At breakfast, Olivia inspected the table theatrically.
“Forks go on the left, Isabela. Is that really so hard?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Isabela replied evenly, adjusting them without hesitation.

Olivia’s eyes narrowed.
“You think you’re strong. You’ll crack.”

But days turned into weeks, and Isabela didn’t break. She mastered every detail—coffee at the perfect temperature, dresses pressed before Olivia asked, shoes gleaming.

Don Ricardo noticed.
“She’s been here over a month,” he remarked one evening. “That’s a first.”

Olivia waved it off.
“She’s tolerable. For now.”

What Olivia didn’t realize was that Isabela was quietly observing everything—her routines, her moods, even the nights she left the mansion claiming to attend charity events.

One evening while Olivia was out, Isabela was dusting Don Ricardo’s office when he entered unexpectedly.

“I thought you’d already left,” he said.

“I live on the property, sir,” she replied. “It makes late work easier.”

He studied her.
“You’re not like the others. They were afraid.”

“Fear leads to mistakes,” Isabela said calmly. “I can’t afford mistakes.”

Before he could respond, the front door slammed. Olivia had returned early.

The next day, Olivia stayed in her room, making hushed phone calls. Isabela noticed her tension, the way she avoided Don Ricardo.

That night, passing the master suite, Isabela overheard Olivia whispering through a half-open door.
“I told you not to call me here. He can’t know. Not yet.”

Isabela’s pulse quickened. She walked on, certain now that Olivia’s secret was the reason so many maids had failed.

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