Chapter 3: The Silent War
By noon, Claraara realized something was very wrong.
Not medically.
Politically.
The staff avoided her now.
Not out of fear of Lorenzo—but fear of her.
Doors closed when she approached. Conversations died mid-sentence. Even the guards watched her differently.
Like she had crossed an invisible line.
That afternoon, she cornered Mateo.
“You’re not telling me something.”
Mateo didn’t deny it.
Instead, he leaned against the marble counter, eyes shadowed.
“My father didn’t lose his voice,” he said quietly.
Claraara’s stomach tightened.
“He chose not to use it.”
“Why?”
Mateo exhaled slowly.
“Because the last time he spoke… three people died within the hour.”
The words hung like smoke.
Claraara crossed her arms. “That doesn’t explain three years.”
“No,” Mateo said. “It explains why everyone was terrified of what happens next.”
Upstairs, something crashed.
Both of them froze.
Then Lorenzo’s voice echoed faintly down the hall—
“Matteo.”
Not Mateo.
Matteo.
Claraara saw it instantly.
The subtle difference.
The truth in the name.
May you like
Mateo went pale again.
“He never calls me that.”
