Two years ago…
Elizabeth
The flight to Brazil was long and draining. I dozed off a few times on the plane, but when we finally reached Seb's penthouse, I went straight to his bedroom, collapsed onto his king-size bed, and surrendered to sleep.
I didn't realize how deep it was until I woke up to daylight the next morning.
"Good morning, honey."
Seb walked in with a tray balanced in his hands. Breakfast. He was still dressed in his gym clothes, and I immediately suspected the meal came straight from a YouTube cooking tutorial—because Seb, in my dictionary, and cooking didn't exactly match.
"Morning." A wide yawn escaped as I pushed myself upright.
He set the tray on the bedside table. "You knocked out early last night and even missed dinner. I wanted to wake you, but you looked so worn out, I couldn't."
"Hmm. Thank you." I rubbed my eyes, still heavy with lingering sleep. "So, tell me—was this breakfast made by your little YouTube chefs?" I teased, nodding toward the tray.
"Nope." He slid onto the bed beside me, a small grin tugging at his lips. "Actually, I picked up a few tricks from Mom back home. Put in my best effort this time. You'll see."
He chuckled, clearly proud of himself. And somehow, I couldn't help smiling at that pride.
Speaking of Adira—I'd begged her to come with us, but she insisted on staying behind to look after the house. I really missed her; can't believe how attached I've grown to her in just a few months. She claimed Seb and I needed time alone and she didn't want to intrude.
"Go on, have a bite." Seb set the tray in front of me with a proud little flourish. "My damn hard work."
I laughed and picked up a sandwich. One bite in, I closed my eyes, savoring the flavor. "Mmm. This is actually good." I opened my eyes wide. "Turkey sandwich."
The glow on his face was priceless.
"My mom stole that recipe from my stepdad," he said, smug, "and I stole it from her."
I tried not to choke on laughter with food still in my mouth. "Vice versa. A family of copycats. Still, this tastes amazing. If your stepdad's perfect in the kitchen and you're only average, maybe you should steal more from him than from your mom."
"Yeah, well…" He handed me my latte, which I accepted gratefully. "That man's an all-in-one promo. Chef, father of a massive restaurant chain in Paris, Spain, Germany—you name it."
"He's a business tycoon… like someone I know but won't mention." I sipped my latte, side-eyeing him.
Seb's brows shot up. "Someone you know but won't mention?" A sly smirk spread across his lips as he slid the tray aside. "Start talking. Who's this guy?"
I shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "Don't know. But he's hot. Dashing. Yeah… fucking hot."
His eyes narrowed, the jealousy flaring so clear it made me laugh.
"Come on, baby. You're the guy. I was actually referring to you."
Relief spilled from him in one long breath. "God. You almost made me commit homicide on someone this morning."
I looked at him, still laughing hard. "Wait—if it really was some other guy, you'd hunt him down?"
His tone was dead serious. "Kill him. That's the right word if I'd gotten my hands on him."
"You're so cheeky and cute when you're jealous."
Embarrassed, he looked away. "Any man in my shoes would be."
I picked the tray back up and continued devouring breakfast—until my teeth suddenly froze. "Oh, shit."
Seb frowned. "What is it?"
"I forgot to brush before eating."
A sweet smile tugged at his lips. He leaned in, kissed me, and nibbled my lower lip. "Doesn't matter. You smell nice."
Heat rushed to my cheeks.
Then he checked his smartwatch and sighed before peeling off his shirt. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he said, "Today's going to be hectic. I've got an online meeting and a pile of work to finish. You'll have your day without me in the picture."
"I don't have a problem with that," I said as he headed for the bathroom.
---
The moment I stepped into my family's mansion…
"Elizabeth?" My mom froze. She almost didn't recognize me. Couldn't believe she was seeing me in the flesh, right there in front of her.
"Elizabeth… is it really you I'm seeing?" Mom's voice trembled, as if she couldn't trust her own eyes.
Tears welled up as a wide smile broke across her face. She dropped everything and ran straight into my arms, hugging me so tightly I thought she might never let go.
From behind her, I noticed the rest of my family frozen in place, wide-eyed, watching in disbelief.
Mom finally pulled back, her gaze sweeping over me from head to toe. "Oh my Lord… what a blessing." Her hand brushed my belly and her lips trembled. "Look at the changes. You look so beautiful carrying life."
Then her eyes darted past me, searching. "Where is he? Your fiancé?"
"He's busy today," I explained softly. "But he'll come visit some other time."
She nodded, satisfied, though I caught the flicker of curiosity still dancing in her eyes.
Once the shock lifted, the rest of my family came forward and we exchanged hugs and greetings. The warmth of home flooded me so quickly it made my throat tighten.
But my little cousin Débora couldn't stop staring. Her gaze kept sneaking to my belly until I finally caught her.
She grinned wide. "Will I be having a new cousin soon?"
I chuckled. "Yes, Debbie." Her tiny voice always melted me.
Her hazel eyes lit up like stars. She clapped her hands and started bouncing around the hall in delight. At nine years old, the baby of the house with no younger ones to play with, she was overwhelmed with joy at the thought of finally having someone "smaller" than her.
Just then, everyone's attention shifted—Hendrix and Danny arrived at the door, lugging in what looked like over seventy boxes into the mansion.
"Elizabeth?" Mom gasped, her eyes nearly popping at the sight of strange men hauling boxes into the house. "Are you… getting married to the president?"
I blinked at her, puzzled. "No. Why would you even ask that?"
She leaned closer, whispering as if afraid the men would hear her. "Well, look at them. They move like guards. Are you sure your fiancé isn't some politician?"
I laughed. "Mom, no. They're just helping with deliveries."
Her gaze followed the endless stream of boxes. "And what on earth are those?"
I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and clutched my little Prada purse. "Gifts. My fiancé sent them for everyone in the house."
Her eyes widened, sparkling. "God above… he's generous, Elizabeth. These are no ordinary gifts—they look expensive. Now I really can't wait to meet this man."
"Soon," I assured her with a smile, though my thoughts wandered. I glanced around the hall, searching. "Where's Dad?"
The way Mom's expression fell, I might as well have asked for the devil himself. "That one is upstairs. I don't know what he's doing, but the moment he saw you, he turned back."
I frowned. "Dad saw me and went back? I didn't even notice him when I came in. Why wouldn't he come out to welcome me?"
"Ugh, Elizabeth." She waved my question away as if brushing dust off her sleeve. "You don't understand your father. He's mysterious—always has been. Just let him be. The important thing is that you're living well."
I bit my lip. Yes, I was living well—but Dad's cold retreat stung more than I wanted to admit. He had always been strict, hard to please, but ignoring me entirely? That wasn't like him.
Uncle Fernando's voice cut through the heavy air. "So, Elizabeth, are you officially moving in today, or did we wake up and discover it's Christmas?"
The room erupted in laughter, the tension breaking at last.
The next moment, the living room was a festival of tearing cardboard and rustling wrapping paper.
Grandma Abigail's eyes nearly popped out when she pulled out a designer handbag with a matching purse. "Elizabeth!" She slung it on her shoulder, her grey eyes glowing with disbelief. "Do you know how much this costs? It's a fortune. Even if we sold this whole house, it couldn't buy the strap."
She rummaged inside, hunting for a price tag. When she found none, her joy flipped to suspicion. "Why would you tear it off? I was going to match this bag with my last Christmas dress and show it off at church."
I chuckled, pointing at the bold monogram. "Grandma, the tag might give your friends heart attacks. The name is right there—Louis Vuitton. That's enough."
Truth was, I'd removed every tag before Sebastian even sent the gifts.
"Elizabeth, did you shop an entire mall?" my aunt—Débora's mom—asked, just as Danny staggered in with the last of the boxes.
I rubbed my belly, smiling. "No. I didn't shop them. My fiancé did."
Her gasp was so dramatic it made Débora giggle. She rushed to my side, gripping my arm. "Is he a celebrity? Did he come with you to Brazil? Oh, I must see him! Is he handsome? Is he—"
"Gabriella!" Mom's elbow jabbed her ribs.
She pouted, retreating back to her loot like a scolded child.
Mom only sighed, shaking her head. "She's too fond of stories." Unlike the others, she barely spared the gifts a glance. That was Mom—never impressed by shiny things. "I need to have a word with your father."
Without another word, she disappeared into Dad's room, leaving me standing there with my thoughts swirling.
Why had he acted so strange? He saw me and turned away as if I were a stranger. Not even a word. Not even an insult. Nothing.
My heart pressed heavy against my ribs. Was he… ashamed of me?
I didn't know what was going on anymore. Everyone downstairs seemed happy—busy tearing into boxes, laughing, marveling at handbags and perfumes. Even Uncle Fernando had no sign of something-is-definitely-wrong, Elizabeth on his face.
But I couldn't shake it off. Dad.
The way he looked at me—if he even looked at me at all—and turned back inside as though I were a ghost. The weight of it pressed too hard on my chest. I needed to know why.
I climbed the stairs slowly, my heartbeat thudding louder with each step. By the time I reached his door, voices leaked through the wood—sharp, rising, colliding.
They were fighting.
Dad's voice thundered: "How can you ruin your daughter's life with your own bare hands, Susana? Don't you dare lie and say you had no idea she was in a relationship!"
Mom shot back, fierce and unshaken: "Yes, Rodriguez, I knew. I am fully aware. So stop raising your damn voice at me."
My breath caught.
"What? You knew and didn't tell me?" Dad raged. "What kind of woman are you? You knew very well there was an arrangement—an agreement with the priest's son—"
Mom cut him off, her voice trembling with fury. "My daughter is not marrying Carlos. Have that engraved in your stubborn head!"
"Listen to me, Susana. I don't care what you think. We settled this before. If you know what's good for you, you'll tell Elizabeth to get rid of that thing she's carrying—"
My knees nearly buckled. That thing. He meant my babies.
Mom's scream was so sharp it silenced him: "Rodriguez! Don't you dare. Don't you ever. I swear, touch one hair on my daughter's head and you'll see the side of me you've never met."
For a moment there was silence. Then Dad's voice dropped, cold and mocking. "Wow. Just wow. Now I see. Tell me, Susana, how much did her so-called baby daddy pay you to take his side? Did he blindfold you with money? Is that what changed your mind?"
"You should be ashamed of yourself," Mom spat. "Selling your daughter's life for an empty promise to the priest and his useless son. You want a scandal? Fine. Let's bring the archbishop into this and see how holy you still look."
The room went quiet. My pulse hammered in my ears.
I pressed my back against the wall, one hand clutched protectively over my belly. My father—the same man who raised me with harsh words but at least words—was willing to erase me, erase my children, for the sake of some priest's promise.
And Mom… Mom was the only wall standing between us and him.
"Susana, don't do anything that will demote my position. I'm warning you."
"Look at you," Mom spat, "you've turned the church into a house of politics."
"Don't try anything stupid, Susana."
That was it. I couldn't bear another word. My chest burned with disgust, and shame clung to me like a second skin. My father—the man who preached dignity to us—plotting my life away like some pawn on his chessboard. And my mother? Keeping this buried all along.
I turned away, swallowing hard, and hurried down the stairs.
"Elizabeth," Uncle Fernando beamed, holding up one of the gifts, "this item is so cool. Technically, only the wealthy can afford it—"
"Uncle," I cut him off, my voice sharper than I intended, "why the hell am I supposed to marry Carlos?"
His smile dropped.
He stepped closer, lowering his tone, and gently pulled me aside, away from the others. "Listen… you don't have to listen to your father. That man is sick in the brain. And it's far too late to fix you up with anyone else. Come on, you're pregnant."
"That's not the point!" I snapped, struggling to keep my voice low. "Why would Dad do something like this without my consent? Does he honestly think he can control every part of my life—even who I marry?"
Uncle Fernando sighed deeply, rubbing the back of his neck. "Don't torture yourself, niña. Those are drafts that can never be published—plans he'll never carry out."
I clenched my fists against my belly, my voice shaking. "He'd better be careful. He has no idea what my fiancé is capable of when he finds out about this."
At that, Uncle Fernando placed a hand gently over mine, his eyes dark with concern. "Elizabeth… I haven't met your fiancé yet. I hope I do someday. But for now…" He hesitated, lowering his voice to almost a whisper. "For now, let's keep this between us. Don't let Sebastian know about your father's dirty dealings. Please. Not yet."
When I didn't reply and turned my face away, Uncle Fernando added carefully, "Because looking at it from one side… I can tell he's a very dangerous and wealthy man."
I whipped back at him, my eyes burning. "I went upstairs, and I heard Mom and Dad fighting. Do you know what it was about? An arranged marriage. Me. Like I'm some prize goat they're auctioning off." My voice cracked. "I'm not an item—but they make me feel like I'm for sale."
He set a heavy hand on my shoulder, his gaze soft. "Elizabeth, I told you not to listen to your father. Your mother never stood with him on this. She's been against it from the very beginning—"
"Then why didn't she tell me?" I cut him off, my chest heaving. "Not her, not you, not anybody. Not even Grandma Abigail or—"
"Everyone, Carlos is here!"
Débora's thrilled voice rang out from the foyer.
I froze. Uncle Fernando's eyes flicked to mine, heavy with unspoken words.
I arched a brow, my lips twisting bitterly. "It's him, huh?"
---
Narrator
Sebastian sat in his study, his desk a neat chaos of files, contracts, and open emails. He moved between his laptop and a stack of printed documents with mechanical precision, dividing his attention without pause, the way only he could.
For the eighth time, his phone buzzed against the polished wood. He had ignored it before, but the caller seemed relentless. The vibration thrummed like a warning, each buzz tugging his focus from the work he was determined to finish.
He ignored the scattered files on his desk and finally picked up when it rang the ninth time.
With all the aggression and fatigue coiled in his chest, he snapped, "Mom, I told you—when I don't pick up, it means I'm in the middle of something. Now, what is it?"
"It's Felix."
Adira's voice, not his mother's, filled the line. Sebastian closed his eyes and groaned. Of course. Another storm. He was tired—tired of refereeing a marriage that was never his responsibility.
"He called my mom today," Adira went on, her voice bristling with indignation, "and told her I've been ghosting him for five months."
Sebastian leaned back in his chair, rubbing at his brow. "Didn't you say you had his permission to come over back then? You even said he'd be away for a month."
"We had a fight. And he caused it." Her tone was final, petulant, the way it always was when she needed him to take her side.
Sebastian didn't need a prophet to see where the fault lay. He had lived this cycle too many times: her tempers, her pride, the endless wars she ignited. And still, he didn't understand why she insisted on tearing apart what could have been peace.
"Jesus, Mommy…" he exhaled, massaging his temples.
"He thinks he's smart." Adira hissed. "Let him crawl back to me on his knees. Then maybe I'll listen."
"No, Mommy. You won't do that." His voice hardened, quiet but firm. "My step-dad is a good man. And—listen—I'm not judging either of you, but I won't stand here while you tear him down. Whatever the case, fix it. Both of you. Stop turning everything into a battlefield."
Just then, his second phone lit up on the desk, vibrating insistently.
Sebastian glanced at the screen. "Oh. He's calling me now."
"Don't answer!" Adira spat, her tone like venom. "He only wants to run and report me to you. That crazy son of a—"
"Mom. Language." Sebastian cut her off sharply. He would not allow her to drag Dayo's name through mud. "He is still your husband. And you will not talk about him like that. Not to me. Not ever."
Silence hummed at the other end, but he didn't give her the chance to strike back.
"Go back to him, Mommy," Sebastian said with quiet finality. "Elizabeth and I will be here for a week. You can return when we arrive."
"No way I'm going back to Felix's house."
Now Sebastian understood. The iron-stubborn streak he carried—he had inherited it straight from his mother.
His eyes narrowed. "Do you even hear yourself? He'll think you're seeing someone else. And you know as well as I do that divorce is the last thing on your mind."
It was as though he'd tugged at a raw nerve. Adira froze, the words landing like a bomb lodged deep in her marrow.
For a moment, silence reigned. Sebastian even glanced at the phone screen to confirm the call was still connected.
Finally, her voice came back, thinner than before. "Fine. I'll go."
---
Elizabeth
"Uncle, I need to excuse myself from this madhouse." My voice cracked under the weight of it. "Staying here one more second, having this conversation—it feels like suffocation."
It's only my first day back, and already they've managed to ruin it for me.
I turned and started toward the door without waiting for his response.
"Elizabeth."
The sound of my father's voice pinned me mid-step. Slowly, I turned. He was standing at the base of the stairs, his eyes rimmed red; my mother hovered just behind him, her expression unreadable.
"You have a guest," he said flatly. "Won't you say hello to him?"
A bitter laugh almost broke from me, but I held it back. Heaven knows how much strength it took to keep my composure. Thirteen months without a proper word from him—thirteen months—and now, this is how he welcomes me home? By presenting me like a prize to someone else?
My fists clenched so hard I could feel my nails digging crescents into my palms. The anger in my bloodstream pulsed so violently it was almost deafening.
"Rodriguez—" Uncle Fernando tried to step in.
"Stay out of my family business, Fernando." My father's voice cut like iron. "I never interfere in yours, and I hate how you keep sticking your nose into mine."
Silence dropped over the room like a shroud. Everyone's eyes shifted between him and me, the air so heavy it hurt to breathe.
Then—an unfamiliar voice broke through the toxicity.
"Hi. I'm Carlos."
Oh God. Help this man before I commit homicide. Because heaven knows death could be triggered around him right now.
I turned slowly, my gaze falling on the handshake extended in front of me. My eyes dragged upward to the man's face—tall, sandy blond, dark-eyed, early thirties.
"I don't care who the hell you are," I snapped. His hand faltered, dropping awkwardly to his side. "And if you're not blind, you can see I'm heavily pregnant—with a ring on my finger." I pressed my palm against my giant belly.
"Elizabeth, that's no way to talk to your guest," my father chided, tone sharp enough to provoke.
I swung my eyes back to him, glare searing. From behind him, my mother mouthed calm down, but it was already too late.
"To hell with you, Dad!" My voice thundered. Uncle Fernando's hand gripped my shoulder, but I jerked it off like fire. "Why don't you go for transgender surgery and turn yourself into a girl? Then you can marry him instead!"
The room gasped in unison—shocked air sucked from every mouth. Even my mother clamped her hands over her lips, wide-eyed, stunned. It was the first time I had ever insulted my father. And I had done it with the sharpest blade I could find.
Dad's jaw tightened, muscles twitching. He didn't dare come closer—not with Hendrix and Danny standing like silent shadows at the edge of the room.
"You don't speak to me like that, young lady. I'm still your father—"
"Then fuck you, father!"
The words ripped from me like a wound bursting open. My mother's eyes bulged in shock at the shout that split the silence. "Just wait until my fiancé finds out about this."
Dad threw his head back and laughed, cold and mocking. "Hahaha!" He turned to my mother. "Do you hear her, Susana? She's got nerve. Insulting me in front of everyone. She wants to call her little baby boy to fight me. Wow."
I pressed a hand against my belly when a sharp cramp stung through me, breath hitching. "Listen," I forced out through clenched teeth, "I'm having my wedding—with or without you in the picture."
His face hardened. He stepped forward, eyes narrowed into venom. "To hell with you, your fiancé, and your unborn babies, Elizabeth Serena. I don't give a damn who you think you are. You can rot in hell for all I care. I will never—never—stand as your father. Not now, not ever. As long as that wedding doesn't involve you and Carlos? Mark my word."
"Rodriguez?!" Mom, Uncle Fernando, and Grandma Abigail gasped at once, their voices laced with disbelief.
My chest ached, my eyes burning with the tears I refused to release. How could those words come from the man who raised me? How could he be so heartless—even with my children in me, even in front of everyone?
Their pitying stares pressed on me like knives. I inhaled deep, steadying my shaking frame, locking the tears inside where they couldn't be seen.
The only words that made it past my lips were low and sharp as steel:
"Dad… you'll regret this. I promise you."
Then I turned on my heel and walked away, leaving him and his cruelty behind me.