Chapter 4: Father and Son

“HE WANTS to buy our painting mommy.” My son innocently said smiling at me.

While Desmond looked at my son intently making me want to grab Yandrich and hide him.

What if he'll have an idea that Yandrich is his son?

“I didn't know Mr. Velasquez had a son.” I heard a guess said when they passed us.

“They completely look alike.” I didn't know what to do. From our distance I know that Desmond could also hear what they are saying. Even though he looks like he's paying attention to what Yandrich is explaining about the painting that I wasn't able to hear.

Then Desmond's fierce ocean blue eyes looked at me. I froze, afraid of what he would say about my son—our son.

For a brief second it felt like time had stopped.

“Desmond, it's been a while.” Nick's voice cut through the tension like a blade. I hadn't even noticed him stepping towards them. Desmond’s gaze flickered toward him, but he didn't acknowledge the greeting.

I HAD practiced this moment in my head countless times. Thought of every possible reaction I could have. Every scenario that could happen.

But now, standing here, I felt nothing—just a blank uncertainty gnawing at me.

I wanted to take my son away from him and walk out.

I also wanted to slap him for daring to touch my child after what he did to me–after what he told me to do.

I took a deep breath and stepped forward, ignoring Desmond’s piercing gaze.

“Abort that thing.”

The memory hit like a thunderclap, sharp and unforgiving. I could still hear those words, feel them carve into me like a scar that never fully healed.

How dare he?

He didn’t deserve my son. He never would.

From the moment he uttered those words, he lost the right to be Yandrich’s father.

“I’m sorry for my son’s behavior. He’s just excited that you want to buy his painting.” Nick’s voice was steady but firm, his grip tightening as he pulled Yandrich protectively into his arms.

Desmond’s eyes flickered toward me, his expression unreadable.

Desmond smirked, his voice laced with something I couldn’t quite place, “He’s yur son?” His blue eyes locked onto mine.

“Yes. My son.” Nick’s tone left no room for argument.

Desmond chuckled, shaking his head slightly. “Oh… I see. Congratulations, Nickalaus.”

I held Nick’s hand to calm him down. I could feel the tension radiating off him.

I didn’t understand why Desmond was acting this way—earlier, he had pretended like nothing happened.

Now, he was behaving strangely, like he was testing the waters, pushing boundaries he had no right to cross.

I looked down at Yandrich in Nick’s arms—his small body curled up against Nick’s chest, his lashes fluttering as sleep tugged at him. My heart softened.

“It’s bedtime, baby.” I murmured, my voice gentle. Then I turned to Nick, my tone shifting as I squeezed his hand. “Nick, our son needs to sleep.” I saw Nick’s expression soften at my words. He smiled before pressing a tender kiss on my forehead, his grip tightening around me protectively.

From the corner of my eyes, I felt Desmobds gaze burn into us, watching our every move with intensity that made my skin prickle. I ignored him. My only concern was getting away before this turned into something worse—especially now that the guests were beginning to whisper, their hushed voices filling the air like an ominous hum.

Desmond’s voice cut through the murmurs. “Your son is quite a talker.” I stiffened at the amusement in his tone.

He wasn’t looking at me. His attention was fixed entirely on Yandrich, examining him—analyzing my son. I held my breath.

Then Yandrich, in his sleepy innocence, looked up at Desmond with those same piercing blue eyes.

“He has the same eyes as me.” Yandrich mumbled drowsily, a small, proud smile forming on his lips. “That’s why I offered him the painting.”

My heart slammed against my ribs.

Desmond tilted his head, a knowing smirk curling at his lips. “We do have the same eyes. I wonder why. Right, Ms. Garcia?” His gaze flicked to me, sharp and unrelenting. He leaned slightly towarrds me, as if daring me to react.

My breath hitched.

“What do you think you’re saying with my wife, Desmond?”Nick’s voice was lethal, his fury barely stained. "We're cousins of course there would be similarities." In one swift motion, he held my hand and pulled me into him, staking his claim in front of everyone.

Desmond raised his hands in mock surrender, though his smirk never wavered.

“Relax Nick. I’m just joking—like old times.” His words made something snap inside me.

Joking? Like old times?

Did he think this was a game?

I want to slap him right now. But I need to take Yandrich away from these eyes.

Nick took a deep breath, his grip on my hand tightening before he turned to Yandrich, his voice softer now. “You did a good job today, young man. But it’s time for bed.” Yandrich pouted, but sleep was already pulling him under. “Okay, Daddy Nick.” he mumbled and looked at me, I smiled. “Good Night, Mommy.” he pressed a quick kiss to my cheeks.

“Good Night, Mr! I hope you liked my painting!” He said to Desmond with his sleepy eyes. Desmond smiled at him—a smile that I only saw for the first time. “Good Night, young man. I had a nice talk with you.” He said, making Yandrich smile sweetly.

“We’ll talk later about the painting, Mr. Velasquez.” My voice was sharp, dismissive, leaving no room for further argument.

Ally approached with concern in her eyes. “ Are you okay?” she asked quietly.

I nodded, more for myself than for her.

I exhaled slowly, then turned to Nick. “Can you go with Ally and Yandrich? I’ll handle this.” Nick hesitated, his jaw clenched. “Are you sure?”

I nodded, giving him a small reassuring smile. “Yes. Just take Yandrich away from here.”

Nick sighed before pressing a lingering kiss to my forehead. But before stepping away, he turned to Desmond, locking eyes with him in silent warning.

The tension between them crackled.

Desmond remained composed, his hands in his pockets, but his gaze followed us—especially me.

Once they were gone, I turned to face him. “It’s not for sale.”

Desmond didn’t look at me immediately. His gaze lingered on the painting–the one Yandrich had called ‘ours.’

Then he spoke. “Ms. Garcia, If I didn’t know you had a husband, I’d almost think I was the father of your son.”

I sucked in a sharp breath. I felt like everything came back from five years ago in his words.

“Can you hear yourself right now, Desmond?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper, yet sharp enough to cut through his smile.

He tilted his head, studying me. “Why are you so angry at me?”

His voice was softer now, laced with something unsettling—something almost genuine. If I was Yvonne from five years ago I would have fall from his act.

I want to slap him but I don’t want to cause a scene—especially that some people here knew us.

I scoffed. “Are you serious?” He nodded and held his gaze waiting for me to answer his question.

My control snapped.

“After everything you did—to me, to us?” My voice shook with fury. “You’re standing here, acting like you don’t know what happened five years ago!?” His brows furrowed, confusion flickering his eyes.

“Us? Five years ago? I don’t know what you're talking about.” My blood boiled. He was lying.

Before I could lashed out, another voice cut through us.

“Desmond!” She shouted—Samantha.

I turned to see Samantha storming toward us, her heels clicking aggressively against the marble floor, her twisted with irritation—and something else.

Fear.

But why?