“My father told me I was never really his,” I continued, my voice steady but cold.
“He said the DNA test proved it. My mother had cheated. That my siblings and I were just mistakes — bastards he never wanted.”
I drew in a slow breath.
“The crash everyone thought killed him? He orchestrated the whole thing. He murdered my mother and my brother, then faked his own death and walked away without a scratch.”
Silence crashed over the room.
“Maybe now you can stop hating me so much,” I added quietly.
“Turns out I’m not a Vasquez after all.”
Vincenzo shook his head.
Once.
Decisive.
“Elena, I truly want to believe you,” he said quietly, “but your words are completely illogical. The trauma you endured is clearly clouding your mind. You might be hallucinating.”
His gaze hardened.
“You claim you saw a dead man in Matteo’s estate and held him hostage? How is that even possible? You’re mixing nightmares with reality. The Spanish would never kidnap someone and then allow them to take one of their own hostage. The story is laughable.”
He continued, voice rising with disbelief:
“You — injured, restrained, outnumbered — overpowered trained men? You took one of their most valuable assets, chained him up, and held him for a month... and they just let you?”
“And now you claim you were never violated? Yet Matteo’s own daughter is begging me to spare her father’s life because of what he supposedly did to you.”
Something hot surged behind my eyes.
Anger.
Tears burned—but I refused to let them fall.
“Well, since nothing I say is believable to you,” I snapped, my voice shaking with barely contained fury, “how about we run a fucking DNA test? Then you can see the truth with your own eyes.”
I moved closer, holding my ground.
“When the results come back, I expect an apology. For calling me a liar... and for doubting every word I’ve ever said.”
My chest rose and fell unevenly.
I turned sharply, unable to bear the suffocating silence any longer.
Before the tears could spill and betray me completely, I walked toward the door.
The distance felt endless, every step heavier than the last, as if the floor itself was pulling me back.
“I’ll arrange the DNA test for tomorrow,” he said quietly. “And if you’re right... I’ll take responsibility.”
I stopped with my hand on the door handle, refusing to face him.
“Responsibility?”
My voice cracked despite my effort to keep it steady.
