Marina didn’t move. Her hands trembled. She looked at Lucas, honey-colored eyes red with panic, silently begging a question she couldn’t dare speak. Then she looked at Valeria, who stared as if something filthy had just spilled onto her dress.
Valeria moved first.
Her heels struck the marble sharply as she stormed forward.
“Let him go now!” she shrieked—not for the child, but for the humiliation of her party being ruined.
Marina tried to back away on her knees, stammering apologies, but Noah clung to her with impossible strength. Valeria grabbed Noah’s arm and yanked.
Noah screamed—a sound so full of pain and terror that several guests looked away, as if suffering were indecent in a mansion.
“Daddy!” Noah cried, still holding Marina.
Lucas took two steps forward, stunned. His businessman’s mind searched for explanations: manipulation, coincidence, a trick.
But his chest didn’t care about logic.
It cared about the sight of his son begging for a woman who was supposed to mean nothing.
When Valeria pulled again, Marina instinctively raised her gloved hands to shield Noah’s head.