Slow Slow Song
Chapter 1
I asked Anthony to marry me ninety-nine times, and each time he found a fresh reason to refuse.
On the hundredth try, I came utterly unprepared.
It was his birthday. I just walked up, perfectly calm, and asked, “Anthony, will you marry me?”
He was playing cards with friends and snorted with a laugh.
“Victoria, are you insane? I’ve told you a million times—I’m never getting married. Especially not to you.”
I stood, smiled at him, and said, “Alright. I understand now. Anthony, we’re done.”
Then I turned and walked away without a single glance back.
He probably thought it was just another one of my games, another attempt to play hard to get. He never even looked up.
The very next day, the gossip headlines exploded. Anthony, heir to the Aster Group, had publicly announced his engagement.
His fiancée was Violet, a junior from his college days.
I deleted everything connected to him and booked the earliest flight out of the country.
Six years later, I ran into him at a gala, my daughter Christina beside me.
The moment he saw Christina, he froze mid-step.
“That’s my daughter…”
I flinched, pulling Christina back and holding her tighter.
“Victoria, you have some nerve! You hid this from me? You went and had my child behind my back? Was this your plan all along—to trap me with a kid and force me to marry you?”
…
I was standing quietly by the dessert table in the corner, holding my daughter’s hand.
“Mommy, Christina wants that strawberry cake,” she said in her tiny voice, pointing at an elegant mousse cake.
I smiled and patted her head. “Okay, sweetie. Mommy will get it for you.”
Just as I picked up a plate, a server hurried over. Her eyes held a flicker of poorly concealed disdain. “Ma’am, these desserts are reserved for VIP guests.”
Pausing, I understood. Dressed simply today in a plain white dress, no makeup or flashy jewelry, I must have looked out of place in such opulent surroundings. She’d probably pegged me as a gold-digger who’d sneaked in for free food and a rich husband.
Not wanting trouble, I offered a polite smile. “Actually, I’m—”
She cut me off impatiently. “Save it. I don’t need to know who you are. If you want something, wait until the event’s over. We can pack up leftovers for you. But not now. Mr. Anthony and his party will be here soon, and I can’t have the display messed up.”
Anthony. Of course.
My expression cooled. “I’m just getting a piece of cake for my child. Is that your usual attitude?”
“It’s the attitude you deserve,” she retorted, self-righteous. “Bringing a kid to a place like this… I wonder what you’re really after.”
Her tone turned uglier. Christina seemed to sense the tension, her small hand clutching my skirt, a flicker of fear in her eyes.
I was about to retort when a voice came from behind me—a voice etched into my bones, yet so long unheard it now felt foreign.
“What’s going on here?”
My body went rigid. Slowly, I turned.
Anthony stood a few steps away, dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit. His hair was impeccably styled, and he carried a more mature, commanding air than he had six years earlier. Beside him, the same woman—Violet—clung to his arm, smiling with gentle charm.
Six years, and they were still together.
The moment his eyes landed on me, Anthony’s pupils contracted sharply. Stunned disbelief flashed across his face.
Spotting him, the server switched instantly to a fawning smile and pointed an accusing finger my way. “Mr. Anthony, this woman was insisting on taking cake, and she brought a child. I was worried she’d disturb the guests…”
But Anthony wasn’t looking at her. His gaze was locked on me. Or rather, on Christina beside me.
Christina shares about seventy percent of my features, but there’s something in her brow and eyes—a vague, haunting familiarity. Especially her eyes. She has the same striking almond shape that marks everyone in Anthony’s line.
“Victoria?” he ventured, a faint tremor in his voice.
“Anthony.” My reply was calm, devoid of warmth. “It’s been a long time.”
That single, cool utterance of his name built an instant wall between us.
The color drained from his face. His eyes jumped back to Christina, and he flinched as if burned. The words burst from him: “Whose child is this?”
But I had underestimated both Anthony's obsession and his arrogance.
My words did nothing to wake him to reality. Instead, his expression hardened into a smug mask that seemed to say, *I knew it.*
"Four years old?" A cold laugh escaped him. "Really, Victoria? You'd go that far to make me believe you? I know exactly what you're doing. You're lying about her age just to cut ties, aren’t you? So you can come back later and negotiate on your own terms?"
I could only stare, speechless. It was beyond belief that anyone in their right mind could think such a thing.
How delusional did you have to be to believe the whole world still revolved around you?
To imagine that after six years apart, I was still pining away—that I’d even invent a child just to win his attention?
"You really do love your little dramas, don't you?" I was so angry I almost laughed, too drained for real sarcasm. "Save it, Anthony. I don’t have the time."
"Still denying it?" He narrowed his eyes, the madness in them deepening. "Fine. Deny all you want. I have a way to make you admit it. A paternity test. We'll do it now."
To my horror, he actually lunged for Christina in my arms.
Violet, frozen beside him until then, finally snapped out of her panic. She grabbed his arm, tears streaking her makeup. "Anthony, stop! Just look at her! How could she possibly be yours? Don’t you remember the last six years? Don’t you remember you promised to marry *me*?"
"Get off!" Anthony had lost all patience. He shoved her away.
Violet stumbled and fell, collapsing into a crumpled heap on the floor.
She stared up at him, eyes flooding with disbelief and bitter resentment.
But Anthony only had eyes for me and the child in my arms now.
"Victoria, give her to me."
"In your dreams!" Shielding Christina, I backed away step by step.
Around us, the guests whispered, fingers pointing in our direction.
"Isn't that the Anthony boy? Making trouble again?"
"Who’s the woman? Don't recognize her."
"Heard she’s his ex. Brought a kid to claim paternity. Tsk. Rich people drama."
"The kid does look a bit like him, though. Could it be real?"
Every whisper felt like a needle pricking my heart.
I didn’t want my daughter labeled a "bastard" from her very first day back.
Anthony heard the murmurs, too. Instead of shame, a flicker of triumph crossed his face.
He probably thought I had nowhere left to run.
"Victoria, hear that?" He lowered his voice, slipping into what he clearly thought was a victor’s tone. "Everyone can see the truth. Stop struggling. Hand her over and come home with me. I’ll take good care of both of you."
"Home?" I looked at him as if he were the biggest joke I’d ever seen. "Which home? Yours and Violet’s? Anthony, you never cease to amaze me. Six years, and you’ve not only gotten more delusional—you’ve grown shameless."
My words stung. His face darkened. "Victoria, don’t push your luck! I’m giving you a way out. Take it. Do you really want to make this uglier?"
"You’re the one making it ugly," I said coldly. "I’m telling you for the last time. Let us go. Or face the consequences."
"Consequences?" He laughed, loud and arrogant. "I’d love to see what consequences you could possibly bring me!"
Then his hand shot out, grabbing for Christina in my arms.
