Chapter 14
THIRTEEN
ENRICO FERRARA
The silence inside the car was heavy—almost suffocating—filled only by the harsh sound of my own uneven breathing.
My hands crushed the steering wheel as I drove too fast through the empty streets of the small town, fleeing that house, that woman—
that girl.
My daughter.
My chest tightened violently around the words.
There was no denying it.
It took seconds—one glance at those gray eyes, identical to mine—for certainty to slam into me. The child had my features. My face, stamped in miniature. A delicate, innocent version of myself.
Daughter.
Valentina had a daughter—my daughter—and she had hidden her for five years.
The fury she ignited in me was indescribable. A scorching heat flooding my veins, hatred burning like hot iron.
But beneath it… something even more dangerous.
A deep, vicious pain.
The cruel memory of everything I had once felt for her.
I had loved Valentina with the desperate intensity of foolish, na?ve men.
Back then, I believed she was the only real thing in a world built on masks and illusions. She was truth. Light. Clean air in a suffocating room. Bright color in a world I’d only known in shades of gray.
I was obsessed with her.
Completely. Recklessly.
And all of it had been a lie.
A con, executed by the only woman I had ever allowed into the deepest parts of me.
My mind snapped back—painfully—to five years ago.
The morning of my wedding.
A morning that had started perfect. I’d woken up happy, in love, certain of the future we were about to build.
Until my grandmother walked into my room.
Her expression was so hard it made my hands freeze on my tie as I stood in front of the mirror.
“What is it, Nonna?” I asked, alarmed, when I saw the thick envelope in her aged hands.
She didn’t answer right away. She simply held it out, eyes steady—filled with that cold arrogance that belonged to her alone.
“I wish I didn’t have to do this,” she said at last. “But you left me no choice. I warned you—countless times. And still, like a fool, you insisted on going through with this absurdity, risking the humiliation of our family name.”
Something cold spread through my chest before I even opened the envelope.
Then I pulled out the photographs.
The printed messages.
And my entire life collapsed in seconds.
Valentina—my Valentina—in another man’s arms.
Messages between them. Explicit conversations about money. About the “idiot in love” who had fallen for it. About how she would secure the future she wanted with my money.
Every word. Every image.
A blade sliding deeper into my heart.
“No…” I whispered, voice barely there beneath the shock and crushing pain. “This can’t be real. It can’t—”
My grandmother’s hand closed around my arm, firm. Her expression was a mixture of frustration and something like care.
“I told you she was beneath you.”
I barely heard her. My mind had sealed itself off around the betrayal.
The woman I loved had lied to me. Manipulated me. Made me a fool.
And I had fallen—completely.
Then I pulled out another document.
A medical test.
A positive pregnancy result, her name printed at the top.
Valentina was pregnant.
And she had hidden it from me.
My body went cold as I read it once—twice—three times. A violent sense of betrayal and humiliation detonated inside me.
Pregnant.
And after what I’d just seen… there was no way that child could be mine.
That pregnancy—revealed like that, in the cruelest way possible—felt like one more piece of a calculated, filthy scheme.
“Pregnant,” I breathed, feeling something inside me split. “And she didn’t even have the courage to tell me.”
“And why would she?” my grandmother replied with merciless cold.
“Don’t be a fool, Enrico. If she were truly carrying your child, don’t you think she would’ve used it to secure her position immediately?
” She stepped closer, voice sharp. “No. She didn’t tell you because until you were married—until she had your last name—there was still room for doubt. ”
I turned to her, her words sinking into a mind already cracking.
“That doesn’t make sense,” I murmured, even as my conviction began to fall apart.
“It makes perfect sense,” my grandmother snapped, authority absolute. “Open your eyes. She’s a con artist. That child is part of the con.” Her gaze was pitiless. “Don’t let her humiliate you even further.”
Pain and humiliation twisted into rage—violent and consuming.
And in that moment, drowning in that rage, I decided I would not let her humiliate me again.
I would not let her use me as a ladder to whatever future she wanted.
The baby wasn’t mine.
It couldn’t be.
That day, when I left Valentina at the altar, I destroyed more than her dreams.
I destroyed the last remaining possibility of love and trust inside myself.
A part of me died that day.
And it was her fault.
I would never forgive her.
A loud horn jolted me out of the memory.
I yanked the steering wheel sharply, barely missing a parked car. I pulled over hard, heart hammering, breath ragged, and shut my eyes, forcing myself to regain control.
I had a daughter.
I was a father.
My mind spun, trying to force the pieces to fit.
I didn’t doubt what I’d discovered years ago. Those photos, those messages—my grandmother’s evidence—were carved into my memory, solid as stone.
But that child—
She had my eyes.
My face.
There was no denying it.
She was mine.
And Valentina had hidden her from me for five years.
Five damn years.
Why?
The answer snapped into place with brutal clarity:
Because Valentina wanted leverage.
A card up her sleeve.
A future plan.
A calculated, cold, disgusting scheme.
She’d failed to trap me with marriage, so now she’d tried again—using my innocent daughter as a tool in her filthy game.
Turning my child into a backup plan.
My chest burned with rage so intense it choked me. My vision narrowed, red with fury and resentment.
How dared she?
How dared she steal my right to know my own daughter? To see her born. To hear her first words. To witness her first steps.
She had taken all of it.
Selfishly. Unforgivably.
My fists clenched so hard my knuckles popped, my body shaking as hatred rose—pure and absolute.
Valentina would pay.
If I’d wanted to destroy her before, it wasn’t enough now.
Now I wanted her to suffer.
I wanted her to feel every second she stole from me. Every drop of pain she’d caused.
She would pay—dearly—for deceiving me, for manipulating my life in that sick, calculated way.
She’d played with fire.
Now she was going to burn.
And I would make sure of it myself.
FOURTEEN
VALENTINA MUNIZ
I stared at the document that had arrived minutes earlier—delivered officially, in a way that nearly made me drop an entire tray of macarons onto the kitchen floor.
Court order.
DNA test.
Paternity investigation requested by Enrico Ferrara.
The printed words blurred as my mind refused to fully process what was happening. Less than twelve hours had passed since Enrico stormed out of my house—after seeing Clara for the first time—and now this?
How was it possible? How could he move that fast?
The vulnerability the document dragged up inside me was crushing.
I had braced myself for many things since running into him again, but this—an official demand for a DNA test—was beyond anything I’d imagined.
I swallowed hard, my heart racing out of control as fear grew inside me like a silent, dangerous shadow. My hands began to shake, forcing me to set the paper down on the counter before I crumpled it.
I drew in a breath, trying to regain control, but the tightness in my chest only worsened.
What did Enrico intend to do with this?
Why would he need a test to confirm what was already written on Clara’s face?
A terrible thought sliced through me, making my skin go cold.
What if he was doing this to get formal proof—something he could use against me?
To take my daughter from me?
My stomach twisted painfully.
No. He wouldn’t.
…Would he?
I didn’t know what Enrico Ferrara was capable of anymore. The man who’d been in my house—full of hate and vengeance—was not the man I once loved. He was blind with rage, and I had no doubt he would do anything to get what he wanted.
Anything.
Even use his own daughter as leverage.
The thought nearly suffocated me.
“Valentina?” Júlia rushed into the kitchen, taking one look at my face and going still. “What happened?”
She’d been planning to stop by that morning to pick up a box of pastries to take to work. I blinked fast, trying to force back the tears burning behind my eyes, and shoved the document toward her with trembling hands.
“Enrico…” My voice came out thin. “He—he filed for a DNA test, Júlia. Less than twelve hours after seeing Clara. How did he do it so fast?”
Júlia read the paper quickly. Her expression tightened.
“Oh my God… this is bad, Val,” she whispered, touching my arm gently. “What do you think he wants?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted, my voice cracking. “And that’s what terrifies me. Not knowing his real intentions is the worst torture I can imagine.”
I forced myself to breathe, to pull my thoughts back into line. I had to be strong. I had to think.
“So what are you going to do?” Júlia asked carefully, visibly shaken.
“I… I don’t know,” I said honestly, eyes glassy. “All I know is that I have to protect my daughter. No matter what it costs.”
My shoulders sagged. Exhaustion and fear made me feel hollow.
“We should sit,” Júlia suggested.
“You don’t need to miss work,” I said automatically. “Your pastry box is right there.”
I pointed to the counter without really looking.
“Perks of being the boss,” she replied, slipping an arm around my waist and guiding me to the small table in the corner of the kitchen.
The bakery was still closed. No customers. No noise. Just the two of us—and my fears multiplying in the quiet.
“What am I going to do, Júlia?” I whispered, rubbing my eyes, still gritty from a sleepless night. “What am I going to do?” I repeated, like saying it twice might produce an answer.
Júlia set the document down—only then did I realize it had ended up in my hands again—and looked at me with real concern.
“Do you think he’d do something to you and Clara?”
I swallowed. My throat felt too tight to work.
“I don’t know,” I said, hating how fear sounded in my own voice. “I don’t know him anymore. I don’t know how far he’ll go to get what he wants. And I don’t know what he plans to do with this test.”
“But…” Júlia hesitated. “He didn’t seem… happy to find out he has a daughter?”
I shook my head, tears burning again.
“He looked furious,” I whispered. “Like he hated me even more because of it. And now I’m terrified of what he might do with Clara.”
Júlia inhaled, decision hardening in her face. She reached for my phone and set it on the table between us.
“You need a lawyer, Valentina,” she said firmly. “You can’t face Enrico Ferrara alone. Not this time.”
“I don’t even know where to start…”
She covered my hand with hers.
“Call Dr. Rafael,” she said. “He’s trustworthy. He helped my cousin when she had something similar happen. You need to know your rights before anything else.”
I nodded, chest heavy as stone, and scrolled through my contacts to find the number Júlia gave me.
Two hours later, sitting across from the attorney, I felt even more exposed.
He was older, serious, wearing a well-cut gray suit. He studied the documents with a concentrated, grave expression.
“Well, Valentina,” he said finally, lifting his eyes over thin-framed glasses, “this situation is delicate. This test is Enrico Ferrara’s legal right. If he is the biological father, he has the right to recognize his child and pursue visitation. There isn’t much we can do to stop that.”
I clenched my hands in my lap, cornered.
“I don’t want to stop contact,” I said quickly. “I’ve never wanted to hurt Clara. But… why now? Why demand this after five years? This isn’t normal.” My voice trembled. “What if he tries to take my daughter from me?”
The attorney raised a hand, calm.
“Breathe, Valentina. It’s not that simple.
You raised Clara alone for five years. He has not been present in her life.
No judge is going to simply remove custody from you—especially considering you’ve provided stability and support.
” His expression sharpened slightly. “But I need to warn you: he may attempt to claim parental alienation.”
My stomach dropped.
“Parental alienation?”
“Yes,” he said. “He can argue that you deliberately kept him away from the child for these years, denying him his rights as a father. That can complicate matters.”
My throat closed. It took effort to speak again.
“But I didn’t do that,” I said, voice breaking. “He rejected my baby before she was even born. He didn’t believe he was the father.”
The attorney studied me.
“Do you have proof of that?”
A bitter, broken laugh tore out of me.
“Countless newspaper headlines.”
His nod was small—but immediate.
“That’s helpful,” he said. “It can support your position that you never intended to alienate him—you were responding to rejection.”
A tear slipped down my cheek.
“So what can I do?”
He exhaled, resting his hands on the desk.
“First, cooperate with the test. If you resist, it strengthens his argument.” He leaned forward.
“Second, we prepare for any future legal action. We’ll demonstrate that every decision you made was for Clara’s well-being.
You have stable finances, a structured life here, strong community references. That works in your favor.”
I nodded, even though none of it eased the suffocating pressure in my chest.
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll do the test.” I forced myself steady. “What else do I need to do right now?”
His voice turned firmer.
“Prepare emotionally, Valentina. Enrico Ferrara is not here solely because of the child. The way this was handled makes it clear there’s a larger interest.” His gaze was direct.
“You need to be strong. He will not hesitate to exploit any emotional vulnerability against you. Do not underestimate him.”
“I wouldn’t,” I whispered, a cold shiver sliding up my spine. “Believe me. I know exactly what Enrico Ferrara is capable of.”
The attorney observed me in silence for a moment, then nodded.
“Then we’ll be ready,” he said. “I’ll handle the necessary filings. You’ll receive an official summons to appear at the lab in the coming days.”
I stood, shook his hand with trembling fingers, and left his office with a deeper, sharper dread.
There was no running from this.
And no matter what happened next, I would do everything in my power to protect my daughter—
even if it meant facing again the man I once loved more than anything.