Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - Obsession, Control and Murder The Fatal Summer Affair of Beatriz Montiel and Óscar PART2 #29

Episode Date: November 20, 2025

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #creepypasta #horrortales#truecrimefiles #crimeofpassion #toxicrelationship #fatalaffair #darksecrets  In the second installment, the dangerous affair escalates, revealing more of the manipulation, jealousy, and control that dominated Beatriz and Óscar’s relationship. Tensions rise, and the shadow of impending tragedy looms as actions fueled by obsession start to spiral out of control. This chapter uncovers how passion turned toxic, setting the stage for a fatal outcome that would shock those around them.  horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales, truecrime, crimeofpassion, toxicrelationship, fatalaffair, betrayalstory, darksecrets, chillingevents, obsessiveaffair, murdercase, shockingcrime, realcrime, loveanddanger, passionandmurder, tragicstory

Shadows in the Mansion, the final summer of Oscar. Chapter 1, Behind Closed Doors On the surface, everything looked picture-perfect. The mansion sparkled, the gardens were manicured, and every guest who walked through the gates thought they were entering a little pocket of luxury carved out of the chaos of Mexico City. But what people didn't see, what they didn't want to see, was the darker rhythm pulsing inside those walls.

Oscar Rojas was at the center of it, though most didn't realize it. He was only 18, with that restless energy that comes with being so young, when the world feels wide open and terrifying at the same time. To everyone outside, he looked like the lucky boy who had stumbled into the good graces of Beatrice Montiel, a woman of 45 with money, charm, and influence. But those who worked inside the house, the drivers, the maids, the cooks, they knew better. They saw the way Oscar's shoulders hunched whenever she raised her voice. They noticed how his jokes got cut short with a sharp glare, how his laughter died in his throat when she didn't approve.

And although he denied it every time someone asked, the truth seeped through his body language, he was scared of her. One of the gardeners swore that he once caught a glimpse of the boy flinching before Beatrice even finished her sentence, as if he already knew punishment was coming. That kind of fear doesn't sprout overnight, it grows, watered by constant criticism and control. Yet no one stepped in. Who would? The hierarchy in that mansion was carved in stone. Beatrice was the queen, and everyone else, no matter their title, was replaceable. Confronting her wasn't just bold, it was professional suicide. So the silence stretched on. Chapter 2. The Public Humiliation The breaking point, at least the first visible crack, came during one of Beatrice's

famous private parties. She had a taste for exclusivity, champagne fountains, live musicians strumming guitars by the pool, trays of hors d'oeuvres carried by staff in crisp uniforms. Guests wore designer clothes and sunglasses at night, laughing too loud at stories that weren't that funny. Oscar was there, as always, not exactly a guest, not exactly staff, something in between. Beatriz liked to parade him around like an accessory, proof that she could still capture the attention of someone half her age. That night, without warning, she snapped at him in front of everyone. Stop acting like a child, she hissed, her voice sharp enough to slice through the music. You don't even know how to address people properly." Her words landed like a slap.

The guests froze, some hiding their discomfort behind awkward sips of champagne, others smirking because scandal always tastes sweeter than wine. Oscar's face burned. He lowered his gaze, staring at the polished marble floor while a few chuckles rippled through the room. In that moment, he felt like a prop, an object being displayed and corrected, not a person. Later that night, when the last guest had left and the laughter had drained from the halls, the real storm came. One of the staff members, who was lingering nearby, overheard the eruption. Beatrice's voice echoed through the mansion, full of venom.

You embarrassed me, she spat. Do you have any idea what it looks like when you stand there like an idiot? you should be grateful grateful instead you make me look like a fool oscar tried to defend himself but his words dissolved under her fury gratitude in her eyes meant total submission anything less was betrayal chapter three the rumors around this time whispers began to circulate rumors rumors that oscar had been speaking with a girl someone his own age, a regular at one of the gyms Beatriz liked to frequent. Nobody knew if it was serious or if it was just small talk that gave him a taste of normality, but it didn't matter. For Oscar, those conversations were oxygen.

She represented everything he'd been missing, freedom, youth, a reminder that he was still allowed to laugh without permission. Maybe it wasn't love, maybe it was just survival, a distraction from the suffocating grip Beatrice had over him. When Beatrice caught wind of it, the reaction was volcanic. The story goes that she hurled a crystal glass against the wall, shards exploding across the tiles like sparks. If you ever see her again, she threatened, I'll take everything away from you.

No more clothes, no more money, no more roof over your head. You'll crawl back to that miserable barrio you came from with nothing. Oscar's chest tightened. He wasn't ready to call her bluff. He'd seen how ruthless she could be, how quick she was to cut people out of her life. The fear of losing everything she provided weighed heavier than the desire to escape. So he stayed. Chapter 4, The Silent Prison

From then on, he spent more and more time locked inside the mansion. The gilded cage looked glamorous from the outside, expensive art on the walls, sleek leather furniture, a pool that sparkled under the sun. But inside, it was a prison. Neighbors rarely saw the couple. On the rare occasions they did, it was always the same, Beatrice walking ahead, commanding, and Oscar trailing slightly behind, smiling with his lips but not his eyes. Some people suspected the truth. A shop owner in the area once spotted Oscar buying something and noticed bruises on his arm, faint but unmistakable. Are you okay? The man asked gently. Oscar froze, then gave a nervous shrug, muttering something about bumping into furniture. The conversation ended as quickly as it started. Nobody pushed further.

The silence thickened. Chapter 5. The Escape Plan But silence doesn't last forever. By late summer, Oscar couldn't take it anymore. The humiliation, the control, the constant surveillance, it was eating him alive. He began to dream of escape, not just in abstract terms but as a concrete plan. He reached out to a friend from his old neighborhood. Someone who knew him before the fancy clothes, before the cars,

and restaurants. Someone who remembered the real Oscar. According to messages later found on his phone, he confessed everything, the suffocation, the fear, the desperation. I can't do this anymore, one message read. I just want my freedom back. I don't care about the money. I don't care about the clothes.

I just need to breathe again. The plan was simple, slip away quietly, crash at his friend's place for a while, and figure it out from there. It wasn't perfect, but it was a lifeline. Chapter 6, The Discovery But Beatrice wasn't blind. She had a knack for sensing when people were slipping through her fingers. She started noticing small things, money missing from her accounts,

unusual phone activity, nervous glances from Oscar. Her suspicion grew into fury. Witnesses later described her as more volatile than ever in those final days. She prowled the mansion at night, heels clicking against the marble floors long after midnight. Staff whispered about the sound of glass clinking as she poured drink after drink, sitting in silence with eyes that never seemed to blink. Oscar, meanwhile, shrank further into himself. He wanted to leave, but the thought of her wrath kept him frozen. What if she found him?

What if she ruined his family financially as revenge? The fear of what she might do was enough to keep him paralyzed. Chapter 7, The Final Night September heat hung heavy in the air that night. The mansion, usually buzzing with staff and background noise, felt oddly still. Around ten o'clock, muffled voices rose from one of the rooms. Employees later confirmed they heard Beatrice and Oscar arguing, though the words were too muffled to make out. Some said Oscar's tone was calm, almost pleading, while hers was sharp, broken

into jagged fragments of rage. By the time Oscar retreated to his room, he looked composed, but his hands trembled. One of the house staff swore he was pale, Lips pressed tight like he was holding back the urge to scream. Midnight crept in. The staff retired to their quarters. The mansion's hallways dimmed, pools of light glowing faintly against the darkness. Beatrice sat alone in the grand living room, nursing a glass of liquor. Her posture was rigid, her eyes fixed on the amber liquid as though the answers were hiding inside it.

Finally, she rose. Each step up the staircase echoed like a drumbeat. Her face was unreadable, but her body moved with the tension of someone who had been obsessing over a single thought for hours. Minutes later, a scream shattered the silence. Chapter 8, The Fall of the Queen What exactly happened after that scream, no one knows with certainty. The details blurred between witness testimonies, police reports, and media sources. spin. Some say it was sudden, others claim it had been brewing for days.

What everyone agrees on is this, Oscar never walked out of that mansion alive again. The neighborhood that had once prided itself on its luxury and peace was thrown into chaos. Sirens pierced the night, red and blue lights reflecting off the sleek cars parked in pristine driveways. Neighbors peeked through curtains, shocked that violence had erupted in their sanctuary. The story spread like wildfire. Newspapers devoured it, television anchors dissected it, and online forums swarmed with speculation. The narrative was messy, a rich older woman, a young man from humble roots, a toxic bond that ended in blood. Beatriz went from being admired to infamous overnight.

To some, she was a predator, a manipulator who destroyed a boy's life. To others, she was a tragic figure consumed by her own loneliness and obsession. But for Oscar, none of that mattered. His story had ended, violently and far too soon. Chapter 9 The Silence After the Storm In the days that followed, the mansion was stripped of its glamour. Police tape replaced velvet ropes, investigators trampled through rooms once reserved for VIPs, and the grand halls echoed not with laughter but with questions.

The staff spoke in hushed tones, haunted by guilt. They replayed the signs in their heads, the bruises, the flinches, the cries muffled behind closed doors. Each of them wondered if they could have done more, if speaking up might have changed the ending. But the truth settled in like dust, nobody had intervened, and now it was too late. Chapter 10, The Legend of Beatrice and Oscar The summer of 2008 ended with a stain that the neighborhood could never scrub clean. Even years later, people still whispered the story. At cocktail parties, someone would inevitably lean closer and murmur, remember Beatrice Montiel?

Remember that boy? It became less a story about individuals and more a parable, about power, about silence, about what happens when control and fear masquerade as love. Oscar was buried back in his old neighborhood, where friends and family mourned not just the boy he was, but the man he would never get the chance to become. His name lingered in the air like unfinished music. Beatrice's name, meanwhile, became a warning.

A ghost. Proof that behind the curtains of wealth and glamour, darkness can grow unchecked, and that sometimes silence is deadlier than violence. To be continued.