A distant thunder shatters the silence surrounding La Promessa. The clatter of carriage hooves echoes over the damp cobblestones as dark, ominous clouds gather menacingly over the ancient towers. The palace guards feel a chill run down their spines when a whispered name ripples through the arches — Cruz. But this is not the Cruz they once knew. Cloaked in mystery, with her face hidden and eyes shadowed by secrets, she returns like a storm, bringing with her a whirlwind of suspicion and dread.

Inside, Lorenzo clenches his fist so tightly it bleeds. Rumors of revenge swirl among the frightened and the grieving alike. Nothing will escape Cruz’s judgment — alliances once thought unbreakable begin to crumble. Her return is not just a comeback; it’s a reckoning. Will anyone survive the storm she’s about to unleash? She’s back to settle old scores, and she will do it on her own terms.

Hidden behind a seemingly innocent painting lies a secret so devastating that not all can bear its weight. A mysterious box, a name uttered with icy resolve, and a silent plan unfolding beneath the very eyes of those around her. But what exactly does that painting conceal? And why was Sergeant Burdina summoned in such haste?

Justice or vengeance? The line blurs, but one thing is certain: nothing will ever be the same.

At the grand entrance, Alonso stands firm, gripping his cane, his gaze wavering between gratitude and doubt. He doesn’t know whether to welcome or confront her. Cruz steps out of the carriage, dressed in black—the grandeur of a great marchioness overshadowed by the pain of a life lost. Her feet hit the courtyard decisively, eyes fixed on the palace’s facade. Nostalgia, pride, and sorrow clash visibly on her face. This was her home once, but now she regards it with icy detachment.

Alonso greets her calmly, his voice distant, uncertain whether to accept or reject her presence. Their eyes lock in a long, silent conversation — until the inner doors open and Manuel appears. His gaze is weary, marked by nights filled with mourning and rage.

For a moment, Cruz lets down her regal composure and offers a fragile smile — a glimmer of hope. “My son,” she says, stepping forward, extending a hand as if to grasp a fading memory.

But Manuel remains still, face taut with pain. “Don’t call me that,” he replies sharply, his voice cutting through the silence.

Caught off guard, Cruz hesitates, hand raised in mid-air, torn between withdrawing and insisting. “I know you’re angry. I didn’t do what they say. I never had the courage…” Her voice breaks as she utters a name—Ann.

Manuel shuts his eyes as if stabbed by a dagger. When he opens them again, tears glisten, but his fury remains. “Don’t say her name. Prove to me you’re not guilty. Until then, don’t call me son.”

Her heart shatters, breath stalls, eyes burn — yet no tears fall. Manuel steps back, descending the stairs with firm steps, leaving without a backward glance. Cruz stands frozen, breath caught tight in her chest.

“My son,” she whispers, but the courtyard wind carries the words away.

In the days that follow, Cruz’s presence at the palace is like a spark in dry hay — threatening to ignite a raging fire. Every corridor she crosses, every room she enters, the eyes watching her shift between respect, fear, and hostility. One person doesn’t even hide her contempt — Leocadia.

Since Cruz’s return, Leocadia sees her as a direct threat to the empire she’s painstakingly built, piece by piece. In her eyes, Cruz belongs behind bars forever. Their gazes meet daily, neither willing to yield an inch.

The tension peaks during their first confrontation in the main hall. Cruz demands the mysterious painting be displayed prominently—she wants everyone to see it.

Leocadia enters, impeccably dressed with a sly smile, hanging the portraits with confident hands. Cruz doesn’t flinch. “I don’t need to feel like the owner,” Leocadia declares firmly. “I am. Always have been. Nothing you do will change that.”

Leocadia steps closer, heels clicking sharply on the gleaming marble floor. “You always were,” she whispers with contained malice. “We’ll see how long that lasts. My time in prison was very productive. I’ve earned the trust of many, including the marquis, and soon I’ll reclaim all that was once yours.”

Cruz lifts her gaze, fixing Leocadia with a cold smile. “What exactly do you mean?”

Leocadia bows elegantly, voice low and poisonous: “Alonso will never be alone again. The ground is set. Darkness approaches. I need someone to keep a firm grip on the palace—someone Cruz could never oppose. That role, I assure you, will be mine. Very soon, Cruz. The title of Marchioness will be mine.”

Her promise cuts sharper than knives.

Cruz stares back with fiery eyes. “You’re nothing but a pesky guest,” she replies firmly. “You think some secret or blackmail will grant you power? Never!”

Those words carry the weight of years of battles, accusations, and tension built up within the crumbling palace—a complex ecosystem of subtle rivalries and revelations, as if everyone was just a piece in a grand aristocratic chess game.

Leocadia sneers sarcastically. “You were already dancing on accusations, Cruz, and your son Manuel doesn’t want to see you. I’ve seen it in his eyes—he hates you.”

The sting hits Cruz deep in her core. Humiliation seeps into her bones, but she doesn’t falter. She lifts her chin with pride, eyes hard and icy.

“Try as you might, I will always come back. And I will find a way to destroy you, Leocadia, once and for all.”

Her words echo down the silent halls. Pia, passing by, stops at the threshold and swallows hard. The serfs glance at each other, sensing an explosion about to erupt.

The next day, the rivalry between Cruz and Leocadia is tangible throughout the palace. Every meal turns into a battleground. Cruz orders dishes that Leocadia mercilessly criticizes, scrutinizing every detail with venomous tones.

Leocadia responds by summoning the serfs to her room late at night. The corridors fill with whispers and stealthy footsteps echoing against cold walls and the rich fabric of drapes.

“Do you think you hold any power here, Leocadia?” Cruz shouts one night, voice trembling with intensity.

“I have more,” comes the sharp reply.

What follows is a duel of biting words, promises of vengeance and destruction, and looks that pierce like spears—a tense drama unfolding in the upper echelons of the palace’s decaying aristocracy.

Meanwhile, Cruz, wounded by Manuel’s harsh words, refuses to give up. She struggles desperately to win back her son’s trust, fighting to prove she is not the monster he believes her to be. But the truth that will soon surface—that his mother is alive—will shatter everything Curro thought he knew.

This return is more than a mere homecoming; it is a violent upheaval where secrets long buried threaten to explode. Loyalties will be tested, alliances broken, and hearts shattered. La Promessa unfolds with gripping intensity as the past claws its way back into the present — and no one will remain untouched.