Chapter 5 - The Velvet Box
Ricardo froze, the blood draining completely from his face. He slowly turned his head to look back down at Leo.
"What did you say?" Ricardo asked, his voice barely a whisper. "What letters?"
Before Leo could answer, Elena lunged forward with sudden, desperate speed, her hand flying toward the small wooden dollhouse on the rug. With a sharp kick of her high heel, she sent the miniature structure sliding across the white floor, shattering the illusion of domestic peace. Plastic furniture scattered in every direction, and a hidden compartment beneath the dollhouse floor popped open, revealing a small, tarnished velvet box.
"Don't you dare touch that!" Elena screamed, her voice cracking for the first time, betraying a frantic, raw panic that she could no longer conceal.
Ricardo reacted on pure instinct. He shoved past her, dropping to his knees and grabbing the velvet box before her fingers could reach it. The latch was old, rusted brass, but it clicked open easily under the pressure of his thumb. Inside lay a stack of heavy, yellowed envelopes tied with a frayed black ribbon. The handwriting on the topmost envelope was frantic, messy, and unmistakably written by the woman who had lived in this penthouse before Elena—Ricardo’s first wife, Clara, who had allegedly died of a sudden heart attack in this very house five years ago.
Ricardo’s hands shook as he untied the ribbon. He pulled out the first folded sheet of paper, his eyes scanning the desperate ink lines.
“If you are reading this, it means she has already convinced you that I am losing my mind,” Clara’s handwriting screamed from the page. “She is not a nanny. She is not a friend. She is watching every move we make, waiting for the right moment to take my place—and to take my son. She locks me in the nursery every night. She wants me gone.”
Ricardo slowly lifted his head, his gaze locking onto Elena’s face. The woman standing before him in the maroon dress was no longer a stranger; she was a ghost wearing another person's life.
"Clara didn't die of a heart attack," Ricardo whispered, horror gripping his chest like a vise.
Elena stopped struggling. She slowly lowered her arms, a terrifying, humorless smile spreading across her painted lips.
May you like
"No, she didn't," Elena replied softly, her voice completely devoid of warmth. "And now that you've opened that box, you've just signed your son's permanent relocation papers."
---
