Chapter 5 - The Heir ApparentThree months passed like a cinematic montage of redemption and rebirth.
The scandal involving Senator Robles dominated the national headlines for weeks, but the Villaseñor Group emerged stronger than ever. Diego restructured the board, purged the corrupt elements, and dedicated a massive share of the company's profits to building public housing for single mothers in Mexico City.
At the mansion, the heavy iron gates no longer felt like a prison.
Marisol was no longer the invisible maid hiding in the laundry room. Though she still insisted on cooking simple meals with her own hands—much to the bewilderment of the estate's professional chefs—she walked the marble halls with her head held high, holding Valentina's hand as the little girl explored every corner of the vast gardens.
However, peace in high society never lasts long.
One afternoon, a sleek black Maybach rolled up the driveway. Out stepped Ignacio Villaseñor—Diego’s estranged uncle and the ruthless patriarch of the older branch of the family, who had lived in self-imposed exile in Monterrey for a decade.
Diego met him in the grand foyer, his expression icy.
"To what do I owe the extreme displeasure of this visit, Uncle?" Diego asked, crossing his arms.
Ignacio chuckled, a dry, rattling sound, leaning heavily on a gold-handled cane.
"I heard the family name dragged through the mud because of a disgraced senator's daughter," Ignacio sneered, his sharp eyes scanning the opulent hall. "And now I hear rumors that you've installed a kitchen maid and an illegitimate brat in the main wing, treating them as your legal heirs."
Diego’s eyes flashed with lethal coldness. "Watch your tongue, Ignacio. That maid is the woman I love. And that child is my legally recognized daughter and sole heiress."
Ignacio let out a harsh laugh. "Legal heir? You forget the foundational charter of Villaseñor Holdings, signed by your grandfather! No child born out of wedlock can inherit a single share of the voting stock without unanimous approval from the family council—which I head!"
From the top of the stairs, Marisol froze. She had been coming down to bring Valentina her afternoon snack when the chilling words hit her like a physical blow.
May you like
A bastard brat. No right to inherit.
The ghost of her past as a lowly maid suddenly reached up from the floorboards to drag her back down.
