Chapter 3: The Vault of Secrets
The master bedroom had been locked for three years.
Alejandro had forbidden anyone from entering it since the night Elena vanished. Everything was exactly as she had left it—her favorite perfume on the vanity, a book half-read on the nightstand, her silk robes in the closet.
When Alejandro carried her inside and gently placed her on the massive king-sized bed, Elena looked around with wide, terrified eyes.
“I… I know this room,” she whispered, clutching the edges of his coat.
A violent headache suddenly ripped through her skull. She gasped, grabbing her head as flashes of lightning illuminated the dark room.
Memories were fighting to break through the thick fog in her mind.
“Don't force it,” Alejandro said softly, sitting beside her and taking her calloused hands in his. “We have time. We have the rest of our lives.”
The mansion’s private doctor arrived minutes later.
The examination was a nightmare for Alejandro to witness. The doctor documented severe malnutrition, bruised ribs, and a healed but jagged scar on the back of Elena’s head—blunt force trauma.
“She didn't just fall, Mr. Castillo,” the doctor said quietly in the hallway. “Someone struck her. Hard. It’s a miracle she survived, let alone found her way back to this property.”
Alejandro’s fist clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white.
Someone had tried to murder his wife.
And they failed. So she wandered, lost and broken, right back to the only place her subconscious recognized as safe, only to be enslaved by Vivian.
When Alejandro returned to the room, Elena was wearing one of his softest cashmere sweaters, looking incredibly small.
“Alejandro?” her voice was barely a whisper.
He rushed to her side. “I’m here.”
“Before… before I woke up in the hospital three years ago with no memory…” she stammered, tears spilling down her cheeks. “I remember a car. I remember a man driving. It wasn't an accident, Alejandro. Someone pushed my car off the cliff.”
The air in the room turned to ice.
“Who?” Alejandro asked, his voice shaking with restrained rage.
Elena closed her eyes, squeezing them tight. “He had a tattoo on his wrist. A black scorpion.”
Alejandro’s heart stopped.
A black scorpion.
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He knew that tattoo. He saw it every single day at the office.
It belonged to Marcus, his Chief Financial Officer. His best man at their wedding. His most trusted friend.
