Chapter 6: The Secret Behind the Photograph

The moment Dorico told me not to let his father find the photograph, I knew one thing for certain.

Joaquin Deliman was hiding something that could destroy more than a family reputation.

I stared at the picture lying on my kitchen table. The edges were worn, and a faint crease ran through the middle, but the two people in it were unmistakable.

Joaquin stood beside a woman I had spent years missing.

My mother.

She was younger in the photograph, her dark hair falling over one shoulder, her face turned toward Joaquin with an expression I couldn't quite understand. They weren't smiling. They weren't arguing either.

They looked like two people who had just made a decision neither could take back.

And the date written on the back placed the photograph six months before my wedding.

Why had my mother met my future father-in-law without telling me?

Why had someone kept this picture for so long?

And why did Dorico sound afraid when I told him about it?

My phone was still pressed against my ear.

“Dorico,” I said carefully, “what did my mother promise your father?”

Silence.

I could hear his breathing, controlled but uneven. It was the kind of silence that made my stomach tighten because it told me he was choosing his words.

“Where are you right now?” he asked.

“Answer my question.”

“Mara, I need you to listen to me. Don't discuss this with my father. Don't show him the photograph, and don't hand it over to anyone who claims they can explain it.”

“That's not an answer.”

“I know.”

“Then give me one.”

Another pause.

“I can't explain everything over the phone.”

A bitter laugh escaped me. “Five years ago, you couldn't explain why you were kissing Vivi. Now you can't explain why your father was meeting my mother before our wedding. Is there anything in your life you can explain honestly?”

The words landed harder than I expected.

For a moment, Dorico said nothing.

Then his voice lowered.

“You have every right to hate me for what happened between us. But this is bigger than our marriage.”

I looked at the photograph again.

“Apparently, our marriage was part of it.”

He inhaled sharply.

“Mara

“No. You don't get to say my name like that and expect me to calm down. If you know something about my mother, you will tell me.”

“I'll come to you.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Then meet me somewhere public. Bring someone you trust. I won't ask you to come alone.”

That surprised me.

The Dorico I remembered had never needed permission to enter a room or make a decision. He was accustomed to people moving when he spoke.

But tonight, he sounded as if he understood that I no longer belonged to him.

“I'll think about it,” I said.

“Please, Mara. Don't confront my father until we talk.”

I ended the call before he could say anything else.

For several seconds, I stood motionless beside the table.

Then I picked up the photograph and slipped it into an envelope.

Whatever Joaquin Deliman had done, I would find out.

And I would do it without allowing either father or son to decide how much truth I deserved.

Daisy arrived twenty-five minutes later.

I had called her immediately after ending my conversation with Dorico. She didn't ask unnecessary questions when she entered my apartment. One look at my face was enough.

“What happened?”

I handed her the envelope.

She removed the photograph carefully, studied the front, and turned it over.

Her expression changed when she read the date.

“This is six months before your wedding?”

“Yes.”

“And that's Joaquin Deliman?”

“Yes.”

She looked at the woman beside him.

“Your mother?”

I nodded.

Daisy sat down slowly.

“Did you know they knew each other?”

“Never. My mother died before my wedding. She barely spoke about her past, and whenever I asked about certain family matters, she changed the subject.”

“Did she ever mention the Deliman family?”

“No.”

Daisy examined the photograph again, then placed it on the table.

“We need to be careful. A photograph proves that two people were together. It doesn't prove why they met, what they discussed, or whether either person committed wrongdoing.”

“I know.”

“And we still don't have the original will.”

“I know that too.”

She gave me a sympathetic look. “Mara, I'm not trying to slow you down. I want us to build a case that cannot be dismissed as speculation. If Joaquin has been hiding something, we need evidence that can withstand scrutiny.”

For the first time that evening, I felt some of the pressure leave my chest.

Daisy wasn't telling me to stop searching.

She was helping me search properly.

I showed her the anonymous messages and the scanned agreement I had received. She read every line, paying particular attention to the signature page.

“Dorico's name appears here as a witness,” she said.

“Yes.”

“Have you asked him what he witnessed?”

“I asked if he knew my mother. He wanted to know where I got the photograph, then warned me to keep it from his father.”

“Which tells us he's concerned. It doesn't yet tell us whether he's protecting you, himself, or someone else.”

I folded my arms.

“I don't know if I can trust anything he says.”

“Then don't make trust the foundation of your investigation. Make evidence the foundation.”

Daisy took out her notebook.

“First, we verify the law firm named in the documents. Second, we establish whether this trust was properly created and who has authority over it. Third, we find out whether your mother's original will was filed, transferred, or withdrawn.”

“And the photograph?”

“We investigate its source and date. If the person who sent it has access to other documents, we need to know whether those documents are authentic.”

I watched her write.

For years, I had believed my mother's death had left me with grief, a few photographs, and memories I was afraid of losing.

Now I wondered whether it had left me with something else.

A legal claim.

A hidden agreement.

A truth someone had spent years trying to bury.

“Daisy,” I said, “what if the trust was the reason Joaquin wanted me to marry Dorico?”

She stopped writing.

“It's possible someone had an interest in your marriage. But we cannot assume that was the reason until we know what the trust actually says.”

“What if Dorico knew?”

“Then we need to determine what he knew, when he knew it, and whether he understood the agreement he signed.”

I glanced at the photograph.

“And if he lied to me?”

Daisy met my eyes.

“Then that becomes another fact we have to confront.”

Her calmness steadied me, but it didn't erase the fear gathering beneath my ribs.

Because there was one truth I couldn't afford to let anyone discover.

I was pregnant.

And if the Deliman family had been interested in my life before I married Dorico, I couldn't risk finding out what they might do if they learned I was carrying his child.

The next morning, Daisy and I visited the law firm listed on the scanned document.

Its offices occupied the twenty-third floor of a glass building in the financial district. The reception area was quiet, with polished floors, dark wooden panels, and framed certificates lining the walls.

Daisy had arranged an appointment with a senior records solicitor, a woman named Ms. Evelyn Hart.

She greeted us professionally and led us into a private conference room.

“I reviewed the reference number you provided,” Evelyn began. “There is a historical file associated with that number. However, access is restricted, and I cannot release confidential records without confirming your legal entitlement.”

“I understand,” I replied. “My late mother was named in the documents I received. I'm trying to establish whether an estate or trust was created in her name.”

Evelyn glanced at the copies Daisy had brought.

Her eyes paused on the signature page.

Only for a second.

But I noticed.

“Have you seen this document before?” Daisy asked.

“I have seen a reference to an agreement with a similar title.”

“Was it executed?”

“I cannot confirm that from this copy alone.”

“Can you tell us who established the trust?”

Evelyn folded her hands.

“Not without completing the appropriate verification process. If your mother was a beneficiary, we may need her death certificate, proof of your relationship, and other estate documents.”

“We can provide those,” Daisy said.

“Then I recommend submitting a formal request. If the records are available and your entitlement is established, the firm can advise you on the next steps.”

It was a careful answer.

Too careful, perhaps, but not necessarily suspicious.

Daisy asked several more questions about the file's history and the process for obtaining certified copies. Evelyn answered without volunteering anything beyond what the rules permitted.

Before we left, she gave us a list of documents to submit.

I thanked her, but as we stepped into the corridor, I glanced back through the glass wall.

Evelyn was no longer looking at her computer.

She was holding her phone to her ear.

Her face had gone pale.

Then she turned away from the door.

I couldn't hear what she was saying.

I couldn't prove she was speaking about us.

But as Daisy and I entered the elevator, I remembered the look in her eyes when she saw Joaquin's name.

Someone at that firm recognized the agreement.

And I had a feeling our visit had just reminded them that the past was no longer staying buried.

By the time we reached my apartment, I had received a message from an unknown number.

Stop asking about the trust. You don't understand what your mother put at risk.

I read it twice.

Then a second message appeared.

If you want to protect your daughter, leave the Delimans alone.

My blood turned cold.

I stared at the screen until the words blurred.

My daughter.

I hadn't told anyone about the pregnancy.

Not Daisy. Not Tesa. Not even Dorico.

I had been so careful. I had taken precautions with appointments, avoided conversations about my health, and told myself that as long as I kept the secret, I could protect my baby from the chaos surrounding our family.

But the sender had mentioned her.

They might have meant a future child. They might have been bluffing.

Or they might know something I didn't.

“Mara?”

Daisy's voice pulled me back.

She was watching me from the other side of the room.

“What's wrong?”

I locked my phone.

“Someone sent another message.”

“About the trust?”

I hesitated.

I wanted to tell her everything. I wanted to hand over the fear I had been carrying alone and let someone else help me hold it.

But if the sender truly knew about my pregnancy, I needed to understand how much they knew before I exposed anyone else to the danger.

“About my mother,” I lied.

Daisy studied me for a moment, then nodded slowly.

“Forward the message to me. Don't reply, and don't delete anything.”

I did as she asked, leaving out the second message.

The guilt settled heavily in my stomach.

I hated lying to Daisy.

But I hated the possibility of someone using my unborn child against me even more.

After she left, I stood by the window and watched traffic move through Silvercrest City.

Five years ago, I had walked away from Dorico believing the worst thing he could do to me was break my heart.

I had been wrong.

Someone had been watching the edges of my life. Someone knew about the trust, my mother's past, and perhaps even the child I had sworn to protect.

My phone rang.

Dorico.

I nearly ignored the call. Instead, I answered and kept my voice cold.

“What is it?”

“I spoke to my father,” he said.

My fingers tightened around the phone.

“Why?”

“Because I asked him about your mother.”

“And?”

“He denied knowing her.”

I looked at the photograph on my table.

“He's lying.”

“I think so too.”

The admission startled me.

“Then why are you calling me?”

“Because after I questioned him, he ordered his security team to find out whether you've contacted the law firm connected to the trust.”

My heart began to pound.

“How do you know that?”

“Because I was in his office when he gave the order.”

“And you did nothing?”

“I stopped him from asking them to approach you directly. That's all I could do without making him suspicious.”

I closed my eyes.

For one fleeting moment, I wanted to believe him.

But belief was how I had ended up here.

“What did your father promise my mother?” I asked.

Dorico's silence returned.

This time, I refused to fill it.

Finally, he spoke.

“I don't know the whole story. But I remember an argument between them shortly before our wedding. My father said your mother had no right to change the terms of their agreement.”

My breath caught.

“An agreement about what?”

“I was younger. I didn't understand everything I heard, and when I asked him about it, he told me it was a private business matter.”

“And you accepted that?”

“Yes.”

His answer came without excuses.

“I accepted a lot of things I should have questioned, Mara. I'm not asking you to forgive me for that.”

For the first time, his honesty sounded more painful than a denial.

“What happened after the argument?”

“I don't know. My father told me never to bring it up again.”

I looked down at the photograph.

“Was that why you married me?”

“No.”

The answer came quickly.

Then he added, more quietly, “At least, that isn't why I believed I was marrying you.”

I froze.

“What does that mean?”

“It means I loved you, Mara. But I was raised to believe my father had reasons for everything. I didn't question him when I should have.”

“Love doesn't excuse what you did.”

“I know.”

I waited for him to defend himself, to remind me of the years we had shared, or to blame Vivi for the betrayal.

He did none of those things.

“I'll send you the name of someone who worked for my father before our wedding,” he said. “He left the company years ago. If anyone knows what happened between him and your mother, it may be this man.”

“Why didn't you tell me this earlier?”

“Because I was afraid of what I might find.”

His words hung between us.

I understood fear. I had been living with it since the moment I saw the pregnancy test.

But fear had never given me the right to hide the truth from my child. And it certainly hadn't given Dorico the right to hide behind his father's authority.

“Send me the name,” I said. “I'll decide what to do with it.”

“All right.”

“And Dorico?”

“Yes?”

“If you discover anything else about my mother and keep it from me, whatever chance you think you have of making things right between us will disappear.”

“I understand.”

I ended the call.

A few seconds later, a message arrived with a name and an old company address.

Adrian Vale Former Executive Assistant to Joaquin Deliman.

I copied the details into Daisy's notes and returned to the photograph.

My mother had met Joaquin before my wedding. Dorico remembered an argument about an agreement. Someone at a law firm had reacted strangely to the document, and an anonymous sender had somehow learned enough about my life to frighten me.

The pieces were beginning to form a picture.

But I still couldn't see the whole thing.

Then my phone vibrated again.

This time, the message came from a number I recognized.

Vivi Crus.

Mara, I heard you went to the law firm. You need to stop before Joaquin realizes what you're looking for.

Before I could respond, another message appeared.

There's something I never told you about your wedding day. Something Dorico doesn't know I witnessed.

I stared at the screen, my pulse hammering.

A final message followed.

Your mother wasn't the only person who tried to stop that marriage.

I read the words again.

Then I called Vivi.

She answered on the first ring.

“Where can we meet?” I demanded.

“Not over the phone,” she whispered. “And not anywhere your husband or his father can find us.”

“My ex-husband.”

“Whatever he is to you now, Mara, listen carefully. I have proof of what happened before your wedding.”

“What proof?”

“I'll show you when we meet.”

“Why should I trust you?”

“You shouldn't.”

Her voice broke slightly.

“But if you want to know why your mother was so desperate to keep you away from Joaquin Deliman, you'd better meet me before he discovers I still have the original document.”

The call ended.

I stood perfectly still, the phone trembling in my hand.

The original document.

Not a copy. Not an anonymous photograph. Not another half-truth.

The original.

And if Vivi was telling the truth, she had been holding it all these years.

For the first time since I left Dorico, I realized that the secret threatening my future might not have begun with his betrayal.

It might have begun with the marriage itself.