Chapter 156: My Daughter
Chapter 156: My Daughter
ANNA SERRANO
After I was finally done for the day, after endless meetings and phone calls and documents that required my signature, evening had already set in. The sun was sinking below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and purple that I might have appreciated if I wasn't so completely exhausted.
I packed my bags with practiced efficiency, gathering my laptop, files, and personal items, mentally preparing myself to leave the office and head home to see my daughter.
But I hadn't been able to relax all day. Couldn't focus properly. Kept making small mistakes that weren't like me at all.
Because I'd been uneasy and restless since Abel had called me hours ago with his bombshell declaration, telling me in that cold, accusatory voice that he already knew Hermione was his daughter. That he'd figured it out. That he was coming for her.
I still couldn't believe he'd actually done a DNA test. The audacity of it, the violation of it, made my blood boil every time I thought about it.
But how? How did he manage to do it? How did he get close enough to Hermione to collect whatever sample he'd used—hair, saliva, something? When had he had that opportunity?
Or was he lying to me? Was this all just an elaborate bluff, a test to see my reaction so he could gauge what the truth actually was?
Was he working with Elena? Had his mother told him to try this approach after her own confrontation with me had yielded nothing but aggressive denial?
I ruffled my hair with one hand as I walked toward my office door, already feeling disoriented and off-balance. The uncertainty was eating at me, making it impossible to think clearly.
Abel had called specifically to let me know that he knew Hermione was his daughter. And then he'd said those words that had sent ice through my veins: I'm coming for her.
I scoffed out loud at the memory as I stepped out of my office and locked the door behind me with more force than necessary.
He's coming for my daughter? The thought was almost funny in its absurdity. Hilarious, really.
Because Abel must be completely delusional, must have lost his mind entirely, to think I would just hand over my daughter like she was some kind of shared property we could negotiate about.
I'm not giving my daughter to anyone. Not to Abel, not to Elena, not to the entire Donovan family combined. Hermione is mine. End of discussion.
"Ma'am! Good night!" My secretary's voice pulled me from my spiraling thoughts.
I looked over to see her bowing respectfully, already packing up her own things for the evening. She looked tired too, it had been a long day for everyone.
"Yeah, you can leave now," I said, not stopping my forward momentum toward the elevator. "And I won't be coming to the office tomorrow. I need to handle some personal matters."
I needed to be with Hermione, needed to make absolutely certain she was safe and protected.
"Good night," I called back to my secretary as I kept walking.
I took the elevator down to the parking garage, my mind still churning through possibilities and contingencies and worst-case scenarios. The elevator descended with mechanical smoothness, the numbers ticking down on the display, each floor bringing me closer to the underground level where I'd parked this morning.
When the doors finally opened, I stepped out into the parking garage, my heels clicking against the concrete floor as I headed toward my car.
The garage was dimly lit and mostly empty at this hour, just a few scattered vehicles belonging to the late workers who, like me, had stayed past reasonable office hours. The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed quietly, casting harsh shadows across the gray concrete pillars and painted parking lines.
As I approached my car, fumbling in my purse for my keys, I heard footsteps behind me.
I frowned immediately, my body tensing with automatic wariness. Who else was down here? I'd been the only one in the elevator. It was pretty late, past eight o'clock, so most people should have left hours ago.
The sound shouldn't have alarmed me as much as it did, but something about it felt off. Wrong. The footsteps were too deliberate, too purposeful, like someone was following rather than just walking to their own vehicle.
I turned around quickly, my heart rate picking up, scanning the garage for whoever was making that sound.
Nothing. No one. Just empty parking spaces and concrete pillars and shadows.
Am I in danger? The thought flashed through my mind, bringing with it a spike of genuine fear.
I kept walking toward my car, faster now, my keys clutched tightly in my hand like a makeshift weapon.
Then I heard the footsteps again, much clearer this time, closer, the sound echoing off the concrete walls in a way that made it impossible to pinpoint the exact direction.
My heart was beating fast now, adrenaline flooding my system, my mind running through options. Should I run? Should I scream for security? Should I turn and confront whoever was behind me?
I turned toward the direction the sound seemed to be coming from and saw a silhouette emerging from between two parked cars. The figure wasn't clear at first, just a dark shape moving through the dim lighting, features obscured by shadows.
But as the person came closer, stepping into a pool of fluorescent light, I saw exactly who it was.
And my fear immediately transformed into irritation and anger.
"Abel!" I called out, my face settling into a deep frown.
Of course it was Abel. Of course he'd somehow got into the garage or maybe he'd been waiting here for hours, lurking in the parking garage like some kind of stalker.
He walked toward me wearing a dark jacket with the hood pulled up over his head and worn jeans that looked like he'd slept in them. He looked terrible, worse than me, more disoriented and unstable, like he hadn't slept or eaten properly in days.
"Why are you being so sneaky?" I demanded, my voice sharp with accusation. "Hiding in parking garages, following people around. What's wrong with you?"
"Anna!" Abel called out, his voice hard and rough, the word scraping out of his throat like it hurt to say. "Why did you hide my daughter from me for six years? Why would you do that?"
He went straight to the point, no pleasantries, no warm-up, just immediate accusation.
As he got closer, a smell hit me that made my nose scrunch up with disgust and something like concern. Alcohol. He absolutely reeked of it, whiskey or vodka or maybe both, the scent so strong it was almost overwhelming.
He was drunk. Completely, obviously drunk.