She took a deep breath, closed her eyes for a moment, whispering a silent apology to any god who might be listening, and lifted the lid just a few inches.
Darkness met dim light.
What she saw was not a monster.
It was three pairs of eyes.
Three small, pale, skeletal faces stared back at her—covered in dust, filled with terror and desperation.
They were children.
Triplets, judging by how alike they looked. Curled together beneath a filthy blanket, clinging to one another for warmth.
One of them—a boy with brown hair—slowly raised a trembling hand toward her.
“Please… we’re hungry,” he whispered, his voice barely holding together.
The horror struck Camila like lightning.
Mr. Montenegro—the millionaire—had locked them inside.
Why?
What kind of man did this?
She opened the trunk fully, letting the light pour in. The children were far too small for their age—probably five or six years old—though malnutrition made them look even younger.
“Who are you?” Camila asked softly, dropping to her knees beside the trunk. “Why are you here?”
The little girl, her wide eyes shaking with fear, answered, “We’re Esteban, Lucía, and Mateo. Daddy said it was a game… but we’ve been playing for a very long time.”
Daddy.