Chapter 2 - The Sound of Broken Silence
The dining room remained frozen in time. Lucía stepped forward, reaching out to grab Valentina’s arm, fully expecting Alejandro to unleash the cold, thunderous rage he was famous for. He had fired staff members for much less—a dropped fork, a squeaky shoe, a misaligned napkin.
Instead, Alejandro slowly lowered his silver fork onto the porcelain plate. The metallic ring echoed off the high marble walls.
"What did you say?" Alejandro’s voice was barely above a whisper, but it carried an edge that made the air feel thin.
Valentina didn't flinch. She swung her little legs under the oversized chair, completely unbothered by the heavy atmosphere. "I asked if nobody wants to sit with you. My mom says eating alone makes food taste like paper."
Lucía gasped softly, her knuckles white as she squeezed her apron. "Mr. Rivas, please forgive her. She’s only two, she doesn't understand—"
"Lucía," Alejandro cut her off without raising his voice. "Is this your daughter?"
"Yes, sir. I'm taking her back to the kitchen right now. It won't happen again."
"No," Alejandro said. He reached out with his right hand, his fingers feeling along the smooth edge of the table until he located his glass of ice water. "She sits in that chair."
Lucía stopped, her mouth slightly open. "Sir?"
"You heard me," Alejandro said, taking a slow sip. "If she had the strength to drag that heavy chair across my floor, she can stay and finish her interrogation." He turned his sightless eyes back toward Valentina. "Tell me, Vale. Why aren't you afraid of me?"
Valentina tilted her head, staring at the dark glasses covering his eyes. "Because you look like a giant dark castle. And my doll says castles are just big houses that need lights."
A faint, almost imperceptible twitch appeared at the corner of Alejandro’s mouth. It wasn't quite a smile, but to the staff members watching from the shadows, it was nothing short of a miracle.
"A castle without lights," Alejandro murmured to himself. He set his glass down. "Lucía, bring another plate."
Lucía stood frozen for a beat before snapping out of her trance. "A... another plate, sir?"
"Unless you want your daughter to eat off the tablecloth," Alejandro said dryly. "Bring her some soup. And sit down yourself."
"Oh, no, sir, I couldn't—"
"That was not a request, Lucía. It is an order."
Five minutes later, Lucía sat nervously at the edge of a chair beside her daughter, while Valentina happily swung her spoon into a bowl of potato cream soup. For the first time in seven years, three plates were set at the grand mahogany table.
As Valentina rambled on about her rag doll and the neighbor's orange cat, Alejandro ate his meal in unusual silence. But he wasn't angry. He was listening. He was catching the soft, musical cadence of the little girl's voice and the gentle, anxious breaths of her mother beside her.
However, as the meal drew to a close, Valentina reached across the table to grab a bread roll. Her small sleeve caught the edge of a small, silver picture frame that sat permanently near Alejandro’s right side—a frame that had remained untouched, facing away from him, since the day Renata left.
The frame tipped over, crashing against a silver spoon.
"Valentina!" Lucía cried, reaching out to grab the frame.
"Don't touch it!" Alejandro barked, his voice suddenly sharp as broken glass.
The room snapped back into tension. Lucía pulled her hand back as if burned. Alejandro reached across the table, his fingers moving with frantic accuracy until they found the silver frame. He lifted it, his thumb tracing the cold metal edge.
"Leave us," Alejandro commanded, his tone dark and cold once more. "Both of you. Now."
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Lucía didn't wait for a second warning. She picked up Valentina, who was looking at Alejandro with big, confused eyes, and quickly rushed out toward the kitchen.
Left alone in the quiet dining room, Alejandro held the frame in his trembling hands. He couldn't see the picture inside, but he knew what it was: a photo of himself and Renata on their wedding day. But what he didn't know—what no one had ever dared to tell him—was that behind the backing of that frame lay a folded piece of yellowed paper, hidden away seven years ago by someone who wanted to ensure Alejandro never found out the truth about his accident.
