The millionaire’s son…

That sentence lingered in the air longer than it should have, heavy with a quiet cruelty that made Rafael tighten his grip again.

They approached the gates of the mansion, tall, imposing, the kind that promised safety to outsiders and silence to those inside.

Rafael slowed down, his foot hesitating over the brake, as if stopping the car meant stepping into something irreversible.

Mateo noticed the pause, his small voice breaking the tension, “Mr. Rafael… are you mad at me?”

The question struck deeper than expected, and Rafael immediately shook his head, forcing a steadiness into his tone.

“No, sir… not at all,” he said, though inside he felt anger rising, not toward the boy, but toward something much larger.

The gates opened automatically, smooth and silent, as if nothing inside those walls could ever be questioned or challenged.

Rafael drove in slowly, his eyes scanning the familiar surroundings that suddenly felt unfamiliar, every corner carrying a new, unsettling weight.

The mansion stood ahead, immaculate, sunlight reflecting off its polished surfaces, a perfect image carefully maintained for the world outside.

Mateo shifted slightly beside him, his shoulders tensing as they got closer, a subtle movement that Rafael would have overlooked any other day.

Now, it felt like a warning.

They stopped at the entrance, and for a moment neither of them moved, as if both understood that stepping out would mean returning to a silent agreement.

Rafael turned off the engine, the sudden quiet amplifying the sound of Mateo’s shallow breathing in the back seat.

“Do you want me to walk you inside?” Rafael asked, though he already knew the answer might not change anything.

Mateo shook his head quickly, almost instinctively, as if the suggestion itself carried a risk he couldn’t explain.

“She doesn’t like it when people stay,” he murmured, eyes still lowered, avoiding any direct connection.