Alejandro had been gone for nearly an entire day.
To anyone else, that might not have seemed unusual. But Lucía knew him too well. He never stepped away from something he considered his. If he disappeared, it meant he was quietly arranging something behind the scenes.
Carmen Ruiz was the first to sense that something wasn’t right.
After a slight change was made to Lucía’s treatment, her test results began to shift. The liver levels that had been climbing dangerously were now stabilizing. It wasn’t a miracle, but it didn’t match the earlier prognosis that had given her “no more than three days.”
“This doesn’t make sense,” the attending doctor said, studying the screen with a furrowed brow. “If the damage was truly irreversible, we wouldn’t be seeing this kind of response.”
Carmen and Lucía exchanged a silent glance.
The pattern was becoming harder to dismiss.
The next day, Alejandro returned—perfectly dressed as always, his expensive cologne lingering, his expression carefully arranged into one of concern.
“How is she?” he asked at the nurses’ station.
“Stable,” Carmen answered calmly.
For a brief second, his jaw tightened—but just as quickly, he masked it.
Lucía noticed the shift the moment he stepped into her room.
“My love…” he said gently, moving closer to her bed. “You don’t look well.”
Lucía kept her breathing slow, her eyes half-lidded.
“I’m just tired,” she murmured.
He leaned in, lowering his voice so no one else could hear.
“I’ve already spoken to the lawyer,” he said quietly. “Just in case… things don’t go the way we expect.”
Lucía opened her eyes fully now, watching him carefully.
“Always thinking ahead,” she said evenly.
For a split second, something cracked in his expression.
“I’m only protecting what’s ours,” he replied.
But this time, Lucía didn’t look away.
Because now she understood.
This was never about fear.
It was about control.
And for the first time since she had been admitted, she wasn’t afraid of dying—
She was afraid of what Alejandro had already set in motion.