The photograph burned in my hands.
I couldn’t look away from it, my mother’s face frozen in time, staring at me like she was still trying to tell me something—something I had never been able to hear.
Clara sat beside me, her fingers curled around mine, grounding me. “Bela,” she murmured, voice careful. “What if she really did know something?”
I exhaled sharply, shaking my head. “Then why didn’t she tell me? Why would she hide it?”
Clara hesitated. “Maybe she was protecting you.”
I swallowed hard. That thought had crossed my mind before, but it didn’t make it any easier. If my mother had known something—something dangerous—it meant her death hadn’t been random. It hadn’t been fate.
It had been planned.
And Helena was here to finish whatever had started.
I pushed the photo away, running a hand over my face. “I need to talk to Evelyn. She might be able to trace where this photo came from.”
Clara nodded. “And your aunt?”
I clenched my jaw. “She’s playing a game. She wants me to need her.”
Clara’s eyes darkened. “She’s manipulating you.”
“I know.”
“And you’re not going to let her, right?”
I hesitated.
Because the truth was—I didn’t know how to fight this yet.
And that terrified me.
Marcelo and Evelyn arrived an hour later, both tense, both looking like they already knew something was wrong.
I slid the photograph across the table to Evelyn. “I need to know where this came from.”
She picked it up, examining it carefully before flipping it over. There was nothing written on the back—no markings, no time stamps. Nothing.
Marcelo leaned forward. “Where did you get this?”
I hesitated. “My aunt.”
His jaw tightened. “The one your mother never talked about?”
I nodded.
Evelyn was already typing, scanning the image for any metadata, anything that could give us a lead.
After a few minutes, she sighed. “Nothing digital. This was printed. Someone wanted to make sure there was no trace.”
“Which means,” Marcelo muttered, “whoever took it didn’t want it found.”
A chill ran down my spine.
Clara leaned forward. “So what does that mean? That her mother was being followed?”
Evelyn met my gaze. “It means someone knew she was asking the wrong questions.”
I swallowed hard.
My mother had always been careful. Always cautious. If she had realized she was being watched, she wouldn’t have ignored it.
She would have fought.
Just like I would.
I pushed back from the table. “I need to talk to her.”
Marcelo frowned. “Who?”
I met his gaze. “Helena.”
I met Helena in a quiet café on the outskirts of the city. It was a place I had chosen, a place I knew was neutral. She was already there when I arrived, sipping her tea like she had all the time in the world.
She smiled when she saw me. “I was wondering when you’d come.”
I slid into the seat across from her, my hands clenched into fists beneath the table. “No games. Tell me what you know.”
She tilted her head. “I know a lot of things, sobrinha.”
I gritted my teeth. “Don’t call me that.”
Her smirk didn’t fade. “You look just like her, you know.”
I ignored the twisting in my stomach. “What do you want?”
Her gaze flickered with something I couldn’t quite place. “I want what I’ve always wanted. The truth.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Then tell me what you know.”
Helena exhaled slowly, setting her teacup down. “Your mother found something she wasn’t supposed to. Something that got her killed.”
I felt Clara’s warning in the back of my mind: She’s manipulating you.
But I couldn’t walk away.
“What did she find?” I asked.
Helena leaned in slightly, her voice softer now. “A name.”
My pulse pounded. “Whose?”
Helena smiled slightly. “Someone who still wants you dead.”
The air felt thick. My breath came shallow. “Who?”
Helena hesitated. “If I tell you, you owe me something in return.”
I clenched my jaw. “I don’t owe you anything.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Not even for your mother?”
My stomach twisted.
I wanted to walk away.
But I couldn’t.
Because she was right.
I had to know.
I exhaled sharply. “Fine. Tell me the name.”
Helena leaned back, satisfied. Then, she slid a folded piece of paper across the table.
I hesitated before picking it up.
One glance at the name written inside, and my blood ran cold.
I barely heard Helena’s voice.
“Now, you belong to this, too.”
I stood abruptly, my chair scraping against the floor. My hands shook as I shoved the paper into my pocket.
Helena didn’t stop me as I turned and walked away.
But as I stepped outside, the weight of what I had just learned settled into my chest.
The name was one I knew.
One I had trusted.
One I had never expected to betray me.
I pulled the paper out again, staring at the name written in Helena’s elegant script.
Marcelo.
I stood outside the café, my breath uneven, my hands shaking.
No.
It wasn’t possible.
Marcelo had saved me. He had been there from the beginning.
Hadn’t he?
I swallowed hard, my mind racing through every moment, every time he had known things he shouldn’t have.
Had I been blind?
Had I trusted the wrong person all along?
I had to get back to Clara.
I had to tell her...
Before it was too late.