Miguel entered Room 212 with purpose, the weight of his presence silencing the room. Ricardo’s confident facade faltered momentarily as he faced his father. The elder Mendoza’s stern gaze bore into him, a silent judgment that Ricardo couldn’t escape.
“Father,” Ricardo started, trying to regain his composure. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to see my grandson,” Miguel replied, his voice steady yet cold. “But I see I’m needed here for a different reason.”
Camila, her eyes wide, glanced between the two men. The tension was palpable, but there was a glimmer of hope in her eyes—a hope that perhaps this time, someone would stand up for her.
