CHAPTER 3 — SOMEONE WAS WATCHING HER
Clara stared at the anonymous message until the screen went dark in her hand.
Stop looking, Clara... or next time, you won't wake up at 2:13 a.m.
A chill crawled up her spine.
No signature.
No number she recognized.
Only a prepaid phone that couldn't be traced.
Gabriel quietly took the phone from her and read the message twice.
His expression hardened.
"This isn't someone trying to scare you."
He looked toward the office window before lowering the blinds.
"This is someone who knows exactly what you've been doing today."
Clara's mouth went dry.
"That's impossible."
"I never told anyone I came here."
Gabriel didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he walked to the front reception and locked the office door.
When he returned, his voice was barely above a whisper.
"Did anyone see you leave your house?"
Clara replayed the morning in her mind.
The gardener trimming the hedges.
The delivery van parked across the street.
A man pretending to read a newspaper inside a dark sedan.
At the time, she hadn't noticed anything unusual.
Now every detail felt different.
"I... I don't know."
Gabriel sighed.
"From this moment on, assume every move you make is being watched."
An hour later, Clara drove home by a different route.
Twice she deliberately turned down random streets.
Three times she circled the same block.
Each time, the same black SUV appeared several cars behind her.
Never close.
Never obvious.
Always there.
Her heartbeat quickened.
At the next traffic light, she suddenly turned into an underground shopping center.
The SUV drove past.
Only after waiting fifteen minutes did she continue home.
Yet the feeling refused to leave.
Someone had expected her to panic.
Someone had expected her to make mistakes.
She wouldn't.
Not anymore.
The mansion looked exactly as it always had.
Fresh flowers.
Perfectly trimmed gardens.
The fountain sparkling beneath the afternoon sun.
A beautiful prison.
Inside, everything was quiet.
Too quiet.
She walked upstairs toward her pottery studio.
It had always been her sanctuary.
Shelves filled with glazed bowls.
Half-finished sculptures.
Clay waiting to become something beautiful.
But today...
Something was wrong.
One shelf had been moved.
Only by a few inches.
Most people would never notice.
Clara did.
She had arranged every piece herself.
Someone had searched the room.
Carefully.
Professionally.
Without leaving obvious signs.
She immediately checked the drawer where she secretly kept copies of her exhibition contracts.
Untouched.
Then the cabinet beneath the worktable.
Untouched.
Finally she opened an old ceramic kiln she no longer used.
Hidden inside was the envelope containing every photograph she had copied that morning.
Gone.
She staggered backward.
"No..."
She searched the studio again.
Every drawer.
Every shelf.
Every box.
Nothing.
The copies had vanished.
Yet she was certain she had hidden them there before leaving.
Someone had entered her studio while she was gone.
Someone had known exactly where to look.
That evening, Julián returned home carrying white roses.
Her favorite.
He smiled the same practiced smile that had fooled everyone for decades.
"I thought we could have dinner together tonight."
Clara forced herself to smile.
"That sounds lovely."
He kissed her forehead.
"You look tired."
"Long day?"
"I worked in the studio."
He nodded casually.
"I stopped by this afternoon."
Her pulse skipped.
"You... did?"
"I wanted to see your newest pieces."
He walked toward the dining room.
"There wasn't much to look at."
Clara stared after him.
He had just admitted it.
Without realizing it.
He had been inside her studio.
He had taken the evidence.
And he wanted her to know it.
It wasn't theft.
It was a warning.
Dinner felt like a performance.
Crystal glasses reflected candlelight.
Soft classical music played in the background.
The housekeeper served roasted sea bass before quietly leaving the room.
Only Clara and Julián remained.
He poured wine into both glasses.
"To us."
She gently lifted hers.
"To honesty."
For the first time all evening, his smile faltered.
Only for a second.
Then it returned.
"You've always had an interesting sense of humor."
Clara looked directly into his eyes.
"Have I?"
Before he could answer, his phone buzzed on the table.
The screen lit up.
He reached for it too late.
Clara had already seen the name.
Valeria.
Julián immediately turned the phone over.
"Business."
Clara nodded calmly.
"Of course."
Business.
Just like the hotel photographs.
Just like the secret letters.
Just like every lie he had told for fifteen years.
Late that night, after Julián fell asleep, Clara quietly slipped from the bed.
She carried only a flashlight.
And the small silver key she had found in the study.
Something kept bothering her.
The hidden filing cabinet had been too obvious.
Too organized.
Too clean.
Men like Julián never kept their biggest secrets in the first hiding place.
She returned to the study.
This time she searched differently.
Not the drawers.
Not the shelves.
The walls.
The floor.
The furniture.
Nearly forty minutes passed before she noticed tiny scratches beneath the antique Persian rug.
She rolled it back.
There.
Embedded in the hardwood floor.
A nearly invisible steel ring.
Her hands trembled as she pulled.
The floor panel lifted silently.
Beneath it lay a narrow steel safe.
Unlike the cabinet upstairs...
This one required no key.
It was already unlocked.
Almost as if someone had forgotten to close it.
Or...
Wanted someone to find it.
Inside was only one object.
A thick manila envelope.
Across the front, written in black marker, were six words that froze Clara where she knelt.
OPEN ONLY IF CLARA FINDS OUT.
For several long seconds, she couldn't breathe.
Who had written it?
Julián?
Someone helping him?
Or someone secretly trying to save her?
With shaking fingers, Clara broke the seal.
The first photograph slid into her lap.
It wasn't a picture of Julián.
It was a picture of her.
Sleeping.
Taken from inside her own bedroom.
The second photograph was even worse.
It showed her standing at her mother's grave only three weeks earlier.
She had been alone.
Or so she thought.
The third photograph made the blood drain from her face.
May you like
Written across it in red ink were five terrifying words:
"WE SEE EVERYTHING YOU DO."
