Slow Slow Song

The air seemed to freeze solid.

Violet’s smile stiffened. Her eyes followed Anthony’s gaze to Christina, instantly filling with wariness and hostility.

I pulled Christina closer behind me, my voice flat. “My daughter.”

“Your daughter?” Anthony’s voice shot up an octave. He took a step forward, his presence oppressive. “Victoria, when did you have a daughter? How old is she?”

His eyes were like twin blades, sharp enough to flay me open.

I didn’t want to get tangled up with him—not here, not now. I just wanted to get Christina out.

“That’s none of your concern, Anthony.” Clutching Christina tighter, I turned to leave.

“Stop!” His hand shot out, clamping around my wrist like iron, biting into my skin. “Tell me. How old is she?” he insisted, relentless.

Christina was scared. Her little mouth trembled; then she burst into tears. “Mommy, I’m scared…”

My heart twisted. I tried to wrench my arm free. “Anthony, let go! You’re scaring her!”

“Your daughter? How can she be your daughter!” he shouted, reckless. “What’s her surname? What’s her name?”

By now, the commotion had drawn curious looks from the other guests.

Humiliation and anger washed over me. I wouldn’t let Christina become a spectacle.

“Mommy, the uncle is scary…” Christina sobbed into my shoulder, her small arms clinging tightly to my neck.

I soothed her with a pat on the back, then met Anthony’s gaze with icy calm. “Her name is none of your business.”

“How can it not be my business!” He stared, transfixed, at Christina’s tear-streaked face, muttering to himself, “The eyebrows… the eyes… It’s too similar. Too similar…”

He seemed possessed. Suddenly he reached out as if to take her. “Sweetheart, come to Daddy…”

I recoiled, clutching Christina. “Anthony, are you insane!”

“I’m not insane!” he said, voice thick. “Victoria, you’re something else. You hid this from me? You secretly had my child? Was this your plan all along—to trap me with a baby, force me to marry you?”

His words exploded through the ballroom like a thunderclap.

Every eye was on us now, hungry for drama.

Violet’s face went deathly pale. She rushed forward and grabbed Anthony’s arm, her voice shaking. “Anthony, what are you saying? How could she have your child? We… we’re getting married!”

“Married?” Anthony laughed, a harsh, bitter sound, and shook her off. “If I marry you, what about my daughter? Violet, step aside.”

He advanced on me again, eyes blazing with a manic certainty. “Victoria, I know you still hate me for rejecting you back then. But the child is innocent. You brought her here because you want me to take responsibility, right? Fine. I will. What do you want? Status? The title of Mrs. Anthony? I can give it to you!”

His sheer arrogance almost made me laugh.

“Anthony, is there something wrong with your head?” I held my daughter tighter, enunciating each word with cold clarity. “I’ll say it one more time. She is not your daughter.”

“Impossible!” he shot back, ironclad in his conviction. “Why does she look so much like me then? Stop lying, Victoria!”

Arguing with a madman was pointless. I took a deep breath.

“First, yes, her surname is Anthony. Second, you’re not the only Anthony in the world.” My voice dropped to a frigid calm. “Third, and most importantly, my daughter is four years old. Anthony, we broke up six years ago. You tell me—how on earth could she possibly be yours?”

The timing alone was irrefutable.

Surely now, he would finally see reason.