Luka's POV
I didn't move a muscle as Valeria stepped up to the podium, the child still clinging to her hand like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like he belonged to her.
To us.
The applause had quieted, but my ears were still ringing. My heart pounded against my ribs, my jaw clenched so tightly I thought I'd shatter my teeth. I should've stormed up to the stage, ripped the mic out of her hand, demanded answers in front of everyone.
But I didn't.
I sat back down and waited.
She looked too composed-too calm. Like nothing about this moment was unnatural. Like she hadn't just shattered my entire world with a single smile and a boy who looked like he'd walked out of my own childhood photos.
She began her speech, talking about the children she'd worked with overseas, about building communities in places that had been overlooked for far too long. She spoke eloquently. Passionately. Her voice didn't waver once.
The audience was moved. I could hear it in the hum of agreement, the occasional sniffle, the murmured praise.
But I didn't care about any of that.
I didn't hear most of it.
All I could hear was my son's laugh from earlier-soft, airy, untouched by the hell I had lived in these past years. My son. Alive. Breathing. Growing up without me.
When her speech ended and the applause roared again, I didn't move.
Not yet.
I watched her from across the room, my body tense, every nerve locked onto her like a predator tracking prey.
She stepped off stage, shook hands with a few executives, knelt to whisper something to the boy-my boy-who nodded and scurried back toward the VIP section with one of the staff members. She looked radiant. Effortlessly confident. Like she belonged on a stage, not in the nightmare I had thrown her into ten years ago.
I waited.
Waited through champagne toasts. Waited through another speech. Waited through her weaving through the crowd like she was floating.
And then it happened.
She broke away, finally slipping through a side hallway that led to the restrooms.
I followed.
Quiet. Careful. Eyes locked on the swish of her gold dress as it shimmered under the hallway lighting.
I didn't go in after her-I wasn't insane.
But I waited.
Leaning against the wall just outside, arms folded, the weight of seven years of betrayal boiling beneath my skin.
My mind kept flashing back to the boy's face.
His face.
I knew what six-year-olds looked like. He couldn't be less than that. Which meant she got pregnant the same time I gave her those damn divorce papers.
She knew. All this time. She knew and said nothing.
The door creaked open after a few minutes.
And there she was.
Hair slightly tousled from freshening up. Lipstick retouched. Her expression relaxed... until she saw me.
She froze for half a second, but it was there-that flicker. Surprise.
Then, just as quickly, she smoothed it over. Composed. Controlled. Unbothered.
"Luka," she said, coolly, like we were strangers running into each other at a café. "Please excuse me."
She moved to walk past me.
I snapped.
I stepped forward, blocking her path, pressing a hand to the wall beside her head, and forced her back a step until her spine hit the wall. My other hand planted beside her. Close. Close enough to make her tilt her head up to meet my eyes.
I didn't care who saw.
"You're not walking away from me," I growled.
Her eyes flicked up to mine, still calm. Still controlled. "Move, Luka."
"No." My voice dropped lower. "You don't get to move on from this. You don't get to pretend like nothing happened."
She arched a brow. "And what exactly do you think happened?"
"You had my son." I didn't shout-but my voice shook with rage. "You had my child and you kept him from me. For six years. What the hell is wrong with you?"
Her lips parted slightly, but she said nothing.
My pulse was pounding. My hands were shaking. I wanted to scream, wanted to shake her, wanted to demand how she could've looked me in the face all those years ago, knowing she was carrying my child.
"You didn't even give me a chance, Valeria!" I snapped. "You didn't tell me! You didn't let me choose! You ripped him away from me before I even knew he existed!"
Still, she said nothing.
"Do you know what that does to a man?" I hissed, leaning closer. "Do you know what you've taken from me? His first words. His first steps. His first birthday. All those damn milestones-you got them. You got every memory, every moment, and I got nothing."
Nothing.
Just cold nights. Empty bottles. And a house that echoed too loud.
"You took everything, and you never looked back. You walked away and just-what? Raised him on your own? Like I didn't matter?"
I could feel the anger unraveling in every cell of my body. All the years I thought I was miserable because of her, and now... now I realized I didn't even know the full extent of what she'd done.
She tilted her head slightly, finally speaking.
"Are you done?"
That did it.
The mockery. The composure. The fact that she didn't even flinch at my anger.
"You're mocking me?" I snapped. "After everything, you're really standing there acting like you're not at fault?"
But before I could keep going, she looked me dead in the eye and said, "Let me ask you a question."
I paused.
She didn't blink. Didn't waver.
"If I had told you I was pregnant with your child... that night. Right after you handed me divorce papers and told me you never wanted to see me again-would you have believed me?"
I opened my mouth.
Nothing came out.
Because I knew the answer.
And so did she.
She didn't wait for me to fumble through a lie.
"No. You wouldn't have believed me," she said for me, voice low and steady. "You would have called me a liar. Accused me of faking it. Of trying to trap you. You would have said the baby wasn't yours. That I was trying to manipulate you into staying."
I stared at her, jaw tight.
She kept going.
"You might've even tried to force me into an abortion, just to be rid of the problem. You hated me that much."
I wanted to deny it.
But I couldn't.
Because deep down, I knew it was true.
If she had told me back then... I would've accused her of everything under the sun.
I would've refused to believe a single word.
But I wasn't going to admit that.
I was still furious. Still reeling. Still grieving all the years she stole from me.
"You don't get to justify this," I snapped, dragging the words out between clenched teeth. "You still kept my son from me. You deprived me of him. You robbed me blind."
Her face hardened.
"My son," she said, emphasizing every syllable, "doesn't need a father. And you have no place in his life."
Then, without flinching, she shoved me off with both hands and walked away, leaving me standing there in the hallway like I'd just been run over by a freight train.
My fists clenched at my sides. My lungs were burning.
But I wasn't done.
No way in hell.
I finally had something worth living for again.
I had a son.
And I was going to be in his life.
One way or another.
