Chapter Four [Isabella Was Born]
1095 Words
Nine months later, the De La Vega mansion bloomed with roses. Reporters camped outside the tall gates, waiting for a glimpse of Mexico’s most powerful businessman holding his newborn child. Inside, Camila clutched the hospital blanket and tried to steady her heartbeat. The cries of the baby tiny, fierce, alive filled the room like music and punishment in equal measure.
Alejandro’s face, worn by sixty-two years of ambition, softened into boyish wonder.
“Isabella,” he whispered. “My daughter.”
He kissed Camila’s forehead, tears shining in his eyes. “You’ve given me youth again.”
Camila smiled weakly. The nurse placed the baby in her arms. Isabella’s skin was bronze-bright, her eyes still gray from birth but shaped unmistakably like Diego’s. Camila turned away, pretending it was only the hospital light playing tricks.
When Alejandro announced the birth to the press, the story flooded television screens across Latin America. “A new De La Vega heir proof that love has no age.” They called Camila the miracle wife. But miracles, she thought, always come with a debt.
Homecoming
Two weeks later, the family returned to the mansion. Alejandro threw a dinner to celebrate. The chandeliers burned like stars, the silverware gleamed, and servants whispered with rehearsed excitement. Rafael presented flowers; Antonio brought silence.
He arrived late, his eyes hidden behind tinted glasses, the smell of whisky faint but present.
“Congratulations, Father,” he said, kissing the baby’s forehead. “She’s beautiful. Looks just like you.”
His tone made Rafael glance sharply at him, but Antonio only smiled. “I suppose she’ll have your stubbornness, too.”
Camila felt the blood drain from her face. He knows.
That night, after everyone left, Antonio lingered in the hallway outside the nursery. Through the half-open door, he watched Camila hum a lullaby while rocking the baby. There was tenderness in her he had never seen before real love, raw and unguarded. It made him angry, though he couldn’t explain why. Maybe because his father had found peace where he’d found only power.
From that moment, Antonio’s suspicion became obsession.
Antonio’s Discovery
Weeks later, Antonio’s assistant handed him a small folder. “The clinic bills, sir. For the maternity tests.”
Antonio flipped through them idly until one caught his eye. The date was off by nearly a month. Too early for the conception Alejandro claimed. He stared at the paper, his mind racing. If she got pregnant before the Brazil trip… then Father wasn’t even in Mexico.
He smiled to himself, a cruel satisfaction curling through him. “So that’s your game, little dove.”
That evening, he visited the mansion under the pretense of business. Camila met him in the study, cautious but polite.
“Alejandro’s not home,” she said.
“I know,” Antonio replied, stepping closer. “I came to see you.”
Her heart skipped. “Why?” “Because I know who Isabella’s real father is.” The words sliced the air. Camila froze. “You’re drunk.”
Antonio laughed softly. “Not drunk. Just observant.” He tossed the medical folder on the table. “The dates don’t lie. You do.”
“If you ever tell him”“Relax,” he interrupted. “I’m not telling him. Not if you… cooperate.”
His eyes lingered on her trembling hands, her pale face. “You’ll do as I say, Camila. If you don’t, I’ll destroy you and your precious little girl.” She could barely speak. “What do you want?” Loyalty,” he said simply. “And silence.”
Camila’s Guilt
That night, she sat in the nursery beside Isabella’s crib, the shadows deep under her eyes. The baby slept peacefully, unaware of the storm outside her tiny world.
Camila wanted to run to take her daughter and disappear somewhere without the De La Vega name. But where could she go? The media would find her; Alejandro’s lawyers would hunt her down.
She pressed her palm against the crib’s wooden rail. “I will protect you,” she whispered. “Even if it kills me.” From that day, she lived with a quiet terror. Every time Antonio entered a room, she flinched. Every smile felt like blackmail.
The Lie Grows
Alejandro adored his daughter. He spent hours in the nursery, singing old songs, feeding her with clumsy joy. “She has my hands,” he said proudly. “Strong hands.”
Camila would nod, forcing a smile.
When Rafael visited, he saw the tension but misunderstood it. “You should rest more,” he told her. “Father’s happiness is a lot to carry.”
“Yes,” she replied softly. “It’s heavy.”
The Threat Deepens
One afternoon, Antonio found her alone in the garden.
“You should be careful out here,” he said. “Too much sun isn’t good for the skin—or secrets.”
She glared at him. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because I can,” he said. “And because it amuses me to see the perfect wife tremble.”
Camila’s anger flared. “If you cared for your father at all, you’d stay silent.”
He leaned closer, his breath hot with arrogance. “Oh, I’ll stay silent. But silence isn’t free.”
His meaning hung between them—ugly, heavy, unmistakable. She turned and walked away, trembling. That night, she vomited from fear.
Alejandro’s Blind Joy
Months passed, and Alejandro, blinded by happiness, saw nothing. Isabella became the center of his universe. He carried her into board meetings, boasted to investors, and talked about slowing down. “For once, I want to enjoy what I’ve built,” he said.
Camila smiled, but inside, she was drowning. Every laugh, every toast, every kiss on her cheek felt like another shovel of dirt on the grave of her truth.
Only the baby’s laughter gave her strength. But even that was borrowed joy. She knew one day, the truth would come knocking.
The Whisper in the Dark
Late one night, while Alejandro slept, Camila wakes up and crept into the nursery. She gazed at Isabella’s sleeping face and whispered, “If love is a sin, then I’m already damned.”
From the hallway, unseen, Antonio listened. He smiled to himself, the smile of a man who’d found a weapon and was patient enough to wait for the right moment to use it.
Outside, thunder rolled across the city again.
Storms, in the De La Vega family, had a way of coming back.
- Writer
