Jazz music hummed softly through the sleek penthouse. Selene leaned against the kitchen counter, swirling red wine in her glass. The city lights flickered beyond floor-to-ceiling windows, but her eyes were distant, lost deep in memories.
[Flashback: Father’s cold voice, echoing in the marble hallway]
Roland Torres
Five days.. Five days after your mother’s funeral, Selene. You’ll get used to it.
Selene Torres
(voice trembling)
You never loved her... She was a means to an end. A trophy, nothing more.
Her father smirked, leaning in with cruel delight.
Roland Torres
(harsh)
She had wealth, shares, land—the kind of power that builds empires. And I built it all.
Roland Torres
(He glanced at a photo of two children.)
They’re mine. Born before you. Before she ever came into the picture.
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