Chapter 6
The DNA results were released that afternoon.
The reaction was immediate and explosive.
Headlines changed within minutes.
"CONFIRMED: Billionaire Diego Villaseñor is Father of Maid's Three-Year-Old Daughter."
"DNA Doesn't Lie—But What's the Real Story?"
"Paulina Robles' Betrayal Claims Called Into Question After Paternity Reveal."
Some people started to doubt Paulina's narrative.
"If the child is really his, why did she hide it?" one commenter wrote. "There's more to this story."
But others doubled down.
"Of course the DNA matches! She seduced him, got pregnant, and hid the child until she could get into his house! The DNA doesn't prove she's not a gold digger!"
Paulina didn't back down.
She released her own statement within hours.
"While the DNA results confirm what I already suspected—that Diego fathered a child with Marisol Cruz before we met—they do not change the truth of what happened. Ms. Cruz deliberately hid this child for three years, then inserted herself into Diego's home as a maid to manipulate him and destroy our engagement. This is not a love story. It is a carefully planned scheme, and I will not be silenced."
She was good. I had to give her that.
She took the truth—the DNA results—and twisted it to fit her narrative.
And it worked.
The public was divided. Half believed she was a scorned fiancée telling the truth. Half believed there was more to the story.
But no one had the full picture.
Because Carlos was still missing.
Diego's private investigators searched for him day and night. They checked his old bank accounts, his former business associates, his family. Nothing. He had vanished like smoke.
Meanwhile, the tension in the house was unbearable.
Paulina was still living in the guest wing, and every time our paths crossed, she made sure to make her feelings known.
Once, in the hallway, she stopped right in front of me, blocking my path.
"You think you've won," she said, her voice low so no one else could hear. "You think a DNA test and a few kind words from Diego make you the lady of the house? Let me tell you something, Marisol. You will always be the maid. Always. And Diego will get tired of you. He'll get tired of your cheap clothes and your common manners and your constant reminder of the biggest mistake of his life. And when he does, I'll be waiting."
She smiled, cold and sharp.
"And I'll make sure you and your daughter end up right back where you belong—on the streets."
I walked past her without saying a word, but my hands were shaking.
She wasn't going to give up.
And I was right.
That night, it happened.
I woke up at 2 a.m. to the sound of Valentina crying.
I ran to her bedroom and found her sitting up in bed, her face streaked with tears, pointing at the window.
"Mama! There was a lady! Looking at me!"
My blood ran cold.
I ran to the window and looked outside. The garden was dark and empty. But the window was slightly open—the latch had been jimmied.
Someone had been there.
Diego came running when he heard the commotion. He took one look at Valentina's terrified face, one look at the broken window latch, and his face turned to stone.
He called security immediately.
They searched the grounds, but whoever it was had already gone. The only thing they found was a single footprint in the flower bed below Valentina's window—a woman's shoe, size 7.
Paulina wore a size 7.
The police were called. They took statements, they dusted for prints, they photographed the footprint.
But when they went to question Paulina, she had an alibi.
She had been on the phone with her sister in Guadalajara from 1:30 a.m. to 2:30 a.m.—phone records proved it. Her sister confirmed it.
"It wasn't me," she said, looking at me with feigned sympathy. "I would never scare a child like that. But you should be careful, Marisol. When you make as many enemies as you do, people tend to want to get back at you."
The police had no choice but to leave.
No proof. No suspect. Just a terrified three-year-old and a broken window latch.
Diego was furious.
"She did it," he said, pacing the study after the police left. "I know she did it. She paid someone. She had someone climb up to that window and scare Valentina just to send us a message."
He slammed his fist on the desk.
"And she had the perfect alibi ready. She planned this."
I was sitting on the couch, holding Valentina, who had finally cried herself to sleep in my arms. Her small face was still flushed, her breathing shallow.
"Diego," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "She's getting more dangerous. First the threats, then this. What if next time, she doesn't just scare her? What if she tries to take her? Or hurt her?"
Diego stopped pacing and knelt in front of me.
"That's not going to happen," he said, his eyes fierce. "I'm doubling the security. I'm putting cameras in every hallway, every entrance, every window. No one gets near this house, near Valentina, without my knowing."
He reached out and touched Valentina's hair.
"And I'm going to destroy Paulina Robles. I don't care what it takes. I don't care how much money it costs. She messed with my daughter. And that's something no one gets away with."
He called his lawyer first thing in the morning.
The lawsuit against Paulina was expanded. Now it included emotional distress, endangerment of a child, and conspiracy.
But I knew in my heart that lawsuits and lawyers and restraining orders might not be enough.
May you like
Paulina was fighting dirty.
And if we didn't find a way to stop her soon, someone was going to get hurt.
