THE EYES THAT DIDN’T BELONG TO A STRANGER
The boy peeked out from behind Yazmín’s legs—no more than four years old.
And time stopped.
Brilliant emerald-green eyes with flecks of gold—
the Montenegro eyes. Adrián’s eyes. The same ones Victoria saw reflected in her own mirror.
Her breath caught. “Yazmín…” she said, her voice tightening.
“Whose child is that?”
Yazmín raised her chin. Rain soaked them both as the moment stretched.
“Because Tadeo is his son, ma’am.”
“And because I promised Adrián I would protect him… even if his family never wanted to know about us.”
The lilies slipped from Victoria’s gloved hands and fell into the mud.
A grandson. A living heir.
Wrapped in everything Victoria despised: poverty, brown skin, and a mother beyond her control.
Yet what unsettled her most wasn’t greed in Yazmín’s eyes.
It was fear—the kind that hinted at secrets heavier than paternity alone.

