Chapter 3 - Shadows of the Past
The fallout from the party was immediate and ruthless. By midnight, news of the confrontation had spread through the city's elite circles like wildfire. The Aranda name, once synonymous with old-money prestige and flawless reputation, was suddenly surrounded by scandalous whispers.
I had left the country club within five minutes of dropping the second envelope. My brother, Gabriel, was waiting outside in his battered sedan. When I climbed into the passenger seat, hugging Lucía tight against my chest, he didn't ask questions. He simply put the car in drive and took us home—not to the grand, empty house I shared with Rodrigo in the gated district, but to my parents' small, modest apartment on the north side of the city.
The apartment smelled of roasted garlic and old books. When my mother opened the door, her eyes immediately welled with tears. She didn't ask about the party, or the flowers, or the ivory tablecloths. She just took Lucía into her arms, kissed her forehead, and led me inside.
"You did what you had to do, miija," my father said quietly, pouring me a cup of warm tea at the small kitchen table where I used to do my homework. "Honesty always outlives money."
As I sat in that quiet kitchen, listening to the soft ticking of the clock, my phone began to buzz incessantly. Dozens of messages flooded in from Rodrigo, ranging from desperate apologies to angry demands for me to bring Lucía back home.
Daniela, please answer me. We can fix this. My mother made a mistake, she’s out of her mind. Where are you? Bring Lucía home.
I turned the phone off.
The next morning, I visited my lawyer, Sofía Vance. Her office was small, devoid of the mahogany and velvet that characterized the Aranda firm, but her legal mind was sharp as a razor.
"They are going to attack you, Daniela," Sofía warned, leaning across her desk and tapping a pen against her legal pad. "Teresa Aranda is a wounded animal right now. She has built her entire identity around controlling her family's fortune and reputation. You humiliated her publicly. She will use every dollar she has to make you look like an unfit mother."
"Let her try," I said firmly. "I spent three months gathering evidence while they thought I was crying in the nursery. I have the receipts, Sofía."
"We have the financial proof of her fraud, yes," Sofía said. "But we need to address the blue eyes."
I frowned. "The DNA test is ninety-nine point nine percent conclusive."
"Legally, yes," Sofía said smoothly. "But psychologically, Teresa will keep pushing the narrative that you cheated, that the test was faked, or that you manipulated the lab. We need to close every single backdoor. Where did the blue eyes come from, Daniela?"
I smiled softly, a wave of warm memory washing over me. I reached into my bag and pulled out a faded, yellowed photograph wrapped in protective plastic.
"My great-grandmother," I said, placing the photograph on Sofía’s desk. "Her name was Lucía. She came from a small coastal village in Spain. She had bright, ocean-blue eyes. My grandfather inherited them, but they skipped my mother and me. Genetics isn't a straight line, Sofía. It's a river."
Sofía looked at the photograph, then at the bright blue eyes of the woman in the faded picture, and smiled. "That is going to be very useful in court."
That afternoon, a knocked sounded on my parents' front door. It wasn't the police, nor was it a lawyer.
It was Rodrigo.
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He stood in the hallway, looking disheveled, his designer suit wrinkled, dark circles hanging under his eyes. He looked nothing like the confident heir to the Aranda fortune I had married two years ago.
"Daniela," he rasped, his voice trembling. "Please. Talk to me."
