In a dramatic turn of events, Catalina miraculously recovers after a difficult childbirth, only to face a new wave of despair. Just as she starts to enjoy her newfound motherhood, Manuel announces visitors, and soon Adriano enters, claiming the babies are his. Catalina, determined to end the mystery, reveals the shocking truth: the children are not Adriano’s. She explains that this is why she refused to rekindle their relationship, setting the stage for an unexpected twist in the series.

Days following the complicated birth, Catalina experiences extreme weakness, cold sweats, and sudden dizziness. While everyone initially attributes her symptoms to postpartum exhaustion, her growing pallor and difficulty staying awake soon alarm even the most optimistic. The doctor, already alerted by Manuel, sets up a makeshift station by Catalina’s bedside, administering cautious treatment. He assures Manuel that Catalina is fighting, despite her weakened state.

Manuel becomes a constant vigil at Catalina’s side, unable to sleep or eat, his gaze fixed on her face as he whispers words of comfort. The palace is enveloped in a tense silence, broken only by hushed whispers and hurried footsteps. Then, a glimmer of hope emerges as Catalina slowly begins to recover. She opens her eyes for longer periods, attempts to form words, and eventually smiles at the sight of Manuel. The doctor confirms her improvement, calling it a miracle that still requires extensive care.

Meanwhile, in the palace garden, Curro is consumed by an unsettling feeling. The memory of Anna’s sudden improvement before her tragic death haunts him. Rushing to find Manuel, Curro urgently warns him: “You must protect Catalina. Do everything necessary. Change the remedies. Take turns with the servants, but for everything that exists in this world, do not leave her alone for even a minute.” Manuel, confused, insists Catalina is improving and under the doctor’s care. Curro cuts him off, revealing his chilling suspicion: “That’s how it was with Anna too. She also got better, she also smiled, she also seemed out of danger. And the day after… she was gone. And I know, Manuel. I know they sabotaged her treatment. They sabotaged Doctor Gamarra.”

Manuel is stunned, absorbing every word. Curro nods, almost certain and determined not to let the same happen to Catalina, who now has children. He urges Manuel to trust no one. A deep silence hangs between them until Manuel, grateful, places a hand on Curro’s shoulder. “You’re right. Now everything makes sense. Thank you, brother. I swear no one will touch her. Not while I’m here.” The brothers share a knowing look, understanding that danger doesn’t always come with weapons and shouts; sometimes, it hides in drops of medicine or the absence of a watchful eye.

The palace remains in a state of tense silence, as if the very structure senses an irreversible shift in the air. Following Curro’s warning, Manuel becomes Catalina’s unwavering guardian, never leaving her door. He sits or stands, arms crossed, scrutinizing every movement, every sound, every whisper in the corridor. There is no room for error, not with his sister’s life at stake. Inside, Catalina continues her fragile recovery, watched closely by the doctor. Manuel, always by her side, comforts her during moments of distress, a brother who has already lost too much to allow another tragedy.

One rainy afternoon, Petra appears with forced composure, carrying a silver tray of fresh fruit for Catalina. Manuel immediately rises, his gaze fixed on the tray as if it were the danger itself. He firmly takes the tray, refusing to let Petra enter the room, even when she tries to insist on serving Catalina herself. Manuel then proceeds to test each piece of fruit by biting into it and chewing slowly, his eyes never leaving Petra’s. Petra watches in discomfort, unable to hide her unease. Only when Manuel is convinced that nothing is amiss does he take the tray into Catalina’s room, closing the door behind him. Catalina, still weak, jokes about him becoming a servant, and Manuel, kneeling beside her bed, tells her he prefers it to letting anyone touch her again. He carefully helps her eat a piece of pear, a simple gesture that feels like a victory against the looming horror.

Meanwhile, a pale Petra hurries to Leocadia’s room, bursting in without knocking. “Madam,” she gasps, “we have a problem. Manuel is preventing everything. He sleeps at the door, tastes the food, doesn’t leave her side for a second.” Leocadia sighs, acknowledging Manuel’s shrewdness. Petra insists their plan won’t work, but Leocadia’s silent fury builds, culminating in her smashing a porcelain vase against the wall. She berates Petra for her failure, demanding she find another way to get into Catalina’s room, “even if it’s as a shadow.” Petra, increasingly nervous, explains that Manuel is always there, even when Catalina sleeps, talking to her, touching her, and accompanying the doctor. Leocadia paces like a caged beast, muttering about Catalina, who “should have already passed away during childbirth.” A cold smile slowly spreads across her lips as she turns back to Petra. “If you can’t get in, perhaps I can.”

Petra’s eyes widen in surprise, questioning if Manuel would suspect Leocadia. “He doesn’t suspect me,” Leocadia replies with chilling tranquility. “Not yet. He sees me as a rigid matriarch, a woman above the miseries of the world. And that’s exactly what I’ll be. The benefactress, the one who brings words of comfort, the one who cries for dear Catalina’s recovery, while weakening her little by little until everything ends as it should.” When Petra worries about Manuel’s constant presence, Leocadia calmly states, “We will create a distraction. Something to draw him away from her, even for just five minutes. Five minutes is all I need.” Petra hesitates, but Leocadia places a forceful hand on her shoulder, threatening to discard her next if she doesn’t cooperate.

Hours later, under the heavy silence of the night, Manuel is startled by approaching footsteps. Romulo, the butler, approaches cautiously, his expression grave. “Mr. Manuel,” he says in a low voice, “there’s a young man waiting in the atrium. He says he wants to see your sister.” Manuel’s gaze hardens. “Who?” Romulo pauses briefly before delivering the name: “Adriano.”

The name resonates like a stone dropped into a still pond. Manuel’s blood boils, but he controls himself. After a tense silence, he slowly nods, his jaw clenched. “Let him pass, but only for today, and only because I know he is the father of the children, nothing more.” Romulo bows and disappears. Minutes later, Adriano’s footsteps echo through the hall, tense and deliberate, until he appears before the door, pale and weary. Manuel, hesitant, offers a terse “Thank you.” Stepping aside reluctantly, Manuel warns, “Don’t make me regret this. She is still very weak. One wrong move and you’ll be thrown out of here.”

Adriano enters, his heart in his hand. He sees Catalina in bed, pale but with eyes that sparkle with a mix of surprise and fear at his presence. “Catalina,” he whispers, approaching her. “You’re alive, thank God.” She forces a weak, tired smile, saying she’s surviving one day at a time. He approaches the bed and, seeing the two cradles nearby, his eyes well up. “They are beautiful,” he says, his voice breaking. Catalina watches him in silence, then looks down at her children. “Yes, they are. They look like me, I think,” she whispers. Adriano kneels beside a cradle, contemplating the newborns. “I wanted to be with you, with them, to be the father they need, to help you, Catalina, to have a family.”

Catalina looks away, a deep pain and unnamed fear piercing her chest. “Adriano, you can’t.” He rises abruptly. “Why? Because I left? Because I disappointed you? Give me a chance to make amends, please.” “No,” she interrupts, looking at him firmly. “You can’t, because you are not the father.” The lie comes out like a leaf wrapped in silk. Adriano pales, unable to believe her. “What?” Catalina swallows. “They are not your children. I thought so for a while, but they are not. I’m sorry.”

The silence between them becomes unbearable. Adriano tries to speak, but the words catch in his throat. He merely nods, like someone pushed off a cliff without warning. “If that’s what you want, fine.” His voice is weak, wounded. As he turns to leave, he stops at the door. From his inner coat pocket, he pulls out a small amber vial. “Leocadia asked me to give you this. She said it’s a sedative to help you rest better.” He places the vial on the bedside table. Catalina looks at him with controlled surprise. “She sent this?” Adriano nods. “That’s what she said. But if you don’t trust it, throw it away. I just followed the instructions.” He then leaves, heartbroken, without looking back.

In the room, Catalina fixes her gaze on the small vial. The dim candlelight illuminates the colorless liquid inside. Leocadia’s name echoes in her mind like a dark omen. Her body tenses. Something is wrong. Nothing is right. In that instant, Catalina understands that she and her children are still not safe.