November 20, 2025 • 14 mins
#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #creepypasta #horrortales
#truecrime #crimeofpassion #fatalaffair #darksecrets #murderinvestigation In this third chapter, the toxic dynamics of Beatriz and Óscar’s relationship reach a deadly peak. Secrets, lies, and manipulations come to light as the affair’s dangerous consequences spiral out of control. The story reveals the critical moments that escalate tension and violence, showing how obsession and control ultimately lead to tragedy. This part exposes the chilling psychology behind the fatal summer affair and sets the stage for the final devastating outcome. horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales, truecrime, crimeofpassion, fatalaffair, toxicrelationship, betrayalstory, darksecrets, chillingevents, obsessiveaffair, murdercase, shockingcrime, realcrime, loveanddanger, passionandmurder, tragicstory
#truecrime #crimeofpassion #fatalaffair #darksecrets #murderinvestigation In this third chapter, the toxic dynamics of Beatriz and Óscar’s relationship reach a deadly peak. Secrets, lies, and manipulations come to light as the affair’s dangerous consequences spiral out of control. The story reveals the critical moments that escalate tension and violence, showing how obsession and control ultimately lead to tragedy. This part exposes the chilling psychology behind the fatal summer affair and sets the stage for the final devastating outcome. horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales, truecrime, crimeofpassion, fatalaffair, toxicrelationship, betrayalstory, darksecrets, chillingevents, obsessiveaffair, murdercase, shockingcrime, realcrime, loveanddanger, passionandmurder, tragicstory
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Transcript
Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
Speaker 1 (00:00):
Blood in the mansion the night everything collapsed. Chapter one,
The scream. It started with a scream. Not the kind
of scream you hear at a party when someone jumps
into the pool unexpectedly, or the laughter filled shriek of
someone spooped during a game. This one was sharp, guttural,
(00:21):
and cut straight through the silence of the mansion like
a blade. The only person who heard it clearly at
first was a kitchen worker scrubbing pans, long after most
of the staff had retired. She froze, spunge still in hand,
heart thumping in her chest. The sound had come from upstairs,
sharp and desperate. For a split second, she thought about
(00:44):
running toward it, but the thought of facing Beatrice Montielle's
wrath stopped her cold. Everyone knew the rule don't get
involved in her business, so she stayed still, pretending to
be invisible while upstairs chaos unfolded. Chapter two, The Struggle.
(01:04):
The scream was just the beginning. A moment later, there
was a thud, then another, heavy, violent, the kind of
sound that makes windows rattle in their frames. It wasn't
furniture moving, It was bodies clashing, something breaking, someone fighting
back downstairs. The worker squeezed her eyes shut. As the
(01:26):
noises grew louder, she could hear a struggle echoing through
the corridors, the vibrations almost traveling down the polished banisters.
A picture frame crashed to the floor, something metallic clanged
against the wall, and then silence. For a moment, it
(01:46):
was as if the mansion itself was holding its breath.
But silence never lasts. Footsteps erupted, first cautious, then frantic,
as staff members emerged from their quarters. Whispers spread like fire.
What was that where Senora Montiel? Did you hear it too?
(02:09):
They hesitated at the bottom of the stairs, staring into
the dim hallway above, and that's when they saw her.
Chapter three, The Woman in Blood Beatrice appeared in a
half light, like a figure from a nightmare. Her designer
blouse was torn at the shoulder, strands of her hair
clinging to sweat on her forehead. Her hands and arms
(02:32):
glistened with dark streaks blood, unmistakably blood. Her eyes were wild,
darting around as though she wasn't quite present, and then,
in a voice so sharp it cracked, she shouted, stay back,
this is under control. No one dared move the staff,
(02:55):
trained by years of intimidation, froze in place. Some looked away,
pretending not to see. Others stared at the floor, praying
this was some horrible misunderstanding, but everyone knew something terrible
had just happened. One of the younger workers, shaking with fear,
(03:16):
grabbed the house phone and dialed for help. His voice
trembled as he spoke, There's been an incident. Someone's hurt badly,
Send an ambulance, please. He didn't dare say more. Naming
Beatrice could mean losing his job or worse. Chapter four,
(03:38):
The arrival of the authorities. It took about twelve minutes
for the first responders to arrive to the people frozen
inside that mansion. It felt like ours. Red and blue
light splashed across the pristine facade, bouncing off the luxury
cars parked out front. The wail of sirens sliced through
(03:59):
the night, announcing to the entire neighborhood that something was very,
very wrong. The staff crowded near the entrance, torn between
two authorities, their boss, who demanded secrecy, and the uniformed
officers who insisted on access. The confusion was written across
their faces. Some pleaded silently with the police to hurry.
(04:22):
Others shook their heads, begging them not to make things worse.
The officers pushed forward anyway, that was their job. The
first thing they saw inside was the marble staircase leading
up to the bedrooms. A streak of blood marked the steps,
smeared as though someone had been dragged or stumbled heavily.
(04:44):
Following the trail. One of the female agents pressed her
lips into a thin line. She'd seen enough crime scenes
to know this one was about to get ugly. Chapter five.
The bedroom. The door to Oscar's room was a jar.
A metallic tang hung in the air, iron and salt,
the unmistakable stench of blood inside. The scene was brutal.
(05:11):
Oscar lay flat on his back, eyes glazed, his face
tilted slightly as if caught mid turn. A vicious wound
split his head, the kind that leaves no chance of survival.
His chest was punctured multiple times, each mark. Angry and deliberate.
His hands, though his hands told another story. Cuts, bruises, slices.
(05:35):
He had fought. He had tried to block, to push,
to survive, but against Beatrice Montiel. Armed and consumed by rage,
he hadn't stood a chance. The paramedics rushed in, kneeling
by his side, but within seconds they exchanged grim looks.
One shook his head slowly. Time of death, he whispered,
(06:00):
his voice heavy. Confirmed on arrival. Chapter six, Beatrice in
the hallway. Meanwhile, in the adjoining corridor, police found her.
Beatrice Montiel, the glamorous business woman, the hostess of glittering soirees,
the woman neighbors admired and feared in equal measure. Except
(06:23):
now she wasn't glamorous at all. Her clothes clung to
her body, stiff with blood. Her face, usually poised and painted,
was pale and twisted, eyes glazed as though she couldn't
quite process reality. And in her hand, gripped so tightly
her knuckles turned white, was a small, bloodied knife. She
(06:46):
muttered under her breath, incoherent fragments, spilling out in a loop.
He betrayed me. After everything I gave him, he belonged
to me. The officer's exchanged looks, rage, shock, madness. It
was hard to tell, but one thing was clear. She
(07:08):
wasn't letting go of that weapon without a fight, Senora Montiel,
an officer said firmly, dropped the knife. She blinked at
him as if the words didn't register. Finally, almost reluctantly,
her fingers loosened, the blade clattered to the marble floor.
(07:29):
The arrest was immediate. Chapter seven, the staff brake their silence.
With Beatri's in custody, the mansion became an evident zone.
Police tape stretched across the grand entrance. Photographers snapped shot
after shot of the staircase, of the blood trails, of
(07:50):
the broken vase still lying in shards on the floor.
The staff, shaken and pale, were questioned one by one,
and slowly the truth began to leak out. They spoke
of her temper, of her obsession with Oscar, of the
way she humiliated him at parties, the screaming matches behind
(08:11):
closed doors, the bruises she never bothered to explain. One
admitted hearing Oscar whisper recently about leaving. He said he
couldn't take it any more. The worker told investigators he
wanted to go back home, live like a normal kid again.
Another recalled how Beatrice had erupted days earlier, after discovering
(08:33):
Oscar speaking to a girl at the gym. She smashed
a glass right in front of us, said she'd ruin
him if he ever betrayed her. Piece by piece, a
picture formed not of a random explosion of violence, but
of a slow burn obsession that had ended in blood
Chapter eight, The Media Storm. By dawn, the news had
(08:58):
spread like wildfire. Reporters swarmed the gates, shoving microphones into
the faces of stunned neighbors. Camera zoomed in on the
yellow police tape fluttering in the early morning breeze. Headlines
blared across local TV stations. Young man killed in mansion
of business woman Beatrice Montiel, sugar Mommie scandal turns deadly,
(09:25):
obsession ends in bloodbath. The community, once quiet and exclusive,
was now the epicenter of scandal. Residents whispered furiously, torn
between shock and a grim sense of inevitability. We always
knew something was off one set off camera, but murder,
(09:45):
that's another level for the tabloids. It was gold, a wealthy,
older woman, a much younger lover, jealousy, betrayal, and finally death,
The perfect Storm. Chapter nine. The investigation police wasted no
time framing the case. The weapon matched the wounds, the
(10:10):
finger prints were hers. The staff's testimonies confirmed her escalating
jealousy and control. The blood on her clothes wasn't just splatter,
it was saturation. Proof she had been at the center
of the attack. Self defense the idea barely held weight.
Oscar's wounds weren't clean strikes. They were multiple, deliberate stabs,
(10:34):
the kind that scream rage rather than survival. The cuts
on his hands showed he'd been blocking, not attacking. By
the end of the first day, prosecutors were already whispering
the phrase premeditated homicide, chapter ten. The symbol What lingered
most in every one's mind wasn't just the crime, but
(10:57):
the contrast. Oscar's body had been found surrounded by expensive trinkets,
designer furniture, imported rugs, a flat screen TV bigger than
his entire bedroom back home. The opulence didn't protect him,
it suffocated him. His final struggle was etched into that room,
blood staining the very symbols of wealth he'd once thought
(11:18):
were tickets to a better life. He was eighteen, barely
a man. All he wanted was independence, freedom, a chance
to carve his own path. Instead, he became the victim
of a woman's obsession, trapped in a gilded cage that
turned into his coffin, and Beatrice. She became the cautionary
(11:41):
tale proof that power without limits kurdles into poison, that
control disguised as love, is nothing but violence waiting to surface.
Chapter eleven. Aftermath. As the day wore on, the neighborhood
was unrecognizable. News van's parked along the pristine streets. Drones
(12:03):
hovered above rooftops. Curious onlookers gathered just beyond the police barricades,
craning their necks for a glimpse of the infamous mansion. Inside,
forensic teams worked methodically bagging evidence, the knife, the bloodied clothes,
shattered glass, fingerprints on door handles. They cataloged every stain,
(12:25):
every mark, every broken object. By evening, the staff had
been escorted out, leaving the once bustling house eerily silent.
For the first time in years. Beatrice's mansion stood empty,
stripped not only of its owner but of its illusion
of grandeur. Chapter twelve. A community in shock. The neighbors
(12:48):
couldn't stop talking. At coffee shops, at gym's, at school
drop offs. The same phrases circled like vultures. I never
liked her energy. He was just a kid. Do you
think it was planned? I heard he tried to run away.
(13:10):
Everyone wanted to believe they had seen it coming, But
the truth was they hadn't. They had looked away, just
like the staff had, just like Oscar's family had. Nobody
wanted to admit it, but silence had been the accomplice.
Chapter thirteen, The Beginning of Justice. That night, Beatrice sat
(13:32):
in a police cell, stripped of her jewelry. Her designer
clothes were placed with a plain jumpsuit. She was no
longer the queen of her mansion. She was just another suspect,
her hands inked with finger prints, her mug shot captured
under fluorescent lights. When interrogated, she mumbled the same lines.
(13:52):
He betrayed me, he threatened me, he didn't love me
the way I deserved. But none of it explained the brutality,
none of it justified the sheer violence written on Oscar's body.
For the police, the case was straightforward. For the prosecution,
it was a dream, a mountain of evidence, witnesses and motive.
(14:17):
For the community, it was the end of the illusion.
To be continued
Blood in the mansion the night everything collapsed. Chapter one,
The scream. It started with a scream. Not the kind
of scream you hear at a party when someone jumps
into the pool unexpectedly, or the laughter filled shriek of
someone spooped during a game. This one was sharp, guttural,
(00:21):
and cut straight through the silence of the mansion like
a blade. The only person who heard it clearly at
first was a kitchen worker scrubbing pans, long after most
of the staff had retired. She froze, spunge still in hand,
heart thumping in her chest. The sound had come from upstairs,
sharp and desperate. For a split second, she thought about
(00:44):
running toward it, but the thought of facing Beatrice Montielle's
wrath stopped her cold. Everyone knew the rule don't get
involved in her business, so she stayed still, pretending to
be invisible while upstairs chaos unfolded. Chapter two, The Struggle.
(01:04):
The scream was just the beginning. A moment later, there
was a thud, then another, heavy, violent, the kind of
sound that makes windows rattle in their frames. It wasn't
furniture moving, It was bodies clashing, something breaking, someone fighting
back downstairs. The worker squeezed her eyes shut. As the
(01:26):
noises grew louder, she could hear a struggle echoing through
the corridors, the vibrations almost traveling down the polished banisters.
A picture frame crashed to the floor, something metallic clanged
against the wall, and then silence. For a moment, it
(01:46):
was as if the mansion itself was holding its breath.
But silence never lasts. Footsteps erupted, first cautious, then frantic,
as staff members emerged from their quarters. Whispers spread like fire.
What was that where Senora Montiel? Did you hear it too?
(02:09):
They hesitated at the bottom of the stairs, staring into
the dim hallway above, and that's when they saw her.
Chapter three, The Woman in Blood Beatrice appeared in a
half light, like a figure from a nightmare. Her designer
blouse was torn at the shoulder, strands of her hair
clinging to sweat on her forehead. Her hands and arms
(02:32):
glistened with dark streaks blood, unmistakably blood. Her eyes were wild,
darting around as though she wasn't quite present, and then,
in a voice so sharp it cracked, she shouted, stay back,
this is under control. No one dared move the staff,
(02:55):
trained by years of intimidation, froze in place. Some looked away,
pretending not to see. Others stared at the floor, praying
this was some horrible misunderstanding, but everyone knew something terrible
had just happened. One of the younger workers, shaking with fear,
(03:16):
grabbed the house phone and dialed for help. His voice
trembled as he spoke, There's been an incident. Someone's hurt badly,
Send an ambulance, please. He didn't dare say more. Naming
Beatrice could mean losing his job or worse. Chapter four,
(03:38):
The arrival of the authorities. It took about twelve minutes
for the first responders to arrive to the people frozen
inside that mansion. It felt like ours. Red and blue
light splashed across the pristine facade, bouncing off the luxury
cars parked out front. The wail of sirens sliced through
(03:59):
the night, announcing to the entire neighborhood that something was very,
very wrong. The staff crowded near the entrance, torn between
two authorities, their boss, who demanded secrecy, and the uniformed
officers who insisted on access. The confusion was written across
their faces. Some pleaded silently with the police to hurry.
(04:22):
Others shook their heads, begging them not to make things worse.
The officers pushed forward anyway, that was their job. The
first thing they saw inside was the marble staircase leading
up to the bedrooms. A streak of blood marked the steps,
smeared as though someone had been dragged or stumbled heavily.
(04:44):
Following the trail. One of the female agents pressed her
lips into a thin line. She'd seen enough crime scenes
to know this one was about to get ugly. Chapter five.
The bedroom. The door to Oscar's room was a jar.
A metallic tang hung in the air, iron and salt,
the unmistakable stench of blood inside. The scene was brutal.
(05:11):
Oscar lay flat on his back, eyes glazed, his face
tilted slightly as if caught mid turn. A vicious wound
split his head, the kind that leaves no chance of survival.
His chest was punctured multiple times, each mark. Angry and deliberate.
His hands, though his hands told another story. Cuts, bruises, slices.
(05:35):
He had fought. He had tried to block, to push,
to survive, but against Beatrice Montiel. Armed and consumed by rage,
he hadn't stood a chance. The paramedics rushed in, kneeling
by his side, but within seconds they exchanged grim looks.
One shook his head slowly. Time of death, he whispered,
(06:00):
his voice heavy. Confirmed on arrival. Chapter six, Beatrice in
the hallway. Meanwhile, in the adjoining corridor, police found her.
Beatrice Montiel, the glamorous business woman, the hostess of glittering soirees,
the woman neighbors admired and feared in equal measure. Except
(06:23):
now she wasn't glamorous at all. Her clothes clung to
her body, stiff with blood. Her face, usually poised and painted,
was pale and twisted, eyes glazed as though she couldn't
quite process reality. And in her hand, gripped so tightly
her knuckles turned white, was a small, bloodied knife. She
(06:46):
muttered under her breath, incoherent fragments, spilling out in a loop.
He betrayed me. After everything I gave him, he belonged
to me. The officer's exchanged looks, rage, shock, madness. It
was hard to tell, but one thing was clear. She
(07:08):
wasn't letting go of that weapon without a fight, Senora Montiel,
an officer said firmly, dropped the knife. She blinked at
him as if the words didn't register. Finally, almost reluctantly,
her fingers loosened, the blade clattered to the marble floor.
(07:29):
The arrest was immediate. Chapter seven, the staff brake their silence.
With Beatri's in custody, the mansion became an evident zone.
Police tape stretched across the grand entrance. Photographers snapped shot
after shot of the staircase, of the blood trails, of
(07:50):
the broken vase still lying in shards on the floor.
The staff, shaken and pale, were questioned one by one,
and slowly the truth began to leak out. They spoke
of her temper, of her obsession with Oscar, of the
way she humiliated him at parties, the screaming matches behind
(08:11):
closed doors, the bruises she never bothered to explain. One
admitted hearing Oscar whisper recently about leaving. He said he
couldn't take it any more. The worker told investigators he
wanted to go back home, live like a normal kid again.
Another recalled how Beatrice had erupted days earlier, after discovering
(08:33):
Oscar speaking to a girl at the gym. She smashed
a glass right in front of us, said she'd ruin
him if he ever betrayed her. Piece by piece, a
picture formed not of a random explosion of violence, but
of a slow burn obsession that had ended in blood
Chapter eight, The Media Storm. By dawn, the news had
(08:58):
spread like wildfire. Reporters swarmed the gates, shoving microphones into
the faces of stunned neighbors. Camera zoomed in on the
yellow police tape fluttering in the early morning breeze. Headlines
blared across local TV stations. Young man killed in mansion
of business woman Beatrice Montiel, sugar Mommie scandal turns deadly,
(09:25):
obsession ends in bloodbath. The community, once quiet and exclusive,
was now the epicenter of scandal. Residents whispered furiously, torn
between shock and a grim sense of inevitability. We always
knew something was off one set off camera, but murder,
(09:45):
that's another level for the tabloids. It was gold, a wealthy,
older woman, a much younger lover, jealousy, betrayal, and finally death,
The perfect Storm. Chapter nine. The investigation police wasted no
time framing the case. The weapon matched the wounds, the
(10:10):
finger prints were hers. The staff's testimonies confirmed her escalating
jealousy and control. The blood on her clothes wasn't just splatter,
it was saturation. Proof she had been at the center
of the attack. Self defense the idea barely held weight.
Oscar's wounds weren't clean strikes. They were multiple, deliberate stabs,
(10:34):
the kind that scream rage rather than survival. The cuts
on his hands showed he'd been blocking, not attacking. By
the end of the first day, prosecutors were already whispering
the phrase premeditated homicide, chapter ten. The symbol What lingered
most in every one's mind wasn't just the crime, but
(10:57):
the contrast. Oscar's body had been found surrounded by expensive trinkets,
designer furniture, imported rugs, a flat screen TV bigger than
his entire bedroom back home. The opulence didn't protect him,
it suffocated him. His final struggle was etched into that room,
blood staining the very symbols of wealth he'd once thought
(11:18):
were tickets to a better life. He was eighteen, barely
a man. All he wanted was independence, freedom, a chance
to carve his own path. Instead, he became the victim
of a woman's obsession, trapped in a gilded cage that
turned into his coffin, and Beatrice. She became the cautionary
(11:41):
tale proof that power without limits kurdles into poison, that
control disguised as love, is nothing but violence waiting to surface.
Chapter eleven. Aftermath. As the day wore on, the neighborhood
was unrecognizable. News van's parked along the pristine streets. Drones
(12:03):
hovered above rooftops. Curious onlookers gathered just beyond the police barricades,
craning their necks for a glimpse of the infamous mansion. Inside,
forensic teams worked methodically bagging evidence, the knife, the bloodied clothes,
shattered glass, fingerprints on door handles. They cataloged every stain,
(12:25):
every mark, every broken object. By evening, the staff had
been escorted out, leaving the once bustling house eerily silent.
For the first time in years. Beatrice's mansion stood empty,
stripped not only of its owner but of its illusion
of grandeur. Chapter twelve. A community in shock. The neighbors
(12:48):
couldn't stop talking. At coffee shops, at gym's, at school
drop offs. The same phrases circled like vultures. I never
liked her energy. He was just a kid. Do you
think it was planned? I heard he tried to run away.
(13:10):
Everyone wanted to believe they had seen it coming, But
the truth was they hadn't. They had looked away, just
like the staff had, just like Oscar's family had. Nobody
wanted to admit it, but silence had been the accomplice.
Chapter thirteen, The Beginning of Justice. That night, Beatrice sat
(13:32):
in a police cell, stripped of her jewelry. Her designer
clothes were placed with a plain jumpsuit. She was no
longer the queen of her mansion. She was just another suspect,
her hands inked with finger prints, her mug shot captured
under fluorescent lights. When interrogated, she mumbled the same lines.
(13:52):
He betrayed me, he threatened me, he didn't love me
the way I deserved. But none of it explained the brutality,
none of it justified the sheer violence written on Oscar's body.
For the police, the case was straightforward. For the prosecution,
it was a dream, a mountain of evidence, witnesses and motive.
(14:17):
For the community, it was the end of the illusion.
To be continued
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