A distant thunder breaks the silence over the grand estate of La Promessa. The sound of a carriage’s hooves echoes against the damp cobblestones, as heavy, menacing clouds gather ominously above the tall towers. The guardians feel a chill run down their spines at the mention of a name whispered beneath the arches—Cruz. But this is not the person they thought they knew. Cloaked and shadowed, her eyes carrying the weight of untold secrets, she returns amid a whirlwind of suspicion and fear.

Inside the imposing walls, tension coils like a tightening noose. Lorenzo clenches his fist so hard it hurts, the air thick with whispered threats of vengeance mixed with tears of terror. Nothing will escape Cruz’s harsh judgment, and every alliance once thought unshakable begins to crumble under the strain. The question lingers in the charged atmosphere: who will survive her return? Cruz has come back to settle old scores—and she will do so on her own unforgiving terms.

Hidden behind an unassuming painting lies a devastating secret, one that threatens to crush the very foundations of the estate. A mysterious box, a name spoken with icy resolve, and a plan unfolding silently before everyone’s eyes—yet no one truly understands the full extent of what lies beneath the surface. Why was Sergeant Burdina summoned so urgently? What does the painting really conceal? Justice or revenge—one thing is certain: nothing will ever be the same again.

At the estate’s grand entrance, Alonso stands, gripping his cane, his gaze caught between gratitude and doubt. Unsure whether to welcome or reproach, he watches as Cruz descends the carriage dressed in black—exuding the aura of a powerful marchioness, but bearing the pain of long absence. Her arrival is a statement: her foot firmly planted, eyes fixed coldly on the palace facade. That home was hers once, yet now she regards it with distant indifference, burdened by nostalgia, pride, and sorrow all at once.

Alonso greets her with a voice calm but distant, uncertain whether to accept this new reality or reject it outright. Their eyes lock in a long, silent exchange until the inner doors open, revealing Manuel. His gaze is weary and marked by nights of mourning and rage. For a fleeting moment, Cruz lets down her proud facade and offers a fragile smile—a flicker of hope.

“Son of mine,” she says, stepping forward with outstretched hand, reaching for a memory long faded. But Manuel remains rigid, his face taut and unyielding. “Don’t call me that,” he replies harshly. Cruz hesitates, hand frozen mid-air, unsure whether to retreat or insist.

“I know you’re angry. I didn’t do what they say. I never would have had the courage,” she murmurs, voice breaking, uttering a name that cuts deep—Ann.

Manuel closes his eyes, as if pierced by a dagger. When he reopens them, tears glisten but his fury remains undiminished. “Don’t say her name. You must prove to me that you’re innocent. Until then, don’t call me your son.” His words fall heavy like stones, shattering what little hope Cruz clings to.

Heartbroken, breath shallow, eyes burning, Cruz sheds no tears. Manuel takes a firm step back, descends the stairs, and leaves without looking back. Left standing alone, Cruz whispers, “Son of mine,” but the courtyard wind carries the words away into silence.

In the days that follow, Cruz’s presence at the palace is like a spark in a tinderbox—ready to ignite chaos at any moment. Every corridor she crosses, every room she enters, is charged with looks ranging from respect to fear and open hostility. Yet one person does not hide her contempt: Leocadia.

Since Cruz’s return, Leocadia views her as a direct threat to the power she has painstakingly built. To her, Cruz belongs behind bars forever. Their gazes clash daily, neither willing to yield an inch. The tension between them culminates in a confrontation in the main hall that is almost tangible.

Cruz commands the mysterious painting to be displayed prominently—she wants everyone to see it. Leocadia enters, immaculate in her attire, a sly smile playing on her lips as she confidently hangs the portraits on the wall. Without looking back, Cruz remains stoic.

“I don’t need to feel like the owner,” Leocadia declares firmly. “I am the owner, I always have been, and nothing you do will change that.” She steps closer, the sharp click of her heels echoing on the gleaming marble.

“You always have been,” she whispers with barely concealed malice. “We’ll see how long that lasts. Your time in prison was very productive—I’ve gained the trust of many, including the marquis himself. Very soon, I will take everything that was once yours.”

Cruz lifts her gaze, fixing Leocadia with a cold smile. “What exactly do you mean?”

Leocadia offers a graceful bow, her voice low and venomous. “Alonso will never be alone again. The ground has been prepared. Darkness is coming.”

Leocadia’s whispered words, almost a hiss, reveal a dangerous plan. She needs someone to maintain tight control over the palace—a person Cruz could never challenge—and that role, she assures, will be hers. Soon, the title of Marchesa will belong to her, she promises with silence sharp as knives.

Cruz’s eyes blaze. “Are you nothing but a bothersome guest?” she retorts sharply. “Do you think secrets or blackmail will save you?”

“Never!” Leocadia’s words carry the weight of years filled with battles, accusations, and tension within the decaying court of the palace—a fragile ecosystem of subtle rivalries and revelations, where every person is a piece in a complex aristocratic game.

Leocadia smirks sarcastically. “You were already dancing amid accusations, Cruz, and your son Manuel doesn’t want to see you. I’ve read it in his eyes. He hates you.”

This open wound in Cruz’s heart cuts deep. Humiliation creeps into his bones, but he stands tall, chin raised with cold resolve. “Try as you might, I will always return and find a way to destroy you, Leocadia—once and for all.”

Those words echo through the silent corridors, catching the attention of Pia, who pauses at the threshold, swallowing nervously. The servants exchange wary looks, bracing for the inevitable explosion of conflict.

The rivalry between Cruz and Leocadia becomes palpable throughout the palace. Every meal turns into a battlefield. Cruz orders dishes Leocadia ruthlessly criticizes, scrutinizing every detail with venomous tones. Leocadia responds by summoning the servants to her chamber late at night. Whispers fill the corridors, footsteps echoing against cold walls and the luxurious fabrics of the drapes.

“Do you think you have any power here, Leocadia?” Cruz shouts one night, his voice trembling with intensity. “I have more.”

The response is a sharp exchange of cutting words, promises of vengeance and destruction, and glances that pierce like spears—an intense duel of high-class intrigue and simmering animosity.

Meanwhile, Cruz, wounded by Manuel’s harsh rejection, refuses to surrender and desperately tries to win back his son’s trust. The struggle to reclaim family, power, and truth has only just begun, and the shadows around La Promessa grow darker with every passing day.