The champagne glass slipped from his hand and shattered against the marble floor.

The sound echoed through the hall, drawing everyone’s attention. For a moment no one understood what had happened.

Then I saw the expression on Álvaro’s face shift—from surprise to something far deeper.

Fear.

Not because of me. He had erased me from his life long ago.

But because of the four faces standing beside me.

Mateo, now sixteen, carried the same tense jawline his father had when he was concentrating. The twins, fourteen, shared his dark eyes and thoughtful silence. And Irene, eleven, had the same small dimple when she smiled.

No explanation was necessary.

Anyone could see the resemblance.

Álvaro stepped down from the stage before the polite applause from the crowd had even faded. His wife Beatriz tried to stop him, but he pulled away and walked straight toward us.

“What are you doing here, Lucía?” he asked quietly.

“I accepted the invitation,” I replied calmly. “Your foundation claims to defend families tonight. I thought it was appropriate to bring mine.”

His eyes returned to the children.

“You have no right to do this,” he murmured.

I gave a small, bitter laugh.

“That’s exactly what you told me when you left me with a false medical report.”

Before the crowd could gather around us, I led him into a smaller side room. Beatriz followed, along with a curious journalist and two trustees who sensed a scandal.

I placed a folder on the walnut table.

Álvaro saw his signature before he even read the page.

“Informed consent for in-vitro fertilization,” I read aloud. “Authorization to freeze six viable embryos. Signed by Álvaro Montalbán and Lucía Herrera.”

Beatriz frowned.

“What is this about?”

continue to the next page.”