Some stories are not just ordinary fragments of fate, but vessels holding dark secrets—cliffs no one dares to stare at.
A woman with a heart as radiant as the sun, who had just donned her wedding gown, suddenly faces an unexpected tragedy.

Lendro. The husband she loved without limits died just a few months ago. The opulent Montemayor villa she once dreamed of as her home has become a gilded cage, imprisoning her within the icy cold of indifference and the sharp words of her in-laws.

But how did Lendro really die? Why does the family treat her as an outsider? And most terrifying of all—what fate awaits Elara because of the decisions of her powerful father-in-law, a man who carries himself like a king? In the vast sorrow of the Montemayor estate, Elara has lost not only her beloved husband, but also her soul.

Each passing day feels like a long stretch of cold neglect and contempt. She asks herself silently, “What really happened to Lendro? Was his death a tragic accident—or is a horrifying truth buried beneath?”

One lonely afternoon she sat by the window. Her eyes, empty and distant, stared at the stillness beyond. Since Lendro’s death, the villa no longer feels like home—it is a prison with no escape. Her wedding photo lies askew on a table, thin dust covering it like a blanket over her painful history.

The joy captured in that photograph has turned into a blade, deepening the wound of her grief. She has nowhere else to turn—no sanctuary to return to.

Suddenly, there was a harsh knock on the door. Elara jolted. Her father-in-law, Mr. Montemayor, stood there.

The man holding absolute power in that family entered with terrifying calmness, yet his eyes concealed a brewing storm.
Elara’s soft voice broke the oppressive silence.
“You—why are you here?”

Calmly, he replied, “I want to speak with you.”

Elara said nothing. She only nodded like a machine.
Mr. Montemayor pulled out a chair and sat down across from her, his hawk-like eyes fixed upon her.

“Lendro is gone. This brings not just your sorrow, but also disgrace upon the Montemayor name,” he said slowly, every word sharp as a blade.

Elara bowed her head—weary with every whispered rumor since Lendro’s death: a young widow, separated barely months ago, living alone in the Montemayor estate. Such a story makes for juicy gossip, he added.

“You cannot leave,” he said, his eyes clouded in thought.

Then he made a proposal Elara hadn’t dared hope for:

“If you stay—if you become my wife—I’ll protect the family’s honor.”

Her face twisted in fear.
“What do you mean, Father?”

He looked at her without a trace of doubt in his voice:

“I want you to become my wife.”

The world seemed to stop for a moment.
Elara’s eyes widened. Her heart pounded in her chest.
Those words struck her like lightning—she couldn’t believe her father-in-law had spoken them.

“What… what are you saying?” she whispered, voice trembling.

“You will be surprised.”
He remained calm, but made it clear—this marriage would be one of convenience only. No love, no commitment—only protection of the family name.

Fear rushed in. She could not accept marrying her father-in-law.

“I’m not forcing you,” he said evenly, as if this were a simple transaction.
“But if you leave, the rumors will never stop. They’ll say your family abandoned you. That you’re cursed. Can you live with that?”

Elara said nothing.

She was trapped with no alternatives. If she left, she would have no home—no money, no abundance, no future. But marrying Montemayor was unthinkable.

Still, he stood there, waiting. His gaze benign on the surface, yet the pressure it carried was suffocating.

After a silence that seemed eternal, she slowly nodded, her voice barely audible:
“I… agree.”

From that moment, her fate would be placed at a crossroads none could foresee.
She never imagined life could demand such cruel trials.

Just months ago, she was a happy bride walking with Lendro into a home filled with dreams.
Now, she sat before the mirror in a simple white wedding dress, but her heart was hollow.

Her wedding to Mr. Montemayor was hurried, silent. No flowers, no music, no celebratory cheers—only the clamor of closing doors and a suffocating stillness.

After the ceremony, she did not move to his quarters. Instead, she was shown a different room. It met her with familiar emptiness—the room was bereft of any sign of married life. No wedding photos, no personal items from her or her late husband. Everything was stripped, clean, and sterile.

As she stood there, Mr. Montemayor entered.

“Just live normally,” his voice was distant.
“No one in this house has the right to mistreat you.”
Elara looked at him, suspicion in her heart.
“Why are you doing this?”

Mr. Montemayor was briefly stunned, but quickly regained his composure.
“As I said, it’s to preserve the family’s honor.”

But Elara didn’t believe that a marriage on paper was truly for honor’s sake. A powerful man like him had countless ways to silence any rumors. If he wanted to get rid of her, he could easily do it with money.
Why choose to keep her through such a ridiculous charade?

She looked deep into his eyes, trying to find an answer. But those eyes remained calm, deep, and unreadable. Elara slowly nodded, though her heart was full of doubt. She knew she had stepped into a game where the rules were still unclear—and the one who set the game was Mr. Montemayor himself.

In the days following the wedding, Elara’s life at the Montemayor estate flowed like an underground current—quiet, hidden, and dangerous.

Even though she was now officially Mr. Montemayor’s wife, there wasn’t a single moment of intimacy between them. She kept a quiet distance, always composed and serious.

Manang Lorna, the housekeeper, often looked like she wanted to say something, but always hesitated and turned away.
Kashaya remained cold.
Her gaze was like a blade cutting into Elara.

Gradually, Elara felt something was off—some secret was slowly rotting the heart of this mansion.

One morning, Elara decided to clean Mr. Montemayor’s office—a place she had never stepped into before.
The room exuded power, with towering bookshelves and polished wooden desks.
She wiped every corner, organized the papers.

Suddenly, a small detail caught her eye and made her stop.

At the far end of the shelf, a small, old wooden box lay hidden behind thick books. Elara reached for it.

She suddenly felt a wave of fear.

The box was locked, but she tried the spare key Mr. Montemayor had left on the desk.
Click. The lock opened.

Elara’s heart beat faster as she looked inside.

Photographs of Leandro, yellowed with age.

A worn notebook with familiar handwriting.

And a letter marked with red ink.

Her hands trembled as she opened the letter. She read each line.
Every word cut into her mind like a blade.

Leandro’s death was no accident.

Someone meant to kill him.

Elara’s heart stopped for a moment.

She hurriedly opened the notebook, flipping through the pages.

The notes were scattered, but filled with strange details—names, numbers, underlined words.

And then, one chilling line that made her shiver:

“I have suspicions, but no proof.”

Elara collapsed to the floor.

From the beginning, Leandro’s death had been ruled a tragic car accident.

But if it was murder—who was behind it?

And more importantly—why had Mr. Montemayor hidden all of this and never spoken the truth?

The room fell into an eerie silence.

Elara stared at the notebook.

At the letter, filled with mysteries, her heart pounding in her chest.

A deadly conspiracy was hiding within this very house.

Elara stared at the old notebook again.
Stared at the letter full of strange truths.
Her heart pounded harder.

Leandro’s death wasn’t an accident.
Someone planned to kill him.

But who? And why?

The writings in the notebook swirled in her mind—names, numbers, disjointed notes.

It didn’t look like a diary—it looked like a secret surveillance log.

Elara flipped page after page, and the more she read, the more frightened she became.

Leandro had long suspected someone wanted to kill him.

But he had no proof.
“No one can be trusted.” That sentence was underlined multiple times.

Elara sat down, trying to organize her thoughts.

If Leandro knew someone wanted to kill him, why didn’t he run?
Why didn’t he tell her?
And above all—why did Mr. Montemayor hide this?

Footsteps echoed from the hallway.

Elara froze.

She quickly shut the box and placed it back in the corner of the shelf. Just like before.

She was just sitting back down when the door opened.

Kashaya stood there, her sharp gaze inspecting everything.

“What are you doing in my father’s office?”
Her voice was full of suspicion.

Elara remained calm.
“I just finished cleaning,” she said.

Kasha stepped inside. She glanced around the room.
Kasha knew something. But she could very well be the one behind it all.

After Kasha left, Elara felt relieved, yet worry still lingered in her heart.
She knew she couldn’t stop now. She had to uncover the truth.

That night, Elara couldn’t sleep.
The words in the letter haunted her endlessly.
Around midnight, when the entire mansion was shrouded in silence, she heard soft footsteps in the hallway.
Something was moving in the dark.
Elara held her breath and listened.
The steps were cautious but deliberate.

She slowly got out of bed.
She carefully opened the door.

In the dim light from the corridor wall, she saw a shadow moving quietly.
It was Kasha.
She was wearing a dark-colored nightgown. Her long hair cascaded down her back.
Her steps were ghostlike.

Elara clenched her fists.
Why was Kasha going into the office at this hour?
What was she looking for?

A few minutes later, Kasha silently left. The door shut as if nothing had happened.
But Elara noticed the tension, worry—and maybe fear—in Kasha’s eyes as she walked away.

The next morning, Elara went down to the kitchen.
Manang Lorna was tidying up.
When she saw Elara, the old woman looked surprised.
The rag in her hand trembled.

Elara slowly approached her.
“Do you know what really happened to Mr. Leandro?”

Manang Lorna shuddered. She quickly bowed her head and continued wiping the table, trying to avoid the question.

But Elara didn’t back down.
“You know something, don’t you?”
Her voice was calm, but firm.

Manang Lorna bit her lip. Her eyes darted away.
“Don’t dwell on it, ma’am… Mr. Leandro is gone. Let the past rest.”

“But what if it wasn’t an accident?”

Manang Lorna’s hand froze mid-wipe.

Tension filled the kitchen like a thick fog.
Elara stared at her.
She knew… but why wouldn’t she say it?

Manang Lorna took a deep breath, as if trying to hold back something terrifying.

“Ma’am Elara,” she said slowly, “some things are better left unknown.”

Her words felt like a warning.
Elara was shaken to the core.

What was Manang Lorna hiding?
Why did everyone in this mansion seem terrified whenever Leandro was mentioned?

Elara knew she had to find the truth—no matter what she had to face.

She sat quietly in her room, her mind in turmoil.
Fragments of information about Leandro’s death were slowly coming together—but there were still many missing pieces.

Leandro’s death wasn’t an accident.
Kasha’s behavior was suspicious.
Manang Lorna knew something, but dared not speak.
And above all—what was Mr. Montemayor hiding?

If he truly wanted to bury everything, why hadn’t he destroyed the evidence?

Elara felt that something was seriously wrong.

She stared at the wooden box.
Maybe the only person who could answer her questions—was him.

Elara decided she couldn’t wait any longer.

She went downstairs, her heart pounding as she stopped in front of Mr. Montemayor’s office door.
She took a deep breath—and pushed it open.

Mr. Montemayor was sitting behind his desk, holding a teacup.
It seemed like he had been expecting her.

Elara stepped forward and placed the wooden box on his desk.

“Do you know what really happened to Leandro?”

Mr. Montemayor put the teacup down. His eyes were sharp as they fixed on her.

“What are you talking about?”

Elara opened the lid of the box.
The letter had been read. Leandro’s death wasn’t an accident. Someone had planned to kill him.

The room was engulfed in an eerie silence.
Mr. Montemayor stared at the letter for a long while before taking a deep breath.

“I didn’t kill Leandro,” he said quietly—but without hesitation.

Elara was stunned.
He hadn’t denied that Leandro was murdered.

A chill ran through her body.
“Who killed him?” she asked, voice trembling.

Mr. Montemayor looked at her for a long moment, as if lost in thought.
Then he spoke slowly.

“I know who did it.”

The room grew heavier with every word.
What he said confirmed that the killer was still within the mansion.

“Who?” she asked, almost in a whisper.

Mr. Montemayor didn’t answer immediately.
He stood and walked to the window.

“Leandro discovered a secret he was never meant to know.”

Elara clenched her fists.
“What secret?” she asked.

Mr. Montemayor turned back to her. His gaze was no longer calm.

“The truth about this family,” he said.
“What do you mean?” Elara asked, but he didn’t continue. He simply let out a long sigh and placed a hand on her shoulder.
“Elara, trust me.”
“Not yet. When the time is right, you’ll know the truth.”

Elara stepped back.
Why did everyone keep saying that? Why was everyone hiding something?
She felt that what was coming might be worse than Leandro’s death. But she couldn’t stop.
She had to find the truth herself.

After the confrontation with Mr. Montemayor, Elara knew she couldn’t trust anyone in the mansion. Kasha’s behavior was strange. Manang Lorna and Mr. Montemayor were both clearly afraid.
They knew who the killer was—but wouldn’t say it.

That night, Elara left her room and crept down the stairs.
She had the distinct feeling someone was watching her. Shadows flickered down the hallways. Footsteps—sure but cautious. She pretended not to notice and kept walking toward the library, where Leandro often read.

She opened book after book, hoping to find a message—something Leandro may have left behind.
Suddenly, a book fell to the floor. Elara flinched. She turned to look.
The library door was no longer closed.

Someone was there. Watching her.

Elara held her breath.
From the hallway, slow footsteps echoed—then stopped right outside the door.

Her heart pounded.
Someone was standing just beyond the door, listening.
She backed away, fear engulfing her.

She had to get out.
But before she could move, the library door suddenly swung open, startling her. A dark figure entered the room.
She smelled a familiar scent—and then silence.
A cold hand gripped her wrist. Tightly.
She struggled.
“Let me go!” she cried.
But the figure said nothing—just tightened its grip.

Suddenly, someone else grabbed her. She bolted into the hallway—but everything was eerily quiet again, as if nothing had happened.
The figure had vanished into the darkness.

---

The next morning, Elara sat silently in her room, her hands still trembling.
Who was it? Kasha? Mr. Montemayor? Someone else?
Manang Lorna continued arranging the dishes, avoiding her gaze.

“You know Leandro’s death wasn’t an accident, don’t you?” Elara asked.
Manang Lorna paused. Slowly, she looked up.
Elara stepped closer. Her voice was soft, but sharp.
“You know who killed him, don’t you?”

Manang Lorna bit her lip. Her eyes filled with deep worry.
“Ma’am Elara… some things are better left unknown.”
“So, you do know,” Elara said, clenching her fists.

Manang Lorna took a deep breath… and whispered:
“You shouldn’t stay in this mansion.”

Her words were like a chilling warning.
“Why?” Elara demanded.
Manang Lorna looked at her, fear flooding her eyes.

“Mr. Leandro… he discovered something. A secret he shouldn’t have known.”
“What secret?” Elara asked.

Manang Lorna looked around nervously, as if afraid someone might hear.
“About Mr. Montemayor.”

Elara frowned. “What do you mean?”

Manang Lorna knelt, and whispered:
“Have you ever wondered why no one in this family looks like Leandro?”

Her words hit Elara like a blade.
She froze, unable to believe what she was hearing.
“What are you saying?”
Manang Lorna lowered her voice even more.

“Leandro wasn’t Mr. Montemayor’s biological son.”

The kitchen felt like it collapsed around her.
Elara was stunned.
No way.
But Manang Lorna wasn’t lying.

If Leandro wasn’t his real son… then who was his real father?
And was this secret the reason he was killed?

Elara had to confront Mr. Montemayor.
She ran straight to his office.
No knocking. She pushed the door open.

Mr. Montemayor sat behind his desk. His eyes showed no surprise. He had been expecting her.

“Leandro wasn’t your biological son, was he?” Elara asked directly, her voice trembling.
Mr. Montemayor closed his eyes, breathing deeply.
His silence was as loud as a confession.

“Why didn’t you ever tell him?” she asked.

He looked her in the eye. His voice low:
“Because I didn’t want to lose him.”
He paused.
“Who was Leandro’s real father?”

Mr. Montemayor didn’t answer, but his expression darkened—as if hiding something far worse.

“It’s not as simple as you think,” he said.
Elara felt a chill down her spine.

---

That night, while in her room, she heard the soft sound again—shuffling in the hallway.

She quietly opened her door.
In the dim light, she saw Kasha creeping toward the office.

This time, there was no doubt.
Kasha knew something.

Elara followed, careful not to make a sound.
Kasha opened the door to the office and stepped inside.

Elara waited a few minutes, then crept closer.
She turned the lock quietly.
Inside, she heard rustling… the sound of drawers opening.

Kasha was looking for something.
Something that might unlock all the secrets.

Elara couldn’t wait any longer.
She pushed the door open.

Kasha froze.
Her eyes wide with fear.
Her hand still in the drawer.

Elara stepped in. Her voice cold and sharp:
“Kasha, what are you looking for?”

The room fell into deathly silence.
Kasha was clearly stunned, caught in the act.

Elara repeated, “Kasha, what are you looking for?”

Kasha flinched, then quickly regained her composure.
She slammed the drawer shut.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“I should be the one asking you that,” Elara replied.
She stepped closer, never breaking eye contact.

“This is my house. I have the right to be in any room I choose.”
“Even your father’s office… in the middle of the night?”
Kasha looked shocked.

“You’re looking for something, aren’t you?”

Kasha turned her eyes away.
But she didn’t deny it.

An idea suddenly flashed through Elara’s mind.
Leandro’s file. Right?
Kasha was startled. Her eyes lit up with suspicion. Elara knew she was right.
“Why are you looking for it?”
Kasha stared directly into Elara’s eyes. Her voice was sharp as a blade, like she was asserting, “Leandro isn’t my father’s biological son.”

Elara was horrified.
Kasha had known the truth, but what shocked her even more was the fury in her eyes.
“Since when did you know?”
Kasha laughed bitterly.
“A long time ago. Even before you came into this family.”
Elara felt breathless.
“Why were you so angry with Leandro then?”
Kasha sneered.
“You still don’t get it, do you? He’s not my father’s real son. But he’s always been the one loved. The one considered heir. And me? I’m the real daughter, yet I’ve always been treated like I’m nothing.”

Elara stood frozen.
She had thought Kasha was angry at her, but the truth was, she resented Leandro—for taking everything that should’ve been hers.

A horrifying thought crept into Elara’s mind.
“Were you involved in Leandro’s death?”
Kasha froze—then burst into laughter.
“You think I killed him?”
She stepped closer, whispering with a strange mix of amusement and menace:
“If I wanted to kill him, I would’ve done it long ago.”

A chill ran down Elara’s spine.
Kasha might not have killed him herself…
But she clearly knew something.

“Who did?” Elara asked.
Kasha looked almost cruel as she smiled bitterly.
“Do you think I’d tell you?”
Elara knew Kasha wasn’t lying. She wasn’t the killer—but she definitely knew who was.

After Kasha left, Elara decided to search the office again.
She checked every drawer, every shelf—until she found an old envelope carefully hidden behind a stack of documents.
Her heart raced.
Inside was a letter. Leandro’s handwriting. She trembled as she read it.

“I know. They think I don’t. But I’ll never sign. Even if it means dying, I won’t let this family fall into their hands.”

Elara froze.
Leandro had discovered something.
They tried to force him to sign, but he refused.
And that was why he was killed.

While she was still reading the letter, a strange sound echoed from the hallway.
She looked up.
Darkness loomed, but she felt someone watching her.
She clutched the letter tightly.
Her heart pounded.

She didn’t want anyone to know she had found the truth.
She stepped back, quickly tucked the letter into her pocket.
She had to get out.

But just as she stepped out of the room, a hand grabbed her from behind.
She gasped, turning around—and met the cold gaze of Mr. Montemayor.

Elara shivered as she looked into his sharp eyes.
He still held her wrist tightly.
“What are you doing in my office?”
His voice was low and threatening.

Elara tried to stay calm.
“I was just looking for information about Leandro.”
Mr. Montemayor tightened his grip.
“You don’t need to look anymore. This conversation is over.”

But Elara couldn’t stop now.
She pulled her hand away and stared up at him.

“Leandro’s death wasn’t an accident. You know that, don’t you?”
Mr. Montemayor’s expression changed slightly.
He took a deep breath, turned, and walked to his desk.

For the first time, Elara saw doubt in his eyes.
He picked up Leandro’s letter and slammed it onto the desk.

“Leandro knew something. He was being pressured to sign. But he refused. And because of that, he was killed. You knew, didn’t you?”

Mr. Montemayor looked at the letter for a long moment, then slowly nodded.

Elara was horrified.
She understood now.
“You knew Leandro could be killed, and you did nothing.”
Her voice shook.

Mr. Montemayor closed his eyes, as if confronting some deep pain.
“I couldn’t stop it.”
His answer made Elara gasp.
He had let it happen.
He had known for so long, and still chose silence.

His silence was the clearest answer of all.
Elara felt like a massive weight crushed her chest.

“You didn’t kill Leandro,” she said slowly.
“But you know who did. Don’t you?”
Mr. Montemayor blushed slightly—but didn’t deny it.

Elara took a deep breath and asked the question she feared the most.

“Was it Kasha?”
Mr. Montemayor looked shocked.
A flash of pain appeared in his eyes.

That was enough. Elara knew.
She was completely stunned.
Leandro’s killer was her own sister.

“Why? Why would Kasha do that?”
Mr. Montemayor let out a heavy sigh.

“Because Leandro had discovered the truth.”
“What truth?” Elara asked.

Mr. Montemayor looked at her. His eyes were filled with exhaustion.

“The truth about this family’s wealth.”

Elara was terrified.

Leandro had found something—something connected to the family’s fortune—and that’s what drove Kasha to kill him.
He had tried to make things right.

Since they were children, Kasha always felt overshadowed by Leandro.
But if he wasn’t Mr. Montemayor’s biological son, he had no right to inherit anything.

“Then why would Kasha still kill him?”
Elara asked, full of doubt.

Mr. Montemayor looked at her.
His gaze held a truth she wasn’t ready to hear.

“Because Leandro was the only one who could stop her plans.”

Elara’s spine went cold.
Kasha had manipulated everyone.

Mr. Montemayor said slowly,
“She planned everything. Perfectly. For Leandro to die.”

Elara could scarcely believe what she was hearing—Kasha had meant to kill her own brother. She knew that now. But she hadn’t stopped her.

Mr. Montemayor lowered his head, his voice heavy, his words landing upon Elara like blows. She clenched her fists.

“What now?” she asked, shaking.

“Do you think she’ll let you live?” he replied. His words were an icy wind against her skin. If Kasha killed Leandro—was Elara next? A primal terror gripped her.

After that confrontation, Elara felt bone cold. Kasha had tried to kill Leandro—and who knew who might be next? She needed to leave the mansion, but if she fled now, she’d lose the chance to expose the truth. She had to be careful.

---

The next morning, Elara went to the kitchen, trying to appear normal, hoping to hide the letter somewhere safer. But the door to her room shifted, and she froze, eyes fixed on it. Someone was outside.

Quickly, she pocketed the letter, turned off the light, and pretended to sleep. The door creaked open, and in the dim light she glimpsed a figure in black. Before she could react, it dashed away. She followed—but it had vanished into the shadows. Her heart pounded with dread.

---

When Elara returned downstairs, she found Manang Lorna waiting, face taut with worry.

“Miss Elara—you need to get out of here. Someone came into your room last night.” she said, voice trembling.

Elara’s heart raced.

“Are you okay?”

Manang Lorna shook her head. She knew the office was the only place still holding secrets—so she had waited until midnight to search there.

She had dug through the files and found an old dossier. Inside was a contract—Leandro’s name on it, and below, a chilling line:

“Transfer of all Montemayor family assets.”

Her heart nearly stopped.

Leandro had been pressured to sign but had refused. That was why he was killed. When he tried to leave, the office door opened unexpectedly—and there stood Kasha, face full of rage.

“You shouldn’t have touched that,” she’d hissed.

The room was deathly silent.

That moment, Elara had no choice. She froze, clutching the document as Kasha crept toward her. She knelt, but couldn’t pull back.

“So you did kill Leandro?” she whispered.

Kasha paused, then smiled coldly.

“What do you think?”

Elara held the contract up. “He refused to sign this and he paid for it with his life.”

Kasha’s expression shifted—calculating.

“You think I did this alone?”

Taken aback, Elara nodded.

“Of course not. Who do you think helped me?”

Elara’s heart pounded—if not Kasha, then who?

“Montemayor.”

The words were a dagger in the silence.

That very night, Elara sneaked into the study again. A small envelope lay hidden in a drawer—proof.

Inside, a letter from Leandro read:

“If they think I don’t know, they’re wrong. I will never sign. Even if I die, I’ll not give them this. I know.”

Elara’s breath caught—Leandro had trusted her with the truth.

A noise outside—footsteps. She froze.

Suddenly, Montemayor appeared.

He didn’t look surprised.
“What are you doing in my office at midnight?”

Elara steadied herself.
“I was searching for the truth about Leandro.”

He fixed her with cold eyes.
“You won’t find it here. The conversation’s over.”

But Elara couldn’t stop now.

“Leandro’s death wasn’t an accident. You knew…”

His face flickered. He walked to the desk, picked up the letter, and placed it down hard.

“Leandro discovered I was not his biological father. He was being pressured about the inheritance. He refused—and he was killed. You already knew that, didn’t you?”

He nodded slowly. Elara swallowed, horrified.

“So you knew Leandro could be murdered, and you did nothing?”

Montemayor closed his eyes.
“I couldn’t stop it.”

Her stomach turned to lead. He had allowed it.

“You didn’t kill him,” she whispered.
“But you know who did.”

He blushed but didn’t deny it.

Elara held her breath, then asked the question she feared most:

“Was it Kasha?”

Montemayor’s eyes widened with shock—and a flicker of pain.

Reality crashed over her: Kasha had killed her brother.

“Why?”

He exhaled slowly.
“Because Leandro discovered the truth.”

“What truth?”

His gaze was weary, drained.

“The truth about our family’s money.”

Elara trembled.

Leandro had found a secret about the inheritance.

“If he wasn’t your son, he wasn’t heir.”

“But he would have stopped her plans.”

Elara’s spine turned to ice.

“Kasha orchestrated it all. A perfect plan—to make Leandro disappear.”

“So that means… he’s the next target.”
“Why are you telling me this?” she asked, her voice trembling.
Kasha smiled, but her eyes were sharp—like a killer’s.
“Because you won’t get the chance to tell anyone else.”
She was going to kill him, right here.
Elara turned and ran.

But at that moment, a gunshot rang out.
The room shook under the weight of that unnatural silence.
Elara froze. Her heart pounded.
She turned around.
Kasha was standing still. Motionless.
Her eyes wide with fear.
And then—she collapsed.

Blood spilled from her shoulder.
Mr. Montemayor stood behind her, holding the still-smoking gun.
A terrifying silence swept across the room.
Kasha lay on the floor, clutching her wounded shoulder.
Blood soaked her white nightgown.
Elara was stunned.
The man’s eyes locked on Mr. Montemayor, still gripping the gun tightly.

Mr. Montemayor had just shot his own child.

“Papay…” Kasha groaned, her bloody hand pressed to the floor.
“Why? Why did you do this?”
His voice trembled—not from pain, but from fury.

Mr. Montemayor said nothing.
His eyes darkened. He had gone too far.

When he finally spoke, his words were heavy.
Elara could feel the despair in them.
He asked, quietly but firmly:
“What is really happening here?”

He took a deep breath.

“I never wanted Leandro to die,” he said slowly.
His voice was hoarse.

“But you let him die.”

Elara clenched her fists.
Mr. Montemayor closed his eyes, his face full of regret.

“You couldn’t stop me,” Kasha said bitterly.
“Don’t pretend, Father. You’re the one who taught me to protect the family’s wealth at all costs.
You gave me the right to do whatever it took.”

She looked him dead in the eye—not like a daughter, but like an enemy.
“And now you’ve betrayed me.”

Mr. Montemayor said nothing.
His hands trembled.
Elara felt suffocated, staring at the man before her—a man who was once powerful and fearsome, now only a shadow of the past.

A man who had lost everything.

“Do you even know?” Kasha growled.
“I’ve never once regretted what I did. Leandro deserved to die.”

Elara was horrified.

“He didn’t take anything from me,” she nearly shouted.
“Why did you do it?”

Kasha grinned, her eyes like ice.
“Because he dared to go against me.”
That confession struck Elara like a blow.

Kasha truly felt no remorse.

Just then, police sirens blared outside the mansion.

Suddenly, the study door burst open and a squad of officers stormed in.

“Drop the gun!” one of them shouted.

Mr. Montemayor dropped the weapon, his eyes hollow.
Two officers immediately restrained him.

Elara was pushed aside.
She just stood there.
Watching it all unfold.

Watching Kasha dragged away, muttering nonsense.
Watching Mr. Montemayor walk away in silence, as if he had accepted his fate long ago.

It was over.

---

Three days passed.
Elara left the Montemayor estate.
She never looked back.

The mansion had become a house of death.
A place haunted by the ghosts of the past.

Leandro was gone.
Kasha imprisoned.
Mr. Montemayor stripped of all power—charged as an accomplice to murder.

Everything had collapsed, and she was the only one left.
She stepped out of the past, and for the first time in a long while, she felt peace.

A year later, Elara had a new life.
She opened a small bakery in another city, where no one knew her.
Each day was filled with flour, sugar, and milk—no more schemes, no more lies.
She had found peace again.

But the past never truly disappears.
One night, while cleaning up, the shop’s small bell rang.
A customer stepped in.
Elara looked up—and froze.
The man looked familiar.
He placed an envelope on the counter.

His voice was low.
“This is something Leandro left for you.”
Elara stared at the envelope, unable to believe what she was seeing.
She thought it was all over.
But maybe… the truth still hadn’t fully come to light.

She was stunned.
Her heart pounded as she stared at the envelope.
The man in front of her looked like a foreigner.
But his voice held something strangely familiar.

“Who are you?” she whispered.

The man looked at her with deep, knowing eyes.
“Leandro asked me to give this to you. In case everything ended.”
Those words pierced her heart.
She reached out with trembling hands, fingers cold.

The man said nothing more.
He nodded and turned, disappearing into the night.

Elara stood there for a long while before she found the courage to open the envelope.
Inside was a letter.
Leandro’s familiar handwriting.

She took a deep breath and began to read:

---

“Elara, I don’t know if you’ll ever read this letter.
But if you’re holding it now, it means I’m no longer with you.
I’m sorry.
I’ve known for a long time that this family was hiding a terrible secret.
I tried to uncover the truth.
Leandro.”

---

Elara folded the letter.
Her hands trembled.
Not a single tear fell.
She had cried too much.
She had suffered too deeply.

Now, all that remained was a strange sense of loss.

Leandro had known he couldn’t escape fate.
He tried to protect her.
He tried to keep her away from the mess.
But in the end, he couldn’t get out.
He lost everything—but he never lost himself.

And she would no longer let the past define who she was.

Elara stood up.
She looked out the window.
The night sky was clear and peaceful.
No more secrets.
No more conspiracies.
No more deaths haunting her every night.

She had stepped out of the darkness.
And she knew—Leandro wanted her to move on.

She would live—for him, too.

Elara tucked the letter into a small wooden box,
Along with her final memories of Leandro.
Then she closed the lid, locking the past away.

From this moment on, she would never look back.

She would keep moving forward, no matter where the road might lead.

---

The next morning, as the sun rose, Elara stood outside her bakery.
She took a deep breath.
The luxurious mansion was long gone.

A young neighbor ran over, holding a sketch in his hand.

“Miss Elara, what are you looking for?”

She bent down and picked up the picture.
When was the last time she smiled—truly smiled?
She had forgotten what it felt like.

But now, she felt it again.

She gently patted the child’s head.
She smiled softly.

“Thank you. Your drawing is beautiful.”

The child beamed and happily ran off.

Elara watched him go.
A strange warmth filled her heart.

Maybe, just maybe, she had finally found her own light.

No matter how much darkness, how much loss she had endured—
As long as there was hope,
She would always find her way.

Elara stepped into the bakery, ready to start a new day.
Life goes on—and so would she.

She was no longer the woman chained to the past.
She had learned to stand.
She had learned to move forward.
And this time, she would let no one decide her fate.

Her journey had ended—
But her life had only just begun.