CHAPTER 3
Inside the sprawling mansion, thousands of miles away from the park, the elegant woman—Isabella—sipped a glass of vintage Pinot Noir. She walked over to the ornate window, watching Mateo sit on the velvet rug of the playroom, his small shoulders hunched in quiet, heartbreaking misery.
She adjusted her silk dress, her expression devoid of any maternal warmth as she turned toward her husband, Marcus. “The boy is being difficult, Marcus. He won’t stop crying for his mother.”
Marcus loosened his tie, his face cold and unbothered as he scanned the headlines on his tablet. “He will learn, Isabella. We have the money, the lawyers, and the public image to ensure he stays exactly where he belongs.”
He didn't care about the child’s tears or the mother’s shattered heart; he only cared about the inheritance tied to Mateo’s identity. The boy wasn't a child to him—he was a golden key to a fortune that Marcus had been embezzling for years.
Mateo looked up, his hazel eyes puffy and red, staring at the woman who had stolen him from the park. He knew she wasn't his mother, and he knew that every second he spent in this gilded cage was a second further away from the only person who truly loved him.
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“I want my mom,” Mateo whispered, his small voice small and wavering.
Isabella set her glass down on the mahogany table with a sharp, decisive clack. “Your mother is gone, Mateo. From now on, you will do exactly as I say, or you will never see the sun again.”
