Why Is 'In Father'S Name' Still Common In Records?

“I am hopelessly in love with you, Mein Engel” Dante kept his face buried in Cassandra's neck as he spoke. Her skin tingled, his hot breath brushing mildly against it. His voice was a deep baritone yet reassuring and steady. She found herself succumbing, her eyes fluttering close. Everything about him oddly drew her in his demanding presence, the intoxicating aroma that lingered around him, and those deep blue eyes that seemed to pierce right through her, as if they could uncover every secret she kept. But that wasn't right. That man was my husband's father, twice her age, and the whole thing felt off. What would the whole world think of Cassandra Adler, daughter of the Chairman of Delsu Investment, if they find out that she is pregnant with her father-in-law's child? And what about Dante? Surrounded by societal norms, enemy threats, and the fact that he already has a family, will he abandon the child and his developing feelings for a woman half his age? “He’s my husband’s father… twice my age… and now I’m carrying his heir. If the world finds out, it won’t just ruin me, it could destroy us all.”

The first time I attended my girlfriend Joyce's friend gathering, after a few rounds of drinks, her male best friend pulled her onto his lap. With a cigarette dangling between his fingers, he grinned. "Call me daddy!" Instead of getting offended, Joyce leaned into him, helpless but indulgent, and said, "Daddy." I froze, scowling, but she waved me off without a care. "It's just a joke! Lucius always never cared for the rules, and everyone knows we have a father-daughter vibe, okay? Don't get it all twisted, Henry! Aren't you a man?" Lucius became even more provocative, throwing a smoke ring at me. "Yo, son-in-law! Aren't you going to bow to me? Come on, kneel and offer me a drink, and your dad's got your back!" Everyone at the table burst into laughter as they waited to see me lose my temper and make a scene. I just smiled, meeting Joyce's impatient gaze with an excited expression. "That's great! I like the way you think, so why don't you call me daddy too?"

In the seventh year of my marriage, I accidentally discover a document in the study. Upon flipping it open, I realize that it's a will left behind by my husband, Luca Bernadi. The will clearly states that if Luca were to die someday in the future, all of his assets and his mafia kingdom would be inherited by a little boy named Nico Bernadi. The one next in line for the inheritance is my half-sister, Angela Fasano. I, his legally-wedded wife, am the last one in line. At first, I refuse to believe the legitimacy of this will. After taking it to the notary's office, I'm informed that the will is notarized and in effect. At that moment, I feel as though my blood has turned into ice. I never expect that this marriage I once took pride in had left me with only betrayal. In that case, I no longer need to cling to this marriage.

I was raised by my mother, a single parent who never revealed the identity of my father. For years, that part of my life remained a mystery until her final moments. With her last breath, she asked me to find him. I shared this with my best friend, who had never known her own parents. With tears in her eyes, she confided in me that she longed for a father, too. She tried to manipulate me, suggesting I work as a housekeeper for my father so she could claim him as her own. Soft-hearted, I agreed to the plan. When I finally met him, he was stunned. The resemblance between me and his first love was undeniable. He wanted to take me under his wing as his mistress. "Come to my room tonight and wear something… revealing," he said. To protect myself, I laid all my cards on the table.

My three-year-old son looked nothing like my husband. Suspicious, my father-in-law secretly took my son for a paternity test. The results showed that there was no biological relationship between them. Furious and humiliated, my father-in-law erupted in anger, hurling insults at me and even threatening to kill us. My husband, just as enraged, slapped me hard across the face. "You shameless wrench! You've made me raise another man's child for three years!" As I stared at their accusing faces, I calmly produced another report—the paternity test between my husband and his father. It confirmed they weren't biologically related either. Their expressions froze in shock. With a faint smile, I said, "Looks like we don't know for sure who isn't part of this family, do we?"

Ever since my husband, the mafia capo Rocco Marchetti, poured all his attention and the family's resources into his brother's widow, the woman whose husband took a bullet for him. I found our daughter Tessy's diary, where she had started writing, "My Papa is gone." A nun from her private Catholic school called, asking about his passing. I paused for a moment. "Yes," I replied. "He passed away a long time ago." On Father's Day, the school organized a trip to the church to light prayer candles. While other children wrote cards praying for their fathers' safety, Tessy neatly wrote just two words on hers: "To Heaven." During the parent-teacher open house, the nuns displayed the children's decorated diaries on their desks. The theme for their entries was My Father. My Papa died in a shootout in the next neighborhood over. A lady there wouldn't stop crying, and then Papa never came home. After every entry like this, she would clutch the crucifix on her necklace, her small hand gripping it so tightly her palm grew slick with sweat. Eventually, Rocco sensed the growing chill at home. He dropped everything and rushed back to the estate with a bouquet of expensive red roses, hoping to celebrate his daughter's birthday with her. The door opened. On the coffee table lay Tessy's new diary, its title scrawled in a childish hand: If Papa Were Still Alive.