04

The city’s nightlights blurred as I drove back to my penthouse. I should have felt in control after taking the first steps toward clarity, but instead, a gnawing sense of anticipation tightened in my chest. Isabela had the document now. The decision to cooperate or resist was hers, but deep down, I knew she would fight me.

She always fought me.

It was one of the reasons I had been drawn to her. Isabela wasn’t like anyone else. She didn’t bow to pressure or let herself be intimidated. But that same strength that once captivated me had now become a roadblock. She thought she could keep Miguel away from me, as if my absence these past years was her decision to make.

I parked in the underground garage and took the private elevator up. The penthouse was silent, pristine, yet suffocating. I poured a glass of whiskey and leaned against the floor-to-ceiling windows, staring out at the city. My reflection caught my attention—a man who had everything yet seemed to be on the verge of losing something he didn’t even know he wanted until now.

Miguel.

I closed my eyes briefly, trying to push the thought away. There was no point in fixating until I had proof. Yet, that small part of me, the part I rarely acknowledged, wanted him to be mine. The idea of a son, a tangible legacy, was something I never considered possible. Not with the life I had built—sterile, controlled, and devoid of emotional risks.

My phone buzzed, breaking my reverie. It was a text from one of my lawyers, confirming the meeting for the following day. I stared at the screen for a moment before dialing another number.

“Valenti,” came the familiar voice.

“I want to expedite this,” I said without preamble. “Is there any way to get the results faster once the samples are taken?”

“Gabriel, these things take time—”

“I don’t have time,” I interrupted sharply. “Whatever it takes, do it.”

Valenti sighed on the other end. “I’ll see what can be done, but I can’t make any promises.”

“Promises aren’t necessary, results are,” I replied, then hung up.

The whiskey burned as I swallowed it down in one long gulp. The only thing left to do was wait, but patience had never been a virtue of mine.

The next morning, I arrived at the office earlier than usual. Elena had already set everything up for the legal meeting, but my mind wasn’t on the documents. It was on Isabela. Had she read the request yet? Was she already crafting a plan to resist?

“Elena,” I called out as I walked past her desk. “Reschedule the meeting with the lawyers for later today. I have somewhere to be.”

Her brows furrowed briefly, but she nodded. “Yes, sir. Should I arrange a driver?”

“No. I’ll take care of it.”

I didn’t know where exactly I was going until I was already in the car. The logical part of me knew I should wait, give Isabela time to respond. But logic didn’t matter. Not when every instinct screamed that I needed to see her.

I parked a few blocks away from her building, not wanting to draw attention. The area was quiet, modest, the complete opposite of the world I lived in. For a moment, I just sat there, watching the building from a distance. What was I even expecting? That she would welcome me in and agree to everything I demanded?

Unlikely.

Still, I got out of the car and started walking. Each step felt heavier, as if the weight of five years was pressing down on me all at once. When I reached her door, I hesitated for the briefest of moments before knocking.

The door opened faster than I anticipated, and there she was. Isabela. She looked as surprised as I felt unprepared.

“Gabriel,” she said, her voice edged with frustration. “What are you doing here?”

“We need to talk,” I replied, my tone firm but steady.

“We already said everything last night,” she countered, gripping the door as if ready to close it in my face.

“No, we didn’t.” My eyes met hers, unflinching. “You have the document. I’m here to discuss it.”

Her jaw tightened, and for a second, I thought she might actually slam the door. But then she sighed and stepped back, allowing me inside.

The apartment was small but warm. Toys were scattered across the floor, and there were drawings pinned to the fridge. It was a stark contrast to the sterile luxury I was used to, yet it felt... alive.

“I’m not agreeing to anything,” she said as she folded her arms across her chest. “If you came here to pressure me, you can leave.”

“I’m not here to pressure you, Isabela,” I said, my tone softening slightly. “I just want the truth.”

Her eyes narrowed. “The truth? The truth is you don’t deserve answers, Gabriel. You think you can just show up and demand to be part of our lives after all this time?”

“You didn’t give me a choice,” I shot back, the anger bubbling to the surface. “You left without a word. If Miguel is my son, don’t I deserve to know?”

Her expression faltered, and for a brief moment, I saw something in her eyes—pain, guilt, or perhaps regret. But she masked it quickly.

“You think knowing changes anything?” she asked bitterly. “You think you can just step into his life and fix everything?”

“That’s not your decision to make,” I said, my voice steady. “If he’s mine, he deserves to know me. And I deserve to know him.”

She turned away, running a hand through her hair. “You don’t understand, Gabriel. It’s not that simple.”

“Then make me understand,” I said, taking a step closer. “Explain to me why you thought keeping him from me was the right thing to do.”

She spun around, her eyes blazing. “Because you’re not the kind of man who puts family first! You never were! All you cared about was control and ambition. I couldn’t let Miguel grow up in that.”

Her words hit harder than I expected, but I didn’t let it show. Instead, I took another step forward, closing the distance between us.

“Maybe I wasn’t ready then,” I said, my voice low but firm. “But things are different now. If Miguel is my son, I won’t walk away from him. No matter what it takes.”

Her shoulders slumped slightly, as if the weight of her own decisions was finally catching up to her. “You don’t even know him, Gabriel. He’s not just some... asset you can claim.”

“And I don’t intend to treat him like one,” I replied, my tone softening. “But I need to know the truth. You owe me that much.”

The room fell silent, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Finally, she sighed and shook her head.

“I’ll think about it,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

It wasn’t a yes, but it wasn’t a no either. For now, it was enough.