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.
FIFTEEN
ENRICO FERRARA
The bold letters on the paper in front of me were clear. Objective. Unquestionable.
And still, I read them again and again, as if repetition could change the meaning.
Compatible. Probability of paternity: 99.99%.
Clara Muniz was my daughter.
My daughter.
Something inside my chest ached, a strange, devastating sensation spreading through me, consuming me like dry brush catching fire. I couldn’t name exactly what I felt, but the emptiness that had haunted me for the last forty-eight hours turned unbearable now that the confirmation sat there—cold and final—on paper.
Clara.
I drew in a slow breath, trying to hold the internal storm back as my eyes drifted over the desk.
Photos.
Old photos—pulled from the detailed investigation I’d ordered into Valentina’s life over the last five years—were spread across the surface.
Valentina, pregnant, holding her rounded belly with a soft, protective expression.
Valentina with a newborn, tiny and fragile in her arms.
And more—dozens more—tracking the growth of the little girl I hadn’t even known existed until two days ago.
The girl with my face.
My eyes.
My blood.
I tightened my grip around my whiskey glass until my knuckles turned white, the amber liquid trembling near the rim as fury rose again—hot and bitter, scorching every part of me.
“Enrico.” André’s voice cut through the heavy silence of the office, yanking me back. He stood across from my desk, worry in his eyes. “What are you going to do now?”
I lifted my head and met his gaze.
“Get revenge for my daughter,” I said coldly. “And bring her where she belongs—by my side. Where she should’ve been from the start, if Valentina hadn’t decided to steal her from me.”
André exhaled, gaze flicking to the photographs.
“Steal her from you…” he repeated, serious, shaking his head slightly. “Don’t you think you’re being a little—”
He stopped when my look turned sharper, and instead changed direction.
“And Dreamland?” he asked. “Are you going to back off or at least put that on hold for now?”
A cold smile curved my mouth—bitter and relentless.
