Part 2: The Shadows of the Past
The aftermath of Vivian’s arrest sent shockwaves through the global financial markets. Yet, for Alejandro, the courtroom battles and the crumbling of the Laurent empire were mere background noise. His entire existence had narrowed down to the woman residing in the east wing of the Valmont estate.
Elena was healing, but the scars were not merely physical. While the bruises on her wrists had faded into pale, thin lines, the psychological chains Vivian had forged remained firmly locked. She would often wake up at 3:00 AM, heart hammering against her ribs, frantically searching for a bucket or a rag, her hands twitching with the phantom memory of scrubbing marble floors.
Alejandro rarely slept. He spent his nights sitting in a velvet chair by her bedside, watching the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest. Every time she stirred, he was there, offering a steady hand or a soft word. He had replaced the entire staff of the mansion, bringing in a team of trauma specialists and caretakers who treated Elena with the reverence one would accord a queen.
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But one evening, while Alejandro was reviewing documents in his study, he found a notebook tucked away in a hidden compartment of his desk—one he hadn’t opened since the day he left for Spain seven years ago. As he flipped through the pages, his blood turned to ice. It was a logbook he had kept during the early years of their marriage. On the very last page, in Elena’s delicate handwriting, were the words: "If anything happens to me, look beneath the floorboards of the old summer house. He is watching us, Alejandro. He is always watching."
The "he" remained a mystery. Alejandro sat in the dark, the air in the study becoming suffocating. He realized with a jolt of terror that the accident seven years ago had not been a random tragedy, nor was Vivian acting entirely alone. Vivian was a pawn, a cruel and jealous one, but she was a pawn nonetheless. Someone had given her the opportunity to take Elena.
