Echoes of the Past

POV Aitana

The steady drumming of raindrops against the windowpane was the only sound filling the quiet kitchen. Before me, a steaming cup of coffee had begun to cool, untouched, while my eyes remained fixed on the television set atop the counter. There, the grave, weary face of my grandfather appeared in black-and-white, a black mourning ribbon tied to the corner of the frame.

“Augusto Ferrer, patriarch and founder of the Food Industry Group, passes away at the age of eighty-two,” the red news banner scrolled across the bottom of the screen.

A sharp, bitter knot tightened in my throat. My grandfather Augusto had been an unyielding man, a towering figure who ruled the Ferrer family with an iron fist and an unrelenting business vision. It was his personal war against Leonidas Belmonte that had ignited the blood feud between our clans. And it had been the very fear of his wrath, and of what he would have done to my child had he ever discovered who the father was, that had driven me to pack a single suitcase six years ago and flee into the night.

“Mom! Look what I drew!”

Selene’s clear, sweet voice broke the trance that had held me fast. I blinked quickly, swallowing back the tears, and turned toward the small wooden table where my daughter sat.

At barely six years old, Selene was the entire center of my world. Her chestnut hair was pulled back into two slightly messy pigtails, and she beamed at me with boundless energy that seemed to brighten even our modest little home on the city’s outskirts. Yet every time I looked directly at her face, my heart gave a violent lurch. She had the exact shape of his eyes, the same firm curve to her lips, and that piercing gaze that belonged, beyond any doubt, to Sebastian Belmonte. She was his living portrait, painted in miniature, a walking secret I had guarded jealously from the entire world.

“It is beautiful, my love,” I said, brushing a hand gently over her soft cheek as I admired the drawing covered in bright, sweeping strokes of color. “Is it a castle?”

“It is our giant house, for when we travel to the big city, just like you promised,” she replied, with that pure, unclouded innocence only children possess.

I smiled back at her, though beneath it all a sharp pang of fear twisted through my chest. The big city. The place I had sworn I would never return to.

A low, steady vibration from my mobile phone upon the table interrupted the moment. No name showed alongside the number, but the area code belonged to the Ferrer family’s main law firm. My pulse raced instantly. I had kept this phone turned off for years, relying entirely on disposable lines, but just a few days earlier I had made the mistake of powering this original number on, hoping only to find news of my grandfather’s condition.

I hesitated for several seconds, my finger trembling over the screen, before swiping to answer.

“Aitana? Is that really you?” came the hurried, solemn voice of Attorney Morales, my grandfather’s personal lawyer.

“Attorney Morales,” I murmured, striving to keep my voice steady so as not to alarm Selene, who watched me with curious, wide eyes.

“Thank heaven you answered, child. I have been trying to reach you for days by every possible means,” he said, releasing a long, heavy breath. “Your grandfather has passed away. I assume you have already seen the news.”

“I have,” I replied, feeling that familiar coldness creep down my spine once more. “I am truly sorry. But you know I am no longer part of that family. I left six years ago, and I have no intention of returning.”

“It is not quite so simple, Aitana,” Morales cut in, his tone urgent and grave. “Augusto left very specific instructions before his death. The reading of the will and the restructuring of the company’s shares cannot proceed without your physical presence. Your uncles, Magnus and Alexander, stand ready to tear the estate apart and seize total control, but your grandfather legally blocked every move until you appear.”

“Let them have it all. I want nothing of the Ferrers’ money,” I said firmly, my hand curling tight into a fist.

“This is not merely about wealth, Aitana. It concerns your lawful inheritance and what your grandfather left directly to you. If you do not appear at the board meeting this Thursday, Magnus intends to invoke an abandonment clause to have you legally disqualified. You will forfeit every right forever, and they will break the company apart and sell it piece by piece.”

I pressed my lips together. My uncles were ruthless vultures. Should they take full control, they would not only dismantle everything my grandfather had spent his life building, they would also hunt me down legally for my disappearance. I glanced over at Selene, who had returned to her crayons, entirely unaware of the storm gathering around us.

She deserved a safe and certain future. If the inheritance my grandfather had left me by right could secure for her the education, stability, and security that I could barely provide working endless hours in a tiny workshop, did I have the right to turn it all aside out of cowardice?

The secret of Selene’s paternity remained safe. No one in the city knew I had borne a child, let alone who her father was. I need only go, attend the reading, claim what belonged to her by law, and leave swiftly before anyone thought to look too closely.

“Aitana? Are you still there?” Morales asked after the silence stretched too long.

“I will be there Thursday morning,” I answered, my voice quiet but resolute. “On my terms. No press, and no family gatherings outside your offices.”

“Agreed. We shall see you at company headquarters at nine o’clock sharp.”

I ended the call and set the phone down upon the table, my breathing ragged. The past, that monster I had run from for six long years, had finally caught up with me.

Two days later, a taxi deposited me before the towering glass skyscraper that housed the Food Industry Group’s headquarters. The city’s crisp, biting air struck my face as I stepped down from the curb. I wore a sober navy blue business suit, my hair drawn back neatly, and I held my head high. Selene I had left in the care of a trusted nanny at a quiet hotel well away from the city center.

Stepping through the glass entrance doors, the scent of polished marble and expensive coffee washed over me, bringing back a flood of stifling memories. Employees hurrying purposefully across the lobby, secretaries bearing stacks of folders, and that suffocating weight of corporate power I knew so well.

I rode the private elevator upward to the executive floor. When the doors slid open, Attorney Morales stood waiting in the hallway, his face drawn and etched with worry.

“Aitana, thank goodness you have come,” he said, stepping forward to shake my hand firmly. “Your uncles are already inside the main boardroom. But there is something urgent you must know before we enter.”

“What is it?” I asked, a heavy, uneasy feeling settling in the pit of my stomach.

“Your grandfather concealed the true severity of the company’s finances during his final months. To prevent total bankruptcy, the board was forced to sell the controlling debt stake in the company some two weeks ago.”

The blood turned to ice in my veins.

“To whom did they sell it, Morales?”

The lawyer hesitated barely a moment, adjusting his glasses before meeting my gaze with deep regret.

“To the most powerful business group in the country. Today’s gathering is not merely the reading of the will, Aitana... it is to formally finalize the takeover of our company by its new majority owner.”

Before I could frame another question, Morales swung open the solid double doors of the boardroom.

An enormous glass table dominated the room. Down at the far side sat my uncles Magnus and Alexander alongside their respective lawyers, their faces pale and tight with tension. But my gaze did not linger on them.

At the head of the table, seated in the presidential leather chair with an air of absolute command, sat a man flanked by his own team of executives. He wore an immaculate black suit, an expensive watch gleamed upon his wrist, and his expression was carved from pure, unyielding ice.

Our gazes met across the length of the room.

My breath caught in my throat. My heart seemed to stop beating entirely.

It was Sebastian Belmonte.

Six years later, the man with whom I had shared that forbidden night, the secret father of my child, and the sworn enemy of my bloodline, looked steadily back at me from the throne of my family’s company. And in those dark eyes of his, there was not a single trace of mercy.