housekeeper in her neatly pressed blue-and-white uniform—was not cleaning or arranging flowers. She was seated at the forbidden table, patiently feeding four identical boys, no more than four years old, dressed in worn, mismatched clothes clearly patched together over time. Their gazes followed each spoonful as if it were treasure. The meal was nothing extravagant—just simple rice tinted yellow—yet they looked at it as though it were pure gold. “Elbows down, my little ones,” Elena whispered kindly. Then, with a smile meant to reassure more than instruct, “Eat slowly. Today, everyone gets enough.” Bright yellow rubber gloves covered her hands—hands meant for scrubbing floors and sinks—but the way she held the spoon was gentle, practiced, almost motherly. Alejandro’s throat tightened. He had never seen tenderness like this in his own home. NEXT PART IN 1ST COMMENT Voir moins

THE MILLIONAIRE COMES HOME EARLY
A billionaire arrived home at lunchtime three hours earlier than usual. The keys slipped from Alejandro de la Vega’s hand and clattered onto the marble floor—yet inside the mansion, no one reacted. He stood at the dining room threshold, frozen, blood running cold and hot at the same time.

Five years after his wife Lucía’s funeral, the imported mahogany table had been untouched—until now.

FOUR LITTLE BOYS AT HIS FORBIDDEN TABLE
Elena, the young housemaid in a crisp blue-and-white uniform, wasn’t polishing silver or dusting. She was sitting at the table, calmly feeding four identical little boys—around four years old—wearing patched, makeshift clothing.

Their eyes tracked her spoon like it was the most precious thing in the world. The meal wasn’t luxury—just simple yellow rice—yet the boys stared at it as if it were gold.

Elena murmured softly, “Open wide, my little birds.”
Then, gently: “Eat slowly. Today there’s enough for everyone.”

She was wearing bright yellow cleaning gloves—hands meant for scrubbing floors—yet she used them with a tenderness so maternal it made Alejandro’s throat tighten.

THE SHOCK OF RECOGNITION
Alejandro should have stormed in, demanded answers, thrown everyone out.
Instead, he couldn’t move.

The boys’ profiles—one turning to laugh, lamp light catching his face—hit Alejandro like a time-warped mirror. The nose. The smile. The expression. The familiarity was terrifying.

The mansion was a fortress. No one entered without permission. Yet here were four children eating at his table like hidden royalty—alive, real, laughing softly in a house that had been silent for years.

ELENA SEES HIM FIRST
The faint creak of Alejandro’s Italian shoes was nothing… but Elena reacted like it was thunder. She turned, color draining from her face.

The boys sensed her fear at once and looked toward the doorway in perfect unison.

Alejandro couldn’t breathe. Up close, the resemblance wasn’t “similar.”
It was identical.

“WHO ARE THESE CHILDREN?”
Elena jumped up, instinctively stepping in front of the boys with her arms spread wide—protective, fierce.

Alejandro marched forward, rage beginning to replace shock. His voice shook the room:
“What does this mean, Elena?”

The boys clustered behind her, trembling. Elena’s voice trembled too, but she held her ground:
“They’re not strangers, sir.”

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