Genevieve's eyes trembled.
"You… what?" She tried to find the right words. "You and my father were with me when I was a child?"
She shook her head, eyes filled with disbelief. "No. No, you're lying. My grandfather would have told me otherwise—"
"Oliver?" Valentina scoffed. "He was scared, obviously. Of your true identity. It's why he named you after his own family name."
"…What?" Genevieve was again at a loss for words.
If she ever doubted Valentina's words, then they were almost cleared when she revealed her grandfather's name. Oliver Saint Laurent. And the fact that the two of them looked so similar alleviated most of her doubts, naturally.
"What do you mean scared?" Genevieve murmured. "Who is my father? Who… who are you?"
"Oliver was a good man," Valentina said, expression softening. "He raised you all by himself. Taught you everything he knew and more. And for that, he has my love."
She paused, making sure Genevieve understood the weight of her words.
