Chapter 3 - Diego Calls His Father
For a moment, Diego thought he had misunderstood her.
“My father?”
Paulina nodded.
The fear in her face had changed.
She was still afraid of Diego.
But beneath that fear was relief.
The relief of someone who had finally dropped a burden too heavy to keep carrying.
Diego closed the bedroom door.
“Start talking.”
Paulina sat on the edge of the bed.
Her hands folded tightly in her lap.
Four years of secrets seemed to settle between them.
“I was twenty-five.”
“I don’t care how old you were.”
“You should.”
“Why?”
“Because I wasn’t your fiancée. I wasn’t even your girlfriend. I was a junior coordinator at your family foundation trying to impress people who could decide my entire future.”
Diego said nothing.
“Your father knew my parents. My mother had organized charity events with him for years.”
“I know.”
“One afternoon, Cecilia asked me to come to headquarters.”
“The afternoon Marisol was there.”
“Yes.”
“What did she tell you?”
“That a woman was trying to trap you.”
Diego laughed bitterly.
“With my own child.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“You held an ultrasound in your hands.”
“She said it could have belonged to anyone.”
“And you believed her?”
Paulina looked away.
“I believed what I wanted to believe.”
Diego’s jaw tightened.
“Why were you involved at all?”
“Because your father asked me to be.”
Silence.
“He said you were preparing to take over the company. That the board already considered you impulsive. That if a poor girlfriend suddenly appeared pregnant, there would be a scandal.”
Diego’s stare hardened.
“So he decided my child was bad for business.”
“He said Marisol would receive money.”
“She received enough to survive a few months.”
“I didn’t know how much.”
“You knew enough to call someone and say it was done.”
Paulina’s eyes filled.
“That call was to your father.”
Diego looked away.
Outside the window, Mexico City stretched toward the horizon beneath a pale blue sky.
Thousands of buildings.
Millions of people.
For years, Diego had believed his father had protected the family after his mother’s death.
Had guided the company.
Had made hard decisions Diego was too young to understand.
Now a memory returned.
His father, Alejandro Villaseñor, standing inside Diego’s Madrid hotel suite.
Marisol is gone.
Forget her.
Women like that understand when the dream is over.
At the time, Diego had nearly punched him.
Alejandro had insisted he was only repeating what investigators discovered.
Diego had believed none of it at first.
Then weeks became months.
Months became years.
And eventually even hope became embarrassing.
“Did my father forge the letter?” Diego asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Who did?”
“Cecilia handled it.”
“Did you see it?”
“No.”
“Did you know Marisol was pregnant?”
“Yes.”
“You knew there was a possibility the child was mine.”
“Yes.”
“And four years later you walked into this house, recognized Marisol, and said nothing.”
Paulina’s silence was answer enough.
Diego stepped back as though she had struck him.
“When did you realize Valentina was probably mine?”
Paulina began crying.
He felt nothing.
“When?”
“The first week.”
His face emptied.
“The first week you lived here?”
“Yes.”
“You watched her.”
“I noticed her.”
“You noticed?”
“Diego—”
“You watched my daughter live beside a laundry room.”
“I didn’t put her there.”
“No. You just made sure she stayed there.”
Paulina stood.
“I was scared!”
“Of what?”
“Of losing everything!”
“To a three-year-old?”
“To Marisol!”
There it was.
The truth.
Ugly and simple.
Paulina wiped her face angrily.
“You don’t understand what it was like when you started looking at her again.”
“I barely spoke to her.”
“You didn’t have to.”
Paulina laughed through her tears.
“You would walk into the kitchen and somehow know she had changed the coffee beans. You knew when she was sick because breakfast tasted different. You remembered the flowers she liked even after all those years.”
Diego stared.
“I didn’t even realize I remembered.”
“I did.”
Paulina continued.
“And then Valentina.”
Her voice became bitter.
“You were different around her.”
“She was a child.”
“You hated children at parties. You left rooms when babies cried. You told me you never wanted our wedding to become one of those conversations about grandchildren.”
Diego remembered.
He had said those things.
Maybe because somewhere deep inside, the idea of children had always belonged to the future Marisol had once represented.
A future he believed had rejected him.
“But with Valentina,” Paulina said, “you always stopped.”
Diego pictured the little girl sitting on her pink blanket.
Looking up.
Waiting.
He had always smiled.
He had never understood why.
“You knew,” Paulina whispered. “Some part of you knew.”
Diego turned toward the door.
“Where are you going?”
“To call my father.”
“Don’t.”
He stopped.
Paulina’s expression shifted again.
“What?”
“Not from your phone.”
Diego slowly faced her.
“Why?”
“Because if Alejandro knows I told you, he’ll destroy every record before you can prove anything.”
The fact that she used his father’s name rather than calling him Señor Villaseñor told Diego how deep this went.
“How much contact have you had with him?”
Paulina swallowed.
“More than you know.”
Ten minutes later, Diego was inside the secure office beside Mateo.
Marisol stood near the desk.
Diego had told her everything.
Not because it was easy.
Because after four years of secrets, he refused to create another one.
Marisol listened without interrupting.
When he finished, she sat slowly.
“Your father knew?”
“Yes.”
Her eyes closed.
“I met him once.”
Diego stared.
“When?”
“When I was five months pregnant.”
“What?”
“He came to see me.”
Diego felt the room tilt again.
“Where?”
“My apartment.”
“What did he say?”
Marisol looked at him.
“He told me to leave Mexico City.”
Diego’s hands curled into fists.
“He said the Villaseñor name would never belong to my child. He said if I tried to prove paternity, your lawyers would keep me in court until Valentina was an adult.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this?”
“I thought you sent him.”
The answer cut through him.
“Marisol…”
“He knew details about us, Diego. He knew about Madrid. He knew about the necklace. He knew what you had promised me.”
“My father knew because I told him.”
“I know that now.”
Diego sat down.
For the first time, he looked tired rather than powerful.
Mateo placed a secure phone on the desk.
“We can call from this line.”
Diego nodded.
Marisol stood.
“I’ll leave.”
“No.”
She stopped.
“You deserve to hear this.”
Mateo dialed Alejandro’s private number in Madrid.
Three rings.
“Hello?”
Diego had not heard his father’s voice in almost two weeks.
Usually the sound brought irritation.
Now it brought something close to disgust.
“Father.”
A pause.
“Diego? Strange number.”
“I needed privacy.”
“That sounds dramatic.”
Diego looked at Marisol.
“Do you remember Marisol Hernández?”
Silence.
Not surprise.
Silence.
That told him everything.
“Father?”
Alejandro cleared his throat.
“The name is vaguely familiar.”
Diego almost smiled.
“Interesting.”
“Why?”
“Because she remembers you very well.”
Another pause.
“What is this about?”
“Valentina.”
The line went completely quiet.
Diego felt Marisol grip the back of the chair beside her.
“My daughter,” Diego continued.
Alejandro finally spoke.
“You should not make conclusions before testing.”
Diego’s face hardened.
He had not mentioned testing.
“I never told you there was a DNA test.”
The silence became heavier.
“Paulina told you.”
“No.”
Diego leaned forward.
“You just did.”
Alejandro exhaled.
“Diego, listen carefully. This is not a conversation to have over the telephone.”
“Why did you keep my daughter from me?”
“I protected you.”
“From my child?”
“From a situation that could have destroyed everything you were building.”
“I was twenty-nine, not twelve.”
“You were reckless.”
“I loved her.”
“You thought you loved her.”
Marisol’s face changed.
Diego saw it.
Alejandro continued.
“You were weeks away from being appointed chief executive. There were shareholders prepared to challenge you. A pregnancy outside marriage, involving a woman with no family, no education from the right institutions—”
“Stop.”
“—would have been used against you.”
“Stop.”
“You think this is cruel because you have spent too many years surrounded by people who never had to protect a dynasty.”
Diego’s voice dropped.
“Dynasty?”
“Yes.”
“You robbed me of my child for a stock price.”
“I preserved what your grandfather built.”
“You threatened Marisol.”
“I gave her options.”
“You forged a letter.”
“I did no such thing.”
“Who did?”
Silence.
“Father.”
“I never wrote a letter pretending to be you.”
That distinction was too specific.
Diego looked at Mateo.
Mateo wrote one word on a pad.
Cecilia.
Diego understood.
“What did Cecilia do?”
Alejandro sighed.
“Cecilia went beyond her instructions.”
Marisol stood straighter.
“What instructions?”
Alejandro heard her voice.
His tone changed immediately.
“So she is there.”
“Yes,” Diego said.
Alejandro ignored him.
“Marisol, I regret that things became unpleasant.”
Diego almost exploded.
Marisol stepped toward the phone.
“Unpleasant?”
Her voice shook.
“I gave birth alone.”
Alejandro said nothing.
“My daughter had pneumonia when she was eleven months old. I spent three nights sitting beside her in a public hospital because I couldn’t afford a private room.”
Silence.
“I worked two jobs while nursing her. I ate bread so she could have fruit.”
“Marisol—”
“You don’t get to say my name like you know me.”
Diego looked at her.
The quiet woman who had spent four years lowering her eyes in his house was gone.
“You threatened me because you thought poverty meant I could be frightened into disappearing.”
Alejandro’s voice hardened.
“You accepted the money.”
“I returned it.”
Diego looked at her sharply.
“What?”
Marisol’s eyes remained on the phone.
“I returned every peso.”
Alejandro was silent.
“You never told me that,” Diego whispered.
“I mailed a cashier’s check to the foundation.”
Mateo immediately began typing.
Alejandro finally spoke.
“That money was never returned.”
Marisol stared.
“Yes, it was.”
Diego looked at Mateo.
“Find it.”
Mateo nodded.
Alejandro’s tone became impatient.
“Diego, whatever you think happened, do not allow emotion to dictate legal decisions. If the girl is yours, there are arrangements that can be made.”
“Arrangements?”
“Financial support. Education. A trust.”
Diego’s face hardened.
“She is not a business liability.”
“I didn’t say she was.”
“You called her ‘the girl.’”
“Because until paternity is established—”
Diego disconnected the call.
Marisol looked at him.
He stared at the silent phone.
“He knew.”
“Yes.”
“He knew all these years.”
Marisol did not answer.
There was nothing left to say.
At four that afternoon, Mateo returned with another discovery.
The cashier’s check Marisol had mailed four years ago had been deposited.
Not into the Villaseñor Foundation.
Into an account controlled by Cecilia Navarro.
The account had later transferred money to a private consulting company.
The owner of that company?
Paulina’s mother.
Diego stared at the documents.
“This wasn’t only about protecting me.”
Mateo shook his head.
“No.”
Marisol’s stomach tightened.
“Then what was it about?”
Mateo turned another page.
“I searched corporate records around the same dates.”
He pointed to a board resolution.
“Your father was negotiating a merger with Robles Development.”
Paulina’s family company.
Diego read further.
A proposed merger.
Political connections.
Land permits.
Hundreds of millions of dollars.
And buried inside the supporting correspondence was an email from Alejandro to Cecilia.
Only one sentence.
Diego’s relationship with Hernández must be resolved before the Robles announcement.
Diego read it twice.
Then three times.
Marisol whispered, “They already planned for you and Paulina?”
“No.”
Mateo looked grim.
“Not Paulina specifically.”
He placed another document down.
“It was bigger than that.”
Years earlier, Alejandro Villaseñor had negotiated a private agreement with the Robles family.
If Diego eventually married into their family, the Robles political network would support Villaseñor construction projects across Mexico.
Paulina had not accidentally fallen in love with Diego.
At least not at first.
She had been selected.
Introduced.
Positioned.
Marisol sat back.
“Your entire relationship…”
Diego stared toward the ceiling where Paulina’s bedroom was located.
“Was arranged before I knew it existed.”
Before anyone could speak, Rosa rushed into the office.
Her breathing was uneven.
“Señor Diego.”
He stood immediately.
“What happened?”
“It’s Valentina.”
Marisol was already moving.
“What about her?”
Rosa held out the golden button.
“I found this on the kitchen floor.”
Marisol frowned.
“Where is she?”
Rosa’s face drained of color.
“I thought she was with you.”
The entire room froze.
Marisol ran.
“Valentina!”
Diego followed.
They searched the kitchen.
The sunroom.
The laundry hall.
The small servant bedroom.
Empty.
Marisol’s voice became frantic.
“Valentina!”
Diego reached the main hall.
The front door was slightly open.
His blood turned cold.
Mateo shouted for security.
Then Diego saw something on the marble near the entrance.
Valentina’s stuffed rabbit.
Dropped on its side.
One ear torn.
Marisol picked it up.
“No.”
Diego looked toward the gates.
A black SUV was disappearing down the road.
Mateo checked his phone.
“Vehicle belongs to the mansion.”
“Who signed it out?”
Mateo’s expression changed.
“Paulina.”
Marisol stopped breathing.
Diego looked upstairs.
The suite door stood open.
The suitcase was gone.
May you like
So was Paulina Robles.
And she had taken Valentina with her.
