Chapter 4 - A Birthright Claimed
By three o'clock that afternoon, the Villaseñor estate had transformed into a war zone of quiet, high-efficiency activity.
Three large black luggage bags belonging to Paulina Robles sat on the brick driveway outside the wrought-iron gates, guarded by two stern-faced security officers. Paulina had been escorted out of the building by Diego’s head of security, Mateo, while screaming threats that could be heard all the way down the tree-lined avenue of Las Lomas.
Inside the mansion, the atmosphere was entirely different.
Diego stood in the center of the vast master suite on the second floor—a room with vaulted ceilings, mahogany furniture, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the private gardens.
"Move everything from the third-floor staff quarters down here," Diego instructed two housekeepers, who looked utterly stunned by the sudden turn of events. "And call the interior design firm in Polanco. Tell them I want the adjoining room renovated into a nursery by Friday."
"Yes, Mr. Villaseñor," the head housekeeper squeaked, bowing her head rapidly before scurrying out to fulfill the orders.
Marisol stood near the doorway, holding a small plastic bag containing Valentina’s three changes of clothes and her worn stuffed rabbit. She felt completely out of place standing on the thick, cream-colored Persian rug.
"Diego, this is too much," Marisol said quietly, looking around the luxurious room. "We can’t stay in your room. What will the staff think? What will your board of directors say?"
Diego walked over to her, taking the cheap plastic bag from her hand and setting it on a hand-carved Italian sideboard.
"I don't care what the staff thinks, and I certainly don't care what my board says," Diego replied, taking both of her hands in his. "Marisol, for four years you worked sixteen-hour days cleaning my floors while I slept in luxury. You think I’m going to let my child’s mother live in a closet?"
"I’m not used to this," she whispered, looking down at her damp apron.
Diego reached down, his fingers gently untying the thick knot of the apron behind her waist. He pulled the faded blue cloth away and tossed it into the wastebasket near the desk.
"You’re done wearing that," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "Starting today, you don't clean a single dish in this house. You don't make coffee for anyone. You are the mother of the Villaseñor heir."
Valentina, who had been quietly exploring the edges of the heavy velvet curtains, suddenly giggled. She had found a small stuffed bear resting on a leather armchair—a decorative piece Diego had never touched.
She picked it up, cradled it against her duck socks, and walked over to Diego.
"Look," she said, holding it up.
Diego dropped to one knee instantly, his face softening into a smile that Marisol hadn't seen since their summer in Jalisco five years ago.
"It’s yours," Diego said softly, touching the bear’s soft ear. "Everything in this house is yours, Valentina."
The little girl looked at him thoughtfully. "Not pretty like the button?"
Diego let out a soft, genuine laugh—a sound that echoed off the high walls, startling Marisol with its warmth. "No, sweetie. The button was pretty, but this bear is much softer."
At that moment, the heavy double doors of the master suite swung open. Mateo, the head of security, stepped inside, his expression grim.
"Mr. Villaseñor," Mateo said, holding a tablet in his hands. "We have a situation. Paulina’s father, Senator Robles, just called the office in Santa Fe. He’s frozen the joint bank accounts for the resort development project in Los Cabos. And... he’s called an emergency press conference at the Maria Isabel Sheraton for five o'clock."
Marisol’s heart plummeted. "I told you, Diego! They’re going to destroy you!"
Diego stood up slowly, his eyes locking onto Mateo. The warmth vanished from his face, replaced by the cold, calculating mind of the man who had conquered Mexico City's real estate market before thirty-five.
"Let him call his press conference," Diego said coldly. "Mateo, call my personal physician, Dr. Mendoza. I want a private DNA test conducted in this house within the hour."
Marisol looked at him, hurt flashing through her eyes. "Diego... you don't believe me?"
Diego turned to her, his expression softening immediately as he took her face in his hands. "Marisol, I know she is mine. I don't need a piece of paper to tell me my own blood is standing right in front of me. Look at her eyes. Look at her chin. She is a Villaseñor."
He looked back at Mateo.
"I want the DNA test results expedited," Diego ordered. "And then I want you to call the legal team at Creel & Garcia. Tell them to prepare the official paternal recognition documents for the civil registry. By tomorrow morning, Valentina’s legal name will be Valentina Villaseñor Gutierrez."
Mateo bowed his head. "And what about the press conference at five, sir?"
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Diego pulled a gold watch from his pocket, checking the time with absolute composure.
"Call every major news outlet in Mexico," Diego said, a grim smile touching his lips. "Tell them Diego Villaseñor will be attending Senator Robles's press conference in person. And I'll be bringing my family."
