner was a battlefield masked in etiquette. Petra, elegant in black, smiled with icy perfection, her gaze never leaving Alonso’s face — searching for signs that her secrets had been unearthed. Manuel sat pale and silent, his hands gripping his napkin until his knuckles whitened.

When Petra rose to leave, Alonso’s voice cut through the stillness: “Stay, Petra. We all need to speak.”

The room froze. Petra turned, her smile still in place but her eyes sharp with calculation. She knew.

Blood in the Greenhouse

Before the night could end, a scream tore through the estate — the kind of scream that stops the heart. A servant was found dead in the greenhouse. With trembling fingers, the victim had scrawled a single name on the floor: Petra.

The household erupted in panic. Alonso stormed through the corridors, pale and muttering. Unseen by him, a young maid, María Fernández, overheard Petra’s low, venomous whisper from inside the library: “That old fool Rómulo has exposed me. He’s digging his own grave.”

The Reckoning

Word spread quickly. Alonso summoned an emergency gathering. The great dining hall filled — Rómulo, Manuel, the staff, and Petra herself.

Alonso’s voice was cold steel. “Many things have been hidden in this house for far too long. Tonight, some of them will remain hidden no longer.”

Rómulo rose. Samuel, the ex-priest, entered silently through a side door. And for the first time since her arrival, Petra’s composure cracked. She felt the chill of fear crawl up her spine.

The curtain was about to rise… and before it fell, blood would be spilled.