"I don't believe this." The suited man turned in his stance to further bore his grim sight at the tearing woman seated in front of him. "I have been calling the wrong man my father for thirty-one years." "Christopher is still your father regardless. He accepted you, loved you as his own," she said, her voice trembling, her obviously expensive silk scarf doing a good job of wiping her tears off before they could damage her make up. "He knew?" Charles scoffed as his mother confirmed it. Taking a seat on the leather sofa which strangely was the only furniture he ever sat on, he ran his hair backwards, the dryness annoying him a bit. "I still don't believe that you kept this from me." "Charles," the richly dressed woman whose age wasn't telling on her spoke softly. ", truthfully, if I had my way, I would have preferred you not to know. Rodrigo is sort of a bastard, Charles." "I was a bastard unknow
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