Slow Slow Song

The air seemed to freeze solid.

Violet’s smile stiffened. Her eyes followed Anthony’s gaze to Christina, instantly filling with wariness and hostility.

I pulled Christina closer behind me, my voice flat. “My daughter.”

“Your daughter?” Anthony’s voice shot up an octave. He took a step forward, his presence oppressive. “Victoria, when did you have a daughter? How old is she?”

His eyes were like twin blades, sharp enough to flay me open.

I didn’t want to get tangled up with him—not here, not now. I just wanted to get Christina out.

“That’s none of your concern, Anthony.” Clutching Christina tighter, I turned to leave.

“Stop!” His hand shot out, clamping around my wrist like iron, biting into my skin. “Tell me. How old is she?” he insisted, relentless.

Christina was scared. Her little mouth trembled; then she burst into tears. “Mommy, I’m scared…”

My heart twisted. I tried to wrench my arm free. “Anthony, let go! You’re scaring her!”

“Your daughter? How can she be your daughter!” he shouted, reckless. “What’s her surname? What’s her name?”

By now, the commotion had drawn curious looks from the other guests.

Humiliation and anger washed over me. I wouldn’t let Christina become a spectacle.

“Mommy, the uncle is scary…” Christina sobbed into my shoulder, her small arms clinging tightly to my neck.

I soothed her with a pat on the back, then met Anthony’s gaze with icy calm. “Her name is none of your business.”

“How can it not be my business!” He stared, transfixed, at Christina’s tear-streaked face, muttering to himself, “The eyebrows… the eyes… It’s too similar. Too similar…”

He seemed possessed. Suddenly he reached out as if to take her. “Sweetheart, come to Daddy…”

I recoiled, clutching Christina. “Anthony, are you insane!”

“I’m not insane!” he said, voice thick. “Victoria, you’re something else. You hid this from me? You secretly had my child? Was this your plan all along—to trap me with a baby, force me to marry you?”

His words exploded through the ballroom like a thunderclap.

Every eye was on us now, hungry for drama.

Violet’s face went deathly pale. She rushed forward and grabbed Anthony’s arm, her voice shaking. “Anthony, what are you saying? How could she have your child? We… we’re getting married!”

“Married?” Anthony laughed, a harsh, bitter sound, and shook her off. “If I marry you, what about my daughter? Violet, step aside.”

He advanced on me again, eyes blazing with a manic certainty. “Victoria, I know you still hate me for rejecting you back then. But the child is innocent. You brought her here because you want me to take responsibility, right? Fine. I will. What do you want? Status? The title of Mrs. Anthony? I can give it to you!”

His sheer arrogance almost made me laugh.

“Anthony, is there something wrong with your head?” I held my daughter tighter, enunciating each word with cold clarity. “I’ll say it one more time. She is not your daughter.”

“Impossible!” he shot back, ironclad in his conviction. “Why does she look so much like me then? Stop lying, Victoria!”

Arguing with a madman was pointless. I took a deep breath.

“First, yes, her surname is Anthony. Second, you’re not the only Anthony in the world.” My voice dropped to a frigid calm. “Third, and most importantly, my daughter is four years old. Anthony, we broke up six years ago. You tell me—how on earth could she possibly be yours?”

The timing alone was irrefutable.

Surely now, he would finally see reason.

But I had underestimated both Anthony's obsession and his arrogance.

My words did nothing to wake him to reality. Instead, his expression hardened into a smug mask that seemed to say, *I knew it.*

"Four years old?" A cold laugh escaped him. "Really, Victoria? You'd go that far to make me believe you? I know exactly what you're doing. You're lying about her age just to cut ties, aren’t you? So you can come back later and negotiate on your own terms?"

I could only stare, speechless. It was beyond belief that anyone in their right mind could think such a thing.

How delusional did you have to be to believe the whole world still revolved around you?

To imagine that after six years apart, I was still pining away—that I’d even invent a child just to win his attention?

"You really do love your little dramas, don't you?" I was so angry I almost laughed, too drained for real sarcasm. "Save it, Anthony. I don’t have the time."

"Still denying it?" He narrowed his eyes, the madness in them deepening. "Fine. Deny all you want. I have a way to make you admit it. A paternity test. We'll do it now."

To my horror, he actually lunged for Christina in my arms.

Violet, frozen beside him until then, finally snapped out of her panic. She grabbed his arm, tears streaking her makeup. "Anthony, stop! Just look at her! How could she possibly be yours? Don’t you remember the last six years? Don’t you remember you promised to marry *me*?"

"Get off!" Anthony had lost all patience. He shoved her away.

Violet stumbled and fell, collapsing into a crumpled heap on the floor.

She stared up at him, eyes flooding with disbelief and bitter resentment.

But Anthony only had eyes for me and the child in my arms now.

"Victoria, give her to me."

"In your dreams!" Shielding Christina, I backed away step by step.

Around us, the guests whispered, fingers pointing in our direction.

"Isn't that the Anthony boy? Making trouble again?"

"Who’s the woman? Don't recognize her."

"Heard she’s his ex. Brought a kid to claim paternity. Tsk. Rich people drama."

"The kid does look a bit like him, though. Could it be real?"

Every whisper felt like a needle pricking my heart.

I didn’t want my daughter labeled a "bastard" from her very first day back.

Anthony heard the murmurs, too. Instead of shame, a flicker of triumph crossed his face.

He probably thought I had nowhere left to run.

"Victoria, hear that?" He lowered his voice, slipping into what he clearly thought was a victor’s tone. "Everyone can see the truth. Stop struggling. Hand her over and come home with me. I’ll take good care of both of you."

"Home?" I looked at him as if he were the biggest joke I’d ever seen. "Which home? Yours and Violet’s? Anthony, you never cease to amaze me. Six years, and you’ve not only gotten more delusional—you’ve grown shameless."

My words stung. His face darkened. "Victoria, don’t push your luck! I’m giving you a way out. Take it. Do you really want to make this uglier?"

"You’re the one making it ugly," I said coldly. "I’m telling you for the last time. Let us go. Or face the consequences."

"Consequences?" He laughed, loud and arrogant. "I’d love to see what consequences you could possibly bring me!"

Then his hand shot out, grabbing for Christina in my arms.

At that critical moment, pushed to the brink, I felt all my composure and rationality shatter.

Clutching my daughter, I summoned every ounce of strength and screamed, my voice raw and desperate:

“Anthony, listen to me! My husband is your uncle! Do you hear me? My daughter is your uncle’s child!”

My words exploded like a thunderclap.

For a heartbeat, the entire ballroom fell into a dead, suffocating silence.

Every gaze swung toward me as if caught in a spotlight—first shock, then disbelief, soon twisting into naked ridicule and mocking laughter.

“Hahaha, did I hear that right? She said her husband is Anthony’s uncle?”

“Anthony’s uncle? You mean Matthew—the one running the family empire now? She’s lost her mind!”

“Exactly. A man like Matthew? He’d never look twice at some woman trying to claw her way up with a baby.”

“She’s clearly desperate. Just babbling nonsense now.”

Their laughter crashed over me like a tidal wave.

Anthony froze for a second, then his expression twisted into something even more contemptuous.

“Victoria, you’ve truly lost it.” He shook his head, pity dripping from his eyes. “To force my hand, you’d drag my uncle into this? Do you even know who he is? He despises women like you—manipulative, calculating. Did you really think I’d believe you?”

He was certain I was lying, making one last, pathetic stand.

“Security!” He gestured toward the door, pointing at me with condescending generosity. “Escort this woman out. We’ll pretend none of this happened today. Victoria—consider this the last shred of dignity I’m leaving you.”

Two guards approached, each seizing one of my arms. “Ma’am, this way.”

Holding Christina, I couldn’t move, engulfed by a humiliation and helplessness I’d never known. In my arms, she sobbed uncontrollably, her little body trembling with each gasp—breaking my heart.

Why? Why did I just want to live quietly, yet people kept tearing my world apart? Why did no one believe me when I told the truth?

Dragged by the guards, I stumbled toward the exit, my heels scraping shrilly against the polished marble.

Anthony stood unmoving, looking down at me with cold detachment. Violet scrambled up from the floor and joined him, her face a mix of relief and vicious triumph.

Watching them, I felt nothing but bitter irony.

Just as I was about to be hauled through the ballroom doors, a cool, penetrating voice cut through the noise from the entrance.

“Stop.”