Chapter 3 - The Matriarch in ChainsThe next morning, the mansion operated as if nothing had happened. Sunbeams poured through the high glass windows of the grand dining room. Verónica sat at the head of the long mahogany table, sipping black coffee and reviewing floral arrangements for an upcoming charity gala.
Clara moved quietly around the room, wiping down silver trays and refilling water glasses. Every movement was calculated, every expression guarded. She knew Verónica was watching her every move like a hawk.
During her break, Clara slipped into the mansion's quiet library under the pretense of dusting the high bookshelves. She needed to understand how a mother could be imprisoned under her own son's roof without him knowing.
On the wall hung a large family portrait painted five years ago. It showed a younger, smiling Ricardo sitting beside an elegant, dignified woman with silver hair—Doña Leonor. Standing behind them, holding Ricardo's shoulder with a sharp, possessive grip, was Verónica.
Clara remembered hearing gossip among the older staff before they were replaced by Verónica's newly hired crew. Doña Leonor had owned the entire del Monte fortune and estate. When Ricardo married Verónica three years ago, Leonor had been skeptical of the younger woman's motives, openly opposing the union. Shortly after, news spread that Leonor had fallen ill with early-stage dementia and was sent to a private medical estate in the Swiss Alps for specialized care.
It was all a lie, Clara realized, her hands trembling as she polished the picture frame. She never went to Europe. Verónica hid her down there to take full control of the family trust.
Later that afternoon, while Verónica was away in town for a spa appointment, Clara seized her chance. She packed a small piece of bread and a flask of clean water inside her apron. Slighting down the service corridor, she reached the cellar door.
Verónica had added a heavy combination padlock to the outer wooden door, but the frame was old. Clara used an old brass letter opener from the library to slip the latch, prying the door open just enough to squeeze through.
She hurried down the dark steps into the cold cellar. "Doña Leonor?" she whispered softly.
The old woman crept out from the corner of her cell, clutching the iron bars. Her hands were bruised, her fingernails brittle. Tears welled in her hollow eyes as she saw Clara holding out the flask of water.
"You came back," Leonor rasped, drinking greedily through the bars. "God bless you, child... I thought she had hurt you."
"I don't have much time," Clara said hurriedly, watching the stairs. "Why is she doing this to you? Why doesn't Señor Ricardo know?"
Leonor wept softly, wiping her mouth with her sleeve. "Ricardo is a good boy, but he trusts her completely. Two years ago, Verónica began slipping small doses of sedatives into my tea. She forged my signature on legal documents, transferring the estate's power of attorney to herself. When I threatened to tell Ricardo, she locked me down here and told him I had suffered a mental breakdown and moved to Europe."
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"We have to get you out," Clara said firmly.
"No, child," Leonor cautioned, reaching out to touch Clara's hand. "Verónica controls the security guards, the household staff, and the family lawyers. If you try to run with me, she will catch us before we reach the main gate. You must bring Ricardo to me. He must see the truth with his own eyes."
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