He Left Me At The Altar, Unaware I Had His Son

"How could you do this?" Henrico's roar of fury made Antonela flinch.

She had barely set foot in the house before her father unleashed his frustration on her.

"Look at you." His furious gaze raked over her. "You're a complete mess, parading around town in that... that wedding dress. You are an embarrassment to this family."

Francesca drew closer, her face flushed with shame, but Antonela held her ground.

She should have been used to her father's casual cruelty, but a foolish part of her had always hoped to soften his hardened heart. That hope had shattered the moment she was left standing alone at the altar.

"Don't say that, Henrico," Francesca scolded, shooting her husband a stern look before turning to Antonela. "It's not her fault she was jilted."

Across the room, her younger sister, Alessia, was stifling a laugh, a quiet, smug sound that didn't quite carry.

Deep down, she was thrilled Antonela hadn't married the city's most eligible billionaire.

Knowing just how much her sister despised her, Antonela finally found her voice.

"You shouldn't be angry with me, Dad." Her own voice was tight, disappointment curdling into a sharp, defensive anger. "I was forced to marry a man I didn't even know, and then he abandoned me." "Why don't you go ask him why he humiliated you?"

Henrico was struck dumb for a moment before he closed the distance and slapped her hard across the face.

It was the first time he had ever hit her, though his words had left the same kind of sting for years.

Her face burning, she slowly turned to look at him. All she saw in his expression was pure, unadulterated hatred.

"Don't forget you still live under my roof." He pointed a trembling finger at her. "And that marriage was our only way out. If you can't land a decent husband, then starting today, you will work and help support this household."

The words didn't feel real. It struck her with the force of a second slap: Henrico cared only about money and would wound his own daughter to get it.

Antonela felt a suffocating knot form in her throat. Her family was on the verge of bankruptcy. Marrying Benjamin Dylon had been her father's last hope.

Working wasn't the problem. The problem was being tired of her father dictating her every move.

"That's not fair!" she burst out. "Why do I have to work when Alessia does nothing?"

"Are you seriously comparing yourself to me, Antonela?" Alessia sneered, letting out a self-satisfied little laugh.

"I don't know what the hell you find so funny." Antonela pressed her lips together, her annoyance mounting. "Do you think my life falling apart is some kind of joke? While I'm expected to carry this family on my back, what exactly is it that you do? Paint your nails?"

Alessia shrugged, but the taunting smile never left her face.

"Enough of this nonsense," Henrico cut in, his voice sharp. "I don't need to explain that Alessia is a full-time student. She can't work. Please, Antonela, go to your room before I do something I'll regret."

Antonela's mouth flattened into a thin line. She hadn't been raised to talk back to her father, but there were things she couldn't let stand. Still, she held her tongue. Arguing now would only get her thrown out of the house.

She spun on her heel and started for the stairs when Alessia's voice called out again.

"While you're at it, throw that wedding dress away." She laughed. "I doubt anyone in this town will ever marry you after being left at the altar."

Antonela swallowed hard against the lump in her throat and ran to her room. She cried in silence, choking back the sobs.

The next morning, she'd hoped the mood in the house would be calmer. But the moment she sat down for coffee, she was ambushed by her father's demands.

He tossed a newspaper onto the table and spoke without missing a beat.

"You have a job interview at your uncle's company." He snatched the coffee cup from her hands. "Hurry up. You're already late."

Antonela nodded, feeling lost, as she watched her mother's inconsolable expression. She decided not to defy her father, if only to spare her mother any more distress.

"Can I at least know what position I'm applying for?" she asked dryly.

"You'll be the private secretary to the owner," he said, already grabbing her by the arm and forcing her to her feet.

It took everything Antonela had not to fall apart right there, but his words only fueled her fury.

She went to Francesca and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, a silent attempt to soothe her.

She returned to her room and changed. Then she called Dominique, asking for a ride to the interview.

The drive was silent, as if she were heading to her own funeral.

It was hard to breathe, let alone think. She had no control, no say in her own life, no path to the future she'd once wanted.

When the car pulled up in front of the towering office building, Dominique immediately offered to go in with her.

"I don't want to ruin your day," Antonela said, her voice sounding utterly defeated.

"I have nothing important to do," Dominique insisted, trying to offer some comfort. "You need support right now. That's what matters."

Dominique was an excellent friend, but even her presence couldn't shield Antonela from the impact of her father's decisions. She forced a smile, swallowing the urge to cry.

They stepped into the elevator. The second they reached the front desk, Antonela froze.

Dominique might think she was about to be sick. But all the color drained from her face, her eyes wide, as if she'd seen a ghost.

She dropped into a crouch, hiding behind the reception desk.

Dominique's face flushed with a mix of embarrassment and concern. "What are you doing, Antonela?" she hissed, rushing to her side and grabbing her arm. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Worse," Antonela whispered, peeking over the counter at a man standing a few feet away. "That's the man from the bar last night."

Dominique followed her gaze. Her eyes widened for a fraction of a second before she composed herself.

Then she straightened up, looked the receptionist in the eye, and asked, "Can you tell me that man's name?"

"Oh, of course!" The receptionist glanced at the man Dominique indicated and smiled brightly. "That's Mr. Benjamin Dylon, the future owner of the company."

Antonela squeezed her eyes shut. That couldn't be true.

The pieces slammed together in her mind with dizzying force. Benjamin Dylon, the fiancé who had abandoned her at the altar, was the same man she had spent the night with.