Alejandro did not release my hand.
Our son was still gripping one of his fingers.
The baby looked up at him with solemn black eyes, frowned, and then suddenly smiled.
That tiny dimple appeared again.
Alejandro’s face became completely still.
—Sofia —he repeated—. Whose child is he?
I swallowed.
—Before I answer, tell me something.
His jaw tightened.
—What?
—Were you at the Imperial Hotel the night of March seventeenth?
Silence.
That was enough.
But I needed to hear it.
Alejandro finally said:
—Yes.
My heart began pounding.
—There was a storm.
—Yes.
—You had an injury on your hand.
His gaze dropped toward the small scar beside his thumb.
—Yes.
I almost laughed from sheer disbelief.
For months, I had lived beside the man whose identity I had been afraid to discover.
And neither of us had realized it.
Alejandro looked at me sharply.
—Why do you know that?
I stared at him.
—Because I was there too.
His expression changed.
Slowly.
Completely.
—You?
I nodded.
The corridor became so quiet that I could hear our son’s toy tapping against the stroller.
Alejandro looked at the baby.
Then at me.
Then back at him.
—No.
It came out almost as a whisper.
—They told me I couldn’t—
—Apparently they were wrong.
He stepped backward as if the floor had shifted.
For the first time since our wedding, Alejandro Pei looked truly shaken.
That evening, we went to a private clinic.
Not because I doubted the truth anymore.
Because Alejandro needed something stronger than resemblance.
The DNA test returned three days later.
Probability of paternity: 99.99%.
Alejandro read the report five times.
Then he sat down.
I had expected happiness.
Instead, his first expression was anger.
—Who told you that you were sterile? —I asked.
He looked up slowly.
—My family doctor.
—After your childhood injury?
—Yes.
His voice became colder.
—My grandfather arranged everything.
Something about that answer bothered me.
The Pei family had spent almost twenty years publicly accepting that its only grandson could never have biological children.
Yet the moment my father proposed marriage to a pregnant woman, they had agreed almost immediately.
No humiliation.
No objections.
They had even sent prenatal supplements before the engagement papers were finalized.
I remembered Alejandro’s mother shouting through our wedding-night door.
“Don’t get too tired! Sofia is pregnant!”
I looked at him.
—Your family knew.
He frowned.
—Knew what?
—Maybe not about me.
I pointed at the DNA report.
—But I think they knew you weren’t sterile.
Alejandro’s face hardened.
That same night, he called the retired physician who had treated him after his childhood kidnapping.
The man refused to discuss it.
Alejandro called again.
Nothing.
The next morning, the doctor disappeared from his usual residence.
That was when Alejandro stopped treating my suspicion as paranoia.
He ordered an internal investigation.
What we discovered was uglier than either of us expected.
Alejandro had been injured during the kidnapping.
That part was true.
But the injury had never caused infertility.
The original medical report said his reproductive health should be monitored later in adolescence.
Nothing more.
Five years afterward, a second report appeared.
Permanent infertility.
Different hospital.
Different physician.
Signed at the request of Alejandro’s grandfather.
I stared at him.
—Why would your own grandfather do that?
Alejandro did not answer.
His mother did.
When confronted, Mrs. Pei began crying.
—Because your grandfather was afraid.
Alejandro’s voice turned ice-cold.
—Afraid of what?
She sat down.
—After the kidnapping, the police discovered that someone from inside the family had provided your route and schedule.
Alejandro went still.
The Pei family had been fighting over succession at the time.
His grandfather became obsessed with protecting the only grandson he trusted.
If everyone believed Alejandro could never produce an heir, there would be less incentive to target future children.
So they created a lie.
First for outsiders.
Then, unbelievably, they allowed Alejandro himself to believe it.
—You let me grow up thinking something was wrong with me.
His mother covered her face.
—Your grandfather said it was safer.
—Safer?
Alejandro laughed once.
There was no humor in it.
—You decided my entire future because you were afraid.
Then I asked the obvious question.
—Why did you accept me?
Mrs. Pei looked toward my son.
That was when I understood.
A pregnant bride had been perfect.
Alejandro could publicly raise an heir.
Nobody would suspect that he might actually be capable of having children.
The Pei family’s lie could continue.
Except fate had apparently found the one possible woman whose unborn child was actually Alejandro’s.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then I started laughing.
Alejandro looked at me.
—What’s funny?
—I climbed a tree while my father chased me with a sandal because I refused to reveal your name.
His mouth twitched despite everything.
—I didn’t know your name.
—I know.
—And my father practically auctioned me to the supposedly safest sterile billionaire he could find.
Alejandro finally smiled.
The dimple appeared.
Our son, sitting on the carpet nearby, immediately smiled too.
Same dimple.
His mother burst into tears again.
This time even I couldn’t deny how absurd it was.
But there was still one question between Alejandro and me.
Us.
That night, after our son fell asleep, Alejandro stood at the balcony doors.
—Why didn’t you tell me earlier that you suspected?
—I wasn’t sure.
—You asked about the Imperial Hotel on our wedding night.
—And you avoided answering.
He looked guilty.
—I recognized you too.
I froze.
—What?
—Not immediately.
He turned toward me.
—Your voice.
He remembered it from that night.
But when he saw I was pregnant and knew everyone believed him sterile, he convinced himself it was impossible.
So he said nothing.
I folded my arms.
—That’s remarkably stupid for a man who runs a multinational company.
—Agreed.
I laughed.
Then he became serious.
—Sofia, our original agreement is useless now.
My heart tightened slightly.
—Meaning?
—You married me because your child needed protection.
—I married you because my father threatened to drag me down from a tree.
That dimple appeared again.
—Also true.
Then his expression softened.
—But I don’t want you staying because of an agreement.
He placed the original marriage contract on the table.
Then tore it in half.
—If you want to leave, I will make sure you and our son are protected.
I stared at him.
—And if I don’t?
For once, Alejandro Pei, the man who negotiated billion-dollar acquisitions without blinking, looked nervous.
—Then perhaps we could try having an actual marriage.
I smiled.
—Without cooperation reports?
His ears turned red.
—Please never mention that conversation again.
—Absolutely not. I intend to remind you for the rest of your life.
A year later, the Pei family publicly corrected the old medical story.
Not every detail.
Some secrets involved an old kidnapping investigation and were better handled privately.
But Alejandro refused to continue living inside someone else’s lie.
My father, meanwhile, discovered the DNA result and sat in silence for almost a minute.
Then he looked at Alejandro.
—So you were the bastard?
Alejandro coughed.
I covered my face.
My father reached for the sandal beside the door.
Alejandro stood immediately.
—Sir, perhaps we can discuss this rationally.
—You got my daughter pregnant and then married her without knowing she was carrying your child!
—I admit the sequence sounds bad.
I laughed until I cried.
Our son toddled between them, completely unaware that he had accidentally solved a mystery involving two families, a twenty-year lie and one extremely unfortunate hotel night.
In the end, my father never had to find the unknown man who had gotten his daughter pregnant.
He had personally chosen him as my husband.
And Alejandro Pei, the supposedly sterile tycoon who agreed to raise another man’s baby?
He spent the next several years telling anyone who would listen that our son had always looked exactly like him.
Which was irritating.
Because he was right.
