A man in his forties stepped out onto the veranda, taking a slow drag from his old-fashioned pipe. Smoke curled in the air, swirling like fading memories. His eyes lingered somewhere distant, lost in thoughts he could never voice. This was how he learned to live—with silence, smoke, and the ghosts of what he'd done.
Another slow drag. The grayish air moved with him, as if trying to carry away the weight of his past. A crack of dry leaves broke his trance, followed by the familiar sound of a car door closing.
His son.
Those eyes—cold as ice, sharp as a blade. Yet the older man didn't flinch. He cleared his throat just as Kyle was about to enter the house.
"You're still dating that girl, huh?" His baritone voice sliced through the quiet night.
Kyle froze, rage building in his chest. Now his father wanted to control his love life too?
"And so what?"
A sharp slap echoed under the moonlight, cutting through the silence. Kyle's cheek stung, but the pain was nothing new. He was used to it—used to having a violent father. The pain of having him as a parent was far worse than any slap.
Being born with that man's blood was the real curse.
His life felt disgusting—rotten. Yet, Yvienna was the only reason it still held any meaning. And now this old man wanted to take even that away?
Wasn't it enough that Kyle already carried everything—his mother, his siblings' future, even himself? The weight of it all pressed against his chest, heavy and suffocating. Still, his father demanded more.
"That's the influence of the Mendozas on you, huh?! Being ungrateful?!"
Kyle narrowly avoided the pipe when Greg hurled it toward him.
"Isn't it you who's ungrateful?" Kyle shot back, his tone sharp, provoking more fury.
Greg clenched his jaw, pointing a trembling finger at his son.
"Don't try me!" he barked before storming off.
Kyle shut his eyes, jaw tight. He shouldn't have come back—but his mother was inside, resting. He couldn't leave her alone with that man.
The creak of the door stirred Beatrice from her uneasy rest. She quickly wiped her tears before her son entered.
"Are you okay, Mom?" Kyle asked softly, sitting beside her. He wrapped her in a gentle hug.
She smiled faintly, patting his head. "Y-yeah, I'm fine."
Her heart ached. She was thankful her son inherited her face, not his father's. It made the pain easier to bear. At forty, she still held on to the faint hope that Greg might change—but deep down, she knew he never would.
Some men were just beyond redemption.
"When can I meet her?" Beatrice asked.
Kyle's eyes widened. His mother wanted to meet Yvienna? A shy smile tugged at his lips as her image flashed in his mind.
"Bring her here. I'll cook for her," Beatrice added, making her son's embrace tighten.
"I'll ask her, Mom, but—"
"Don't worry," she cut him off gently. "Your father's at the business site for three weeks."
Kyle grinned. "Thank you, Mom."
She chuckled. "What are you thanking me for? If she's the one you love, then I'll love her too." Her dimples appeared as she smiled genuinely.
She was in her forties, yet age had barely touched her. Sadness lingered in her features, but even sorrow couldn't hide her beauty. Those doe eyes, pale skin, and that sharp jawline—she was still breathtaking.
But she often thought, No matter how beautiful you are, if a man doesn't love you, he'll never cherish you.
Kyle kissed her forehead as she drifted off to sleep. On his way out, he tiptoed to avoid waking her. As the door closed, Beatrice quietly chuckled at her son's sweetness. She had only pretended to sleep to make him feel at ease.
Stepping out onto the balcony, she inhaled the cool breeze under the bright moonlight. She didn't want this life—but her children were the only reason she still kept living. Closing her eyes, she smiled faintly, letting the past flood back.
"What on earth are you doing up there?!"
Beatrice couldn't hide her amusement as a young man tried to climb up to her balcony.
"Climbing?" he said with a smirk.
Their laughter faded when Beatrice's eyes caught sight of his bleeding shoulder.
"That's just a scratch," he said awkwardly, trying to cover it, but she pinched the wound, making him hiss in pain.
"Ouch! What was that for?!" he said, but amusement glinted in his eyes. What a mischievous woman, he thought.
"I thought it was just a scratch?" she teased.
The moment felt so pure as she gently cleaned and treated his wound. She pretended not to notice how deep it really was—but she knew it came from a knife.
What kind of life does this man live?
"You're so sweet, milady," he said softly, his voice dripping with warmth. "I can't wait for you to have my child." He kissed her forehead, but Beatrice only gave him a faint smile.
Pain struck through her chest. She could never marry this man. Her parents had already chosen Gregory—a wealthy young man destined to be their business partner's heir.
"You're not happy?" his voice cracked as he searched her eyes.
"I—I'm happy. I can't wait to," she lied.
If only she were strong enough to fight for their love. Courage—that was all she needed.
A tear slipped down her cheek as she opened her eyes again. Reminiscing was fun, until the pain came rushing back. Still, that pain was all she had left of him.
"I hope my children won't have a life like mine," she whispered.
She knew Greg was neither her first nor greatest love. But if he had changed—if he had treated her right—maybe there could have been a chance.
But everything was too late.
All she hoped now was that her children would marry for love, not duty.
"What did I ever do to deserve this?" her voice cracked.
She was kind. She obeyed everything her parents said—like a puppet. So why couldn't she have even a piece of happiness?
Why?
The rain poured suddenly, as if the heavens wept for her. She hurried back inside, sitting on the floor as her tears fell freely, blending with the sound of rain.
Hours later, the sun rose.
Yvienna woke from her sweet sleep, humming as she descended the stairs and greeted the maids cheerfully.
"You're in a good mood, my brat daughter," her father teased.
"Guess," she replied playfully, rushing toward the kitchen when the scent of pancakes reached her.
"Oh, you woke up early?" her mother said, flipping pancakes with a spatula.
"Who's the reason behind that happiness, huh?" her father asked, sitting across from her as they waited for breakfast.
"Here he is," her mother said teasingly as she placed pancakes on their plates.
"What do you mean?" he asked, confused—just as the doorbell rang.
"Open it, Yaya Mirna," Meg instructed.
Bastien's curiosity got the best of him. He stood and went to check.
"Good morning—" Kyle froze as he saw Yvienna's father.
They both pointed at each other, wide-eyed.
"Y-you?!" Bastien's gaze darted between his wife and Kyle.
Meghan only shrugged, chuckling.
"G-good morning, Yvienna's father," Kyle stammered before taking Bastien's hand and pressing it to his forehead in respect.
Yvienna couldn't hold back her laughter as the two men exchanged awkward glances.
"Isn't he the—" Bastien began, but Meghan pinched his arm, silencing him.
"Don't be a bitter Tien," she whispered.
Yvienna guided Kyle to sit beside her.
"Treat this as your home, okay?" Meg said warmly. Kyle nodded.
"You want bacon?" Bastien offered, sliding a few strips onto his plate.
Yvienna couldn't stop smiling. Her parents accepted the man she loved. They treated him as if he were already part of the family. She bit her lower lip when she noticed Kyle's ears turning red.
"So cute," she murmured.
Time passed, and the two found themselves walking down the hallway. Yvienna giggled when she felt something brushing against her fingers.
"What are you doing?" she asked, glancing down to see Kyle's hand reaching for hers.
"Nothing," he replied, averting his gaze, whistling casually.
"Whatever you say," she scoffed, taking the initiative to hold his hand tightly—
and that simple gesture made Kyle smile like he'd just won the lottery.
They both happily entered the room—until silence suddenly filled the air.
"What?" Yvienna asked casually, though her brow furrowed.
Her gaze roamed around until a familiar face caught her eye. Her chest tightened.
"What is she doing here?" she whispered to Kyle, who looked just as stunned.
Tiffany glanced at her, then at the girl beside her. Yvienna could tell Tiffany didn't even know the girl—yet she was clearly using her to stir up another scene.
Suddenly, the girl began to cry. Some of the students rushed to her side, trying to calm her down.
"What is this drama?" Yvienna muttered, struggling to keep her composure, though the sight made her blood boil.
"Stop bullying her!" one of her classmates shouted.
"The heck?!" Yvienna snapped. After that scene at the clinic yesterday, she's still not done?!
"Stop being a b*tch! You're always bullying me!" the girl cried louder.
Yvienna gritted her teeth. A curse slipped from her lips as her anger finally broke free. She took heavy steps toward the girl before Kyle could stop her.
"This is the real bully!" she yelled, grabbing the girl's hair. The whole class stepped back—no one had ever seen her this furious before.
"Crap," Kyle muttered under his breath.