Dominic Castellano’s POV
“Who is their father?”
My voice is quiet. Controlled. But beneath it, there’s an edge—sharp, lethal. Because I have an odd feeling I know the answer.
I see it in the boy’s defiant stance, in the way he doesn’t flinch under my gaze. In the mirror image of my own goddamn face staring back at me.
Selene stands frozen, her shoulders squared, her jaw tight. But I see the way her chest rises and falls too fast, the way her fingers twitch at her sides like she’s resisting the urge to run. She’s hiding something and I know exactly what.
“With all due respect, that’s none of your business,” she says, lifting her chin. Her voice remains steady, imbued with an unwavering strength.
But her eyes? They give her away. I step closer, watching her carefully. Every inch of her screaming stays in control. She doesn’t want me to see the panic clawing at her insides. Yet, I discern it regardless.
I glance at the twins again. The boy—Rafael—stares right back at me, his small hands curled into fists. Rosalie, the girl, clings to her mother's side, her large brown eyes darting between us, aware of the unspoken tension that hangs heavy in the air.
They don’t know what’s happening.
But I do. I return my gaze to Selene. She doesn’t move. I could push. Demand the truth. Rip it from her if I have to. But something tells me she won’t break that easily.
Then, I make my decision.
“You can leave.”
Selene’s breath hitches, but she doesn’t argue. She clutches their hands tightly, spins on her heel, and bolts as soon as I grant her the chance.
I watched her go, my jaw clenched, every muscle in my body locked tight. She thinks this is over. She thinks she can escape. She’s wrong.
I pick up my phone, my voice cold.
“I want everything on Selene Alvaroz. Now.”