Chapter 4 - The Midnight TestThree days passed in a blur of relentless scrubbing, dusting, polishing, and silent obedience. Elena learned the precise rhythm of the penthouse. She knew that Rodrigo preferred his steak medium-rare at exactly 8:00 PM—though he rarely touched more than two bites—and that he worked in his study until past midnight every single night, fueled only by black coffee and sheer, relentless self-loathing.
On the fourth night, a heavy, torrential downpour battered the glass walls of Cárdenas Tower. The wind howled through the high altitude like a grieving spirit, shaking the windowpanes and cutting off the neighborhood power grids below in flashes of blue lightning.
Inside the penthouse, the backup generators kicked in smoothly, bathing the minimalist rooms in a soft, amber glow.
It was 1:15 AM.
Elena was finishing up the final inventory in the pantry when she heard a heavy thud come from the second-floor hallway. It sounded like something—or someone—collapsing against the wall.
She froze, holding a stack of clean hand towels against her chest.
According to Mrs. Herrera, the staff quarters were strictly separated from the master wing at night, and Elena was ordered to remain downstairs unless summoned. But her nursing training—the instinct that had been drilled into her before financial ruin forced her out of school—refused to let her ignore a distress sound.
Slowly, quietly, Elena set the towels down and stepped out into the dimly lit corridor.
The penthouse was eerily silent except for the drumming rain outside. She crept up the floating wooden staircase, her bare feet making no sound against the polished treads. When she reached the second-floor landing, the hallway was cast in deep shadows.
And there, sprawled across the floor just outside the forbidden, locked door at the far end of the hall, lay Rodrigo Cárdenas.
His black suit jacket was discarded nearby. His shirt sleeves were soaked in sweat, his breathing came in shallow, ragged gasps, and his eyes were tightly shut. He looked pale, vulnerable, and utterly broken. Next to him on the floor lay an empty crystal tumbler and a scattered bottle of prescription sleeping pills.
Panic flared in Elena’s chest. Overdose? Panic attack? Heart arrhythmia?
She rushed forward, dropping to her knees beside him. She pressed two fingers against his carotid artery—his pulse was racing, erratic, and dangerously fast.
“Mr. Cárdenas! Can you hear me?” she asked urgently, shaking his shoulder gently.
Rodrigo didn't respond. His eyes remained shut, his body limp against the cold marble floor.
Without hesitation, Elena kicked off her shoes to gain better leverage, tilted his chin back to clear his airway, and reached for her phone to dial emergency services.
Suddenly, a heavy, iron-grip hand shot out from the floor, gripping her wrist with terrifying strength.
Elena gasped, looking down.
Rodrigo’s eyes were wide open now. There was no grogginess, no confusion, no sign of unconsciousness. Just a cold, calculating, predatory glare staring up at her from the floor.
He wasn't dying. He wasn't overdosing.
He was testing her.
“Going through my things again, Elena?” Rodrigo whispered, his voice dark, mocking, and laced with absolute venom as he slowly pushed himself up onto one elbow, never releasing his grip on her wrist. “Or were you just looking for an excuse to rifle through the master wing while the staff is asleep?”
Elena stared at him in stunned silence. The sheer manipulation of the setup hit her like a splash of freezing water.
“You... you faked it,” she whispered, her voice trembling not with fear, but with a sudden, boiling fury.
“Every maid before you failed this exact test,” Rodrigo whispered fiercely, leaning in close so she could smell the expensive scotch on his breath. “Within four days, they either snooped through my files, stole loose cash from the desk, or ran crying to the agency about my 'unstable behavior.' I wanted to see what kind of spy you really were.”
For a long moment, Elena didn't say a word. She looked down at his hand clamped tightly around her wrist, then slowly raised her eyes back to his mocking face.
The nursing student inside her completely overrode the terrified employee.
“You are a miserable, arrogant bastard, Mr. Cárdenas,” Elena said clearly, her voice deadpan and ice-cold.
Rodrigo’s mocking smirk vanished instantly. His eyebrows shot up in genuine shock.
Before he could process her words, Elena twisted her wrist with a sharp, practiced maneuver, breaking his grip with textbook precision, and stood up over him, looking down with absolute disdain.
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“If you ever pull a pathetic stunt like that again when someone thinks you're having a medical emergency,” Elena spat, her eyes flashing with righteous anger, “you can die on this floor for all I care. I quit.”
She turned on her heel and walked away down the dark hallway, leaving the billionaire sitting stunned on the cold marble floor, completely speechless for the first time in his entire life.
