Chak leaned closer to her until their eyes met. Neither of them looked away, their gazes locked in tense silence.
Chak straightened and sat down on the couch. His sharp eyes studied her for a moment before he asked, "How old are you?"
"Twenty-five," she answered without hesitation.
"And how long have you known who your father is?" he pressed.
"About two weeks," she said softly.
She took a deep breath and began, her voice steady but laced with emotion.
"You see, your father met my mother in Italy when she was working as a travel agent. He asked her to show him her home country too, and he was enchanted by its beauty and scenery. He never mentioned he had a family waiting for him back in Thailand. All he told her was that he was on a month-long business trip.
When he left, my mother found out a few months later that she was pregnant. Throughout her pregnancy, she searched for Thai names because she wanted me to have a name connected to my father's heritage. She had decided on Thanida Sasi. But at the last moment, when I was born, she changed her mind.
By then, she had discovered that my father was a well-known businessman with a family of his own. She was terrified of what the press might do if they learned he had another daughter.
She named me Anamarija, believing it would protect me from the media.
When I was about five or six years old, I was playing at a playground while my mother was working nearby. A woman approached me and said I looked exactly like a man she knew. She asked me where my father was, and just as I was about to answer, my mother arrived. She calmly asked the woman if something was wrong.
The woman showed her a photo of my father and said I was his spitting image. My mother smiled politely and told her she didn't see any resemblance, even though deep down she knew the truth that he was my father. After that day, my mother never took me to Italy again.
When I started school, I became the target of cruel teasing.
They said terrible things to me… that I didn't have a father, that my mother didn't even know who he was, that he didn't want me, and that I had no real family. They'd ask questions about my father, and I had no idea how to answer. I didn't even know who he was. Every word felt like a stone thrown at me… and I carried them all in silence."
Anamarija let out a quiet sigh as the memory pulled her back.
"When I was in high school, we had a special guest a successful businessman came to speak about entrepreneurship and leadership.
It was our father.
At that time, I didn't know who he was. I was seated near the front, right in the middle of the lecture hall. I remember only glancing at him a few times I wasn't really interested in business back then.
But during the Q&A session, my teacher encouraged me to ask a question. So I stood up, feeling awkward in front of everyone, and asked him, 'Do you have a family?'
He smiled warmly and answered in front of the entire class, 'Yes, I do. I have two sons and a daughter. They're my pride and joy.'
I nodded and sat down, trying to hide how nervous I felt. But as I lowered myself back into my seat, I noticed his eyes lingered on me longer than they did with the others.
Then he said something… that I'll never forget.
'You remind me of them,' he told me. 'Your smile it's exactly like my daughter's. The way you frown when you're thinking, my eldest son does the same. And just now, the way you shifted your shoulder that's something my youngest son does all the time.'
I forced a little laugh and replied, 'That's… interesting.' But deep down, I felt uncomfortable. It wasn't that he was unkind it was the way he was looking at me. Like… like he was trying to solve a puzzle. Like I was familiar to him, even though we'd never met before.
And then…" She paused, her eyes growing distant as she pulled the memory closer. "At the end of his lecture, there was a short quiz for all of us. Just a few fun questions about his business.
I won.
He handed me a gift bag with products from his company. And when he shook my hand to congratulate me, I felt… something.
Something I couldn't explain back then. It wasn't just nerves. It was like… a strange warmth in my chest, spreading deep inside me. Almost as if a part of me recognized him, even if my mind didn't.
I didn't understand it then. I brushed it off. But now… I think it was my heart trying to tell me the truth."
And he told me, "Inside, it's a dark chocolate. I know teenagers don't like dark chocolate, but try it."
And I said back, "I like dark chocolate. It helps me concentrate and feel better."
"I like dark chocolate too," he said with a smile.
Three months ago, I came home and found my mother crying. When I asked her why, she just said she had read something and told me not to worry. I didn't push her.
Then, two weeks ago, I accidentally found a photograph tucked inside a book. It showed my mother standing next to my father.
That's when my mother finally told me the whole truth about him. At first, I was angry with her. Angry that she had known all along who he was… angry that she kept me in the dark about who I really am.
But as I listened, I realized she had done it out of love. She was trying to protect me from the world, from the media, from people who would have gossiped and judged us.
She raised me on her own. And even though I didn't have a father growing up, she made sure I never felt unloved. She gave me everything she could her time, her care, and all the love in her heart."
Anamarija reached into her purse and pulled out an old photograph. She handed it to Chak without a word.
Chak took it silently, his long fingers brushing the edges as he stared down at it. His expression was unreadable, his face calm as stone.
After a few moments, he handed the photo back to her.
"We'll do a DNA test," he said firmly.
"Alright," Anamarija replied confidently, meeting his gaze without flinching.
Chak stood abruptly and strode toward his office without another word.
I hesitated, then glanced at Anamarija.
"Can I… see the photo?" I asked softly.
She nodded and handed it to me. The image showed a younger version of Chak's father, standing close to a beautiful woman with warm eyes Anamarija's mother. They looked happy, carefree… a moment frozen in time.
Before I could say anything, Chak reappeared from his office, his face still unreadable. His deep voice broke the silence.
"How long are you staying in Thailand?" he asked, his tone sharp but not unkind.
"I have a flight back in two days," Anamarija answered cautiously.
"Why?" she asked simply.
"Just… curious," Chak said.
Chak's eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn't press further. Instead, he spoke with quiet authority.
"We'll go to hotel and get your things."
Anamarija stared at him, surprise flashing across her face.
"Why? I can just stay there until I leave."
"No," Chak said firmly, his voice brooking no argument. "You'll stay here. For fourteen days."
"I don't want to be in the way" she began, but Chak silenced her with a single, pointed look.
"Alright," she whispered finally, her shoulders sinking slightly.
Chak turned to me next.
"Niran, move all your things into my room. Change the sheets too. Anamarija will sleep in yours while she's here."
"Okay," I replied quickly, trying to mask the twinge of emotion tightening my chest.
As Chak passed me, he reached out and ruffled my hair gently, his fingers lingering for a moment in a rare gesture of affection.
"Good," he murmured.
I nodded, managing a faint smile. "Alright."
Chak and Anamarija headed for the door. Kit and Taeng exchanged knowing smiles.
"We'll be in the kitchen," Kit said cheerfully. "Time to cook something."
" We'll try not to burn the house down." Taeng teased as they disappeared into the kitchen.
I let out a soft sigh and turned toward my room. There was work to do.
As I began gathering my belongings, my fingers brushing over the familiar items, I felt a strange heaviness settle in my chest. My room would feel different now… and so would the house.