Chapter 3: The DNA of Truth and the Unraveling Engagement
The morning rain hammered against the glass roof of the Villaseñor conservatory, but inside, the atmosphere was thick with clinical precision.
Diego stood by the wrought-iron table, watching Dr. Gabriel Silva—the family’s trusted private physician for over thirty years—carefully pack away a set of sealed medical vials.
“The expedited analysis is complete, Diego,” Dr. Silva said quietly, handing a crisp manila envelope across the table. “DNA profiling is definitive. There is a 99.999% genetic match. Valentina Villaseñor is your biological daughter.”
Diego stared at the paper. Even though his heart had already recognized the truth the moment he saw her smile, seeing the scientific confirmation printed in black and white felt like a physical blow. He closed his eyes, inhaling slowly as a profound wave of paternal protectiveness washed over him.
“Thank you, Gabriel,” Diego said, his voice steady. “And ensure this record is encrypted and secured under my direct legal vault. No one else touches it.”
“Consider it done,” the doctor replied, packing his bag and exiting through the garden doors.
As soon as Dr. Silva left, the heavy mahogany doors of the conservatory swung open. Paulina walked in. She wasn't wearing her silk robe today; she was dressed in a sharp, blood-red Chanel suit, her face sculpted into a mask of cold, calculated serenity.
“Playing doctor behind closed doors now, Diego?” Paulina asked, her heels clicking sharply against the stone floor. “How touching. Are we diagnosing the maid’s little pet?”
Diego didn't flinch. He slid the manila envelope into his desk drawer and locked it with a small brass key. He turned to face her, his eyes as cold as arctic ice.
“Paulina. We need to talk.”
“Yes, we certainly do,” she shot back, crossing her arms. “I gave you grace last night because you were clearly having a momentary lapse in judgment. But let’s get one thing straight. That maid and her bastard child leave this estate within the hour. My wedding planner is coming at noon, and I refuse to have peasants wandering around when we discuss the guest list for the reception at the Four Seasons.”
Diego walked slowly toward her, his height and presence forcing Paulina to take an involuntary half-step back.
“There is no wedding, Paulina.”
The words hung in the conservatory air, suspended like shards of broken glass.
Paulina stared at him, her red lips parting in sheer disbelief. She let out a sharp, breathless laugh. “You’re joking. You’re punishing me because I told a maid to pack her bags? Are you out of your mind? My father will pull every single engineering contract from your Santa Fe development before dinner!”
“Let him try,” Diego replied, his voice terrifyingly calm. “Your father’s firm has been swimming in debt for eighteen months, living off the liquidity of Villaseñor Group injections. I already instructed my CFO this morning to terminate our financial lifelines with Robles Enterprises.”
Color drained from Paulina’s face so fast she looked like a ghost. “You... you didn't.”
“I did,” Diego said, stepping closer. “And that’s just the beginning. I know about the phone call you made to your mother last night. I know about the tabloid leak you arranged with El Gráfico regarding Marisol's background. You thought you could destroy an innocent woman and my own flesh and blood to protect your social calendar.”
Panic flared in Paulina’s eyes, quickly replaced by a desperate, venomous fury. She pointed a manicured finger at his chest.
“You think you can throw me away like some piece of trash for a servant? I am Paulina Robles! Everyone in Mexico knows my name! If you humiliate me by breaking this engagement, I will destroy you. I will drag your company through every court in the country, I will paint you as an unfit father, and I will make sure that little bastard child of yours never sees a single cent of your fortune!”
Diego looked at her with profound pity—the most devastating insult he could possibly offer her.
“You care about fortunes, Paulina. I care about family,” Diego said quietly. “Security is waiting outside to escort you off the premises. Your personal belongings have already been packed and sent to your parents' townhouse in Polanco. Don't ever step foot on Villaseñor property again.”
Before Paulina could scream, before she could throw another punch or hurl another threat, two burly private security guards stepped into the conservatory, their hands held respectfully behind their backs, waiting for their CEO's final nod.
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Paulina backed away, her chest heaving, tears of pure humiliation stinging her eyes. She pointed a shaking finger at Diego. “You’ll regret this, Diego Villaseñor! You and your little whore of a maid will pay for this!”
With a final, shattering shriek, she spun on her heel and stormed out of the conservatory, her red suit a flash of violent color against the muted greens of the garden.
