Mora spent the night half-awake, peeping through the thin fabric of her bed sheet like a spy on a mission—waiting for him to make a move.
Ridiculous, she thought. Waiting for a blind and crippled man to make a move? She really looked stupid.
She took turns glancing his way every few minutes, wondering if he might need help getting to the restroom. She'd gone through his medical file earlier that evening. If her predictions from his scans were right—since he clearly refused to discuss anything with her—his condition was the aftermath of a terrible accident.
That intimidating, rigid, larger-than-life man… in an accident? She couldn't picture it. And that, she decided, was a story she definitely wanted to hear.
Guemo on the other hand had made it clear, he didn't want his mother to meddle in his affairs. He didn't understand her obsession with the people who looked after him. Typical of her—always worrying about the family's image, never doing anything to prevent them from needing to hide something in the first place.
Before he could even process it, she'd already handpicked someone.
That night, the air was thick—he could almost feel the tension pressing against his skin. Understandable, of course. It was her first night there. She'd get used to it eventually. They always did.
Guemo was used to many things—getting his way, silencing people with his presence, bending their will until they forgot they had one. Consideration for others had never been part of his training.
…
The next morning, Mora woke to an empty room.
Her patient's bed—empty.
His wheelchair—gone.
Her heart—racing.
She blinked, wondering if she was still half-dreaming. But the frightening warning Ramona had given her before came rushing back, sending panic clawing at her chest.
She jumped out of bed, bare feet slapping against the cold floor as she dashed out. She tiptoed past the other bedroom doors in the hallway, terrified of running into Ramona.
By the time she made it down the long staircase—barefoot, still in her sheer nightgown—she slowed her steps. There, by the bar, stood a blond man. His face carried the same sharp features as Guemo and Ramona's, though softer—perhaps younger.
"And you are…..?" he asked, a teasing grin tugging at his lips as his eyes swept over her.
"Sorry," she gasped, trying to catch her breath. "I'm Señor Guemo's nurse."
"Nurse?" he repeated, arching a brow, his gaze lingering far too long on her thin nightgown. "So… he's into women now?"
Mora froze. Into women?
Was her arrival supposed to be a secret? Or worse—was she not expected? And did that mean… he wasn't?
Was he gay? She thought.
Getting back to what was more important before she runs into Ramona; she asked "Please—did you happen to see him anywhere? When I woke up, he was gone."
"Him? Guemo?" the man asked, amused. He leaned away from the counter and began walking toward her. "He should be in the stables."
Stables? A cripple? She definitely needs to find him before she was found.
"Thank you Senor….." Without another word, she turned and bolted out of the hall, her feet cold against the tiled floor, sheer gown fluttering behind her.
"Emiliano!" he called after her, his voice blending with the morning breeze that whipped through her ears.
She crossed the long courtyard connecting the main estate to the servants' quarters, rushing past stone patios until she reached the first line of horse stalls. From the outer view, she saw nothing—only feed bins and hay.
But then she heard voices.
Following the sound, she crept toward a smaller wooden building behind the stables. The entire place felt like a hidden town—massive and secretive.
"We need to expand the lands in El Arenal," a deep voice said.
"We already have enough there," another replied, quieter but firm.
She remembered that voice. The fear of it kept her awoke the entire night.
"Not enough to fund the campaign," the third speaker countered. "The numbers look good if we just want to stay in business—but if we're competing with González, we'll need more than that."
Mora frowned. Campaign?Business? What kind of family was this?
"I hope you took care of the problem at Amatitan?" the first voice she heard spoke again.
Leaning against the barn door, Mora's curiosity deepened. What problem? What kind of dealings were these?
If they owned land in El Arenal, how come she'd never heard of them? Well her father did. It seemed strange he never felt the need to mention them. That in itself was strange.
Juana must have worked here. She thought contemplating on the possibilities of knowing so much about such a secretive family.
"I handle office business. That's not my job" a voice said sharply
"You expect your brother to handle that in his condi-"
"I got it sorted lasts week."! Guemo interrupted.
Mora froze. Her father's warning echoed in her head, and her stomach twisted painfully. Sorted out what?
"And he's still refusing to export the last stock?"
"He told me he was working on it" Guemo reassured coolly.
"Well I hope he isn't loud mouthed like his father"
"No" Guemo said flatly "Unlike his father, he has a two-year old daughter and wife which he cares more about than ambition".
Mora's breath caught at the sound of that. Trying to align the information she was hearing and the cognitive meaning to it, her hand slipped on the wooden latch.
The door creaked open
She froze. Three pairs of male eyes turned toward her.
"Why the silence Gustavo?" Guemo voice sliced through the stillness
"Who are you"? Eduardo rose sharply from his seat pulling out a pistol from the back of his pants in one fluid, terrifying motion, so swift, Mora barely saw it coming. Her body stiffened, her throat locked. She wanted to scream—but the fear of that trigger being pulled sealed her lips shut.
"W–wait—I—" She tried, but her voice died before the words formed.
"Woman, are you dumb?" the older man snapped—the same voice that had first spoken. Mora recognized him instantly. He was the man in the portrait hanging beside Ramona's. His face was even more commanding, more frightening, in person.
"Miss Morena?" Guemo drawled with a sneer. A brief moment of breeze passed through Mora.
"Y–yes, sir," she stammered, her voice trembling.
Eduardo's cold navy-blue eyes scanned her from head to toe before he slowly lowered his gun, slipping it away casually like he hadn't just pointed it at someone's heart.
"Who is she?" the older man demanded again.
"My nurse..."Guemo breathed before continuing "and I will like to know what you're doing here?"
"Actually…" she began hesitantly, still trying to steady her breath. "I came to check if you were okay."
"I'm ok you can go" he dismissed her so casually, like the event that occurred was so insignificant.
"I hope this one knows how to keep her mouth shut," the older man said darkly.
"I doubt it," Eduardo muttered, taking his seat, crossing one leg over the other and flashing a teasing grin in her direction. "She's already wandering off from her quarters."
"I said I'm fine," Guemo snapped, irritation biting into his voice. "What are you still doing here?"
That was all Mora needed. She turned and bolted.
…
Mora had been pacing her bedroom for nearly an hour, her heart still pounding with the memory of that pistol—
that conversation—
those men.
I hope this one knows how to keep her mouth shut.
The words haunted her.
There wasn't enough money in the world to risk her life like this. Her father's warnings echoed in her head. She started considering packing up and leaving that very night—until the door creaked open again.
She spun around. Gustavo entered first, followed by Guemo.
"I'm sure you're already well acquainted with Gustavo. He's my everything here; eyes, legs, ears-everything and from now on, will be your bodyguard as well. You can bore him with all your questions"
As he spoke, the sunlight from the window hit his face—finally giving her a clear view of him. Earlier, in that dim barn, she could barely make out his features.
Now she saw everything.
Even with the black patch over one eye, his face was devastatingly handsome. His dark hair was sleeked into a low ponytail, his sharp features perfectly aligned like those of a Greek sculpted statue. His single, deep navy-green eye gleamed as it caught the light. Even from his wheelchair, he carried himself with quiet and dangerous power—broad shoulders, firm jaw, a commanding presence.
It was evident from there that he looked after himself in his past-walking life. He was well built. And that half-open traditional shirt didn't help her nerves. The thin trail of hair on his chest caught the light, and for one wild second, Mora felt something twist inside her—heat, embarrassment, fear, all tangled together. Really, Mora? Now? She scolded herself.
"Next time," Guemo said evenly, "wait for me. Don't barge into my meetings."
"Maybe give me a heads-up next time you wake up," Mora snapped back, pointing toward the small bell on his bedside table. "I left a key bell beside your bed for a reason. A cripple waking up without his nurse is… well, unsettling."
His brow darkened. He turned to Gustavo. "Go get the car ready." Then, facing her again, his voice sharpened. "I ignored that tone last night because I assumed you were still uncomfortable sharing the same space—but I won't tolerate it a second time."
"Likewise," Mora shot back, fury tightening her chest. It was her worry for him that almost pushed her towards an early death.
Was that how they just treated people who eased dropped on their conversations? By pulling out a pistol? He didn't even care to explain nor calm her down.
"Excuse me?" he barked, his tone edged with disbelief and amusement.
"Señor Guemo Aguirre," she began firmly, her tone professional yet blazing, "this is a patient–doctor relationship. We already compromised boundaries when I agreed to share a room with you, but that's where it ends. You need me more than I need you. Respect should go both ways. I'm your doctor, not your maid. You don't get to push me around. I hope we understand each other."
For a second, the room went silent. Mora's heart hammered—but she didn't back down.
Finally, he leaned back; interlocking his fingers
"Yes," he said slowly, "we do."
Then he added, "You're fired."