III

The ride to the party site felt like a scene from an all-too-real nightmare.

Max sat in the back, humming his favourite song, oblivious to the tension that filled the air ahead. Ben drove calmly, occasionally glancing at me out of the corner of his eye.

I was silent, looking out the window. The usually bustling streets of San Francisco felt empty, and my mind drifted away. I couldn't resist the call.

I was very aware. Our family : The Moguel family is one of the most powerful in Latin America and the United States. Grandpa had me by the neck, and my neck would snap if I ignored his ultimatum.

Max.

Max was everything. Max was my life, and I wouldn't let anyone touch him.

When we arrived at the large building with white marble pillars, my stomach felt like it was being churned. Guests dressed in luxurious outfits were seen entering gracefully. The sound of laughter and clinking glasses could be heard faintly in the distance.

"Are you ready?" asked Ben, turning his body to look at me after turning off the car engine.

I swallowed, my hands gripping the ends of my small bag until my knuckles turned white. "No, I'm not. But we still have to go in."

Max jumped out of the car, pulling my hand excitedly. "Come on, Mommy, I want to know who's there."

I followed his little steps, trying to catch my breath. Inside, I knew our extended family would greet me—with assessing glances, cold smiles, and perhaps, sharp whispers in the corners of the room.

And what scares me the most: they would see Max.

I held Max's hand tighter as if his small strength could shift some of my weight. By my side, Ben walked confidently like a shield ready to protect. When the large doors opened, the noise of the party immediately attacked, accompanied by the scent of expensive flowers and champagne.

The sound of clinking glasses stopped for a moment as we stepped inside. Guests turned their heads, some whispering softly, but the most striking look belonged to a woman in a burgundy dress standing not far from us.

My aunt, Clara.

"Belva?" she exclaimed in a half-disbelieving tone. She stared at me for a moment before rushing over. Her arms outstretched, her eyes glazed over. "Oh my God, Bell-Bell. It's really you!"

I didn't even have time to reply before she hugged me tightly, almost breaking my breath. Her body was small, but her strength never changed. The scent of her signature perfume brought me back to my childhood.

"I thought I'd never see you again," she whispered, her voice cracking with emotion.

I smiled stiffly, feeling the whole room watching us. Max hid behind my body, wrapping his arms around my legs awkwardly. "Hello, Tia Clara."

She backed away slightly, holding my face with both hands, her eyes scanning every inch of my face. "You're still the same," she said softly before her gaze fell on Max. "And who is this?"

"My name is Max!" he said cheerfully, though there was a hint of nervousness in his voice. He thrust out his little hand like a little gentleman.

"Oh, my God," Aunt Clara laughed, tears of joy falling from the corners of her eyes. "Belva, he's like a miniature Pascha. Is this your son?"

My heart skipped a beat at the name again. I nodded slowly. "Yes. This is my son."

Her reaction seemed to be a signal to the other families. Within seconds, I was surrounded by familiar faces, faces I hadn't seen in five years.

The questions came thick and fast.

"When did you come back?"

"Why didn't you ever call us?"

"Max? Do you have a kid?!"

I smiled a little, trying to answer as best I could without feeling too claustrophobic. Ben stood a short distance away, giving me space but staying alert, making sure I wasn't overwhelmed. Max, on the other hand, enjoyed the attention, answering every question with the innocence and confidence of a child.

But, in the midst of that warmth, there were two figures who didn't move. My Mama and Papa stood in the corner of the room, watching from a distance. Their faces were flat, but their eyes were sharp as if stripping every inch of me.

When the crowd began to die down, Aunt Clara introduced Max to some other relatives. I stood in the centre of the room, feeling their cold stares closing in.

My Papa was the first to speak.

"Five years." His voice was heavy, low, and piercing. "Five years you disappeared, and you chose to show up here like this."

I lifted my chin slightly, trying to look stronger than I felt. "Grandpa wanted me to come."

"Yes, of course," Mama interrupted. Her tone was sharp, full of sarcasm. "Because you'll only listen to him, not us."

I held my breath. The old feelings I'd been harbouring were starting to resurface—the pain, the anger, the regret. But I don't want to explode here, not in front of everyone, and especially not in front of Max.

"I'm here, right?" I finally said. "I don't want to prolong the problem."

"Trouble?" Mom squinted, her steps coming closer until she was almost standing eye-to-eye with me." Do you think you just left a small problem, Chica? You ran away from St Sophia. You left Pascha just like that. You destroyed our family in front of everyone."

I clasped my hands tightly, trying to hold back the trembling that was starting to appear. "It's none of your business. It's my life."

"Your life?" Papa snorted softly. "Your life? You don't even know what it means to live without this family name."

"We gave you everything. Education, connections, a bright future. And what did you do? You throw it away because of... what, Belva? Ego?" Mama added.

I couldn't answer. Not because I didn't have an answer but because their words pierced too deep, opening old wounds that never really healed. Ben appeared beside me, his hand touching my shoulder as a reminder that I wasn't alone. But despite his presence, I knew this fight was mine alone.

"If you guys have something to say, just say it. I won't let you make my son feel unwanted."

And with that, I turned away, leaving them standing in the centre of the room, carrying all their silence and judgment with me.

::::

The rooftop sky turned a soft orange hue as the sun slowly sank behind the tall buildings of San Francisco. The cool afternoon breeze carried the scent of flowers that were beautifully arranged in every corner of this open space. I sat at a slightly secluded table, trying to savour the peaceful moment after the previous tension.

 But, the tranquillity was interrupted by the voice of my cousin, Miranda, who was already half-drunk and talking at the speed of a jet engine.

"So, Bell-Bell, I have to say... it's pretty CRAZY that you showed up again after five years. I mean, I thought you moved to Mars or something!" Miranda laughed so hard that her champagne glass almost spilled. "And look at you now. You look great! Seriously, you should share your secrets. Is it because you live in San Francisco? The air here makes people glow, huh?"

I smiled a little, swirling my water glass lazily in my hand. "Probably because I work too much," I replied shortly, hoping it would be enough to stop her little interrogation.

But Miranda never knew when to stop.

"And Max! Oh my God, he's like a miniature Romanov and I have to say, Ben is really amazing as a babysitter. I mean, look at them!" she pointed in the other direction of the rooftop, where Max was being carried by Ben, while Aunt Clara stood beside them with a loving smile.

Max looked happy, his eyes twinkling as he told Ben and Aunt Clara about something. It was a perfect little moment, but I couldn't really enjoy it with Miranda babbling in my ear.

I tried to focus my attention on Max, letting Miranda's voice drown in the background. The boy was like a source of light in the middle of a room full of family politics and hidden agendas.

But my happiness was cut short when I saw a figure I knew all too well walk over.

Grandpa.

Carlos Moguel appeared like a ghost among the other guests, dressed in a perfectly dark suit that made him seem even colder than usual. His gaze was sharp, like the eyes of an eagle always ready to grab its prey.

 I felt my body stiffen as he approached our table. Miranda immediately shut up, realizing the presence of the figure that could not be ignored.

"Belva," he said, his voice low but full of authority. "I want to talk to you."

I stood up slowly, giving Miranda a small nod before following Grandpa to a quieter corner of the rooftop. I already knew this wasn't going to be a pleasant conversation.

"Look at you now," he said, his eyes sweeping over my body with an expression that was hard to interpret. "I heard you were quite successful in San Francisco. That's good. It shows that our family blood is still flowing in you."

I didn't reply. I just stared at him warily, waiting for what he would say next. Grandpa never spoke without reason.

"The party will continue until later in the evening and there is Warren's family coming. They are one of the most influential families in New York, and they are interested in establishing a closer relationship with us."

My heart started beating faster. I knew where this was going.

"I'd like you to meet their eldest son, Julian Warren," he continued expressionlessly. "He's a bright, talented young man with a great vision for the future. I'm sure you'll like him. This is a great opportunity to strengthen our family's position."

I shook my head softly, trying to keep my voice calm. "I'm not interested in being introduced to anyone, let alone for business reasons."

His eyes narrowed; his expression remained calm, but his voice became colder. "This isn't just about you. It's about our family. You may not care about your last name, but I do. And I'm not going to let you mess up this opportunity."

I felt the heat in my chest, but I held it in. "I'm old enough to make my own decision. I won't be a puppet for the family business. AGAIN.”

His expression turned sharp, but he didn't show anger in an explosive way. "You've made enough messes in your life. Your decision five years ago almost destroyed this family's reputation. Don't think I'll let you repeat that mistake. AGAIN."

I felt my chest tighten, but I forced myself to fight it. "I'm not a child anymore. If you want someone to play this role, you'll have to find someone else."

He didn't answer directly.

Instead, he just stared at me for a few seconds, which felt like an eternity, before finally saying, "Fight me, and see who will be the victim."

I stiffened. "You will not touch my son." I hissed sharply.

"Well, I won't, but try to think ... what would Pascha Romanov do?"

And then he left me standing at the far end of the room with my head buzzing chaotically.