CHAPTER 2 — THE NAME SHE WAS NEVER SUPPOSED TO SPEAK
The words didn’t just fall into the kitchen.
They detonated.
“I’m the mother of your daughter.”
For a moment, even the ventilation fans seemed to stop. The hum of ovens, the clatter of distant plates—everything disappeared into a thick, unnatural silence.
The CEO didn’t move.
Not at first.
His hand was still gently holding the chef’s face, frozen mid-motion like reality itself had malfunctioned.
“Your… what?” he said quietly.
The mistress, Valeria, let out a sharp laugh—too loud, too fast.
“She’s lying. This is ridiculous. She’s kitchen staff, for God’s sake.”
But the CEO wasn’t looking at Valeria anymore.
He was staring at the chef.
At the trembling woman with the bruised cheek and eyes full of something she had been forced to bury for years.
“What is her name?” he asked softly.
The chef hesitated.
Then whispered:
“Lila.”
Something shifted in his expression.
Not confusion.
Recognition.
Valeria noticed it immediately.
“No,” she snapped. “No, don’t you dare listen to her. She’s trying to trap you—”
But the CEO raised one hand.
And Valeria went silent.
For the first time that night, she realized she was losing control.
The CEO stepped closer to Lila.
“Tell me about the child,” he said.
Lila’s lips trembled.
May you like
“She’s six,” she whispered. “Her name is Mira.”
The glass in Valeria’s hand slipped and shattered on the floor.
