When the sweat-drenched man laid eyes on Valentine Anderson, who was tied to a chair, he made his way over to Margret Willow. She appeared displeased by his abrupt arrival, intending to keep Valentine Anderson unaware of the situation.
Leaning in close to her ear, he began to murmur words too faint to be heard.
Valentine bound to a chair, it didn't stop him from straining his ears to catch a snippet of the exchange.
Margret Willow's expression was a cascade of emotions: annoyance, confusion, shock, and then, unmistakably, fear. Valentine's curiosity shifted into overdrive, his mind racing with possibilities of what could evoke such a reaction.
Margret's gaze softened with pity as she turned to Valentine, her words chilling. "You'll regret the day you made this choice. Go back to Vegas City."
Valentine's fury, stoked by the restraints and Margret's scornful look, erupted. "You're the one who'll regret this! I swear I'll shatter Willow Group and you along with it!"
His eyes blazed with anger, which only intensified when Margret regarded him with disdain. She was about to leave when the sweaty man questioned her. "Mrs. Willow, releasing him will jeopardize everything. Your in-laws will think you've duped them. We can't let him go."
She paused, giving Valentine a fleeting glance before coldly deciding. "He'll be back within three days. No point in holding him."
With those final words, she departed. Valentine burned with a rage he couldn't voice, the door closing on his chance for a retort.
"Time to go," he heard from one of the guards, as darkness claimed his vision.
Blindly, he was ushered forward, his hands bound, unable to resist as he was led away.
The car's engine and the squeal of tires were his only indications of movement, and when his sight finally returned, he was back in Vegas City.
His fists clenched, his glance fell on the private jet gearing up for takeoff.
"One day, Margret Willow," he seethed through gritted teeth, "I will have my revenge for this indignity."
After calming down for a few minutes, he realized Pete was already back home. He had no idea who had orchestrated his release from Margaret Willow hostage, and his curiosity was piqued.
Glancing around, he noticed his bag on the floor. He picked it up and rifled through it, finding his wallet stuffed with cash. With the money in hand, he quickly booked a taxi to the Singer's Mansion.
Upon arrival, he could hear the sound of lively, cheerful voices emanating from the living room. He entered and found Pete, Andrea, Mrs. Anderson, and Benita engaged in happy conversation.
Valentine Anderson's eyes landed on Pete and he was struck still, his face contorting with complex emotions. He had conspired for Pete's death, his own son, and now, seeing him alive brought a tumult of happiness, guilt, and shame. He stood frozen, unable to speak, staring at Pete who was the spitting image of his younger self.
As the others noticed Valentine's return, they assumed he was the hero who had rescued Pete, not knowing the truth of the car that had dropped Pete at the mansion gates before speeding away.
A smile spread across Andrea's face as she gently ruffled Pete's hair, "Pete, say hello to your dad."
Pete blinked, looking adorable and confused. Andrea turned to Valentine and reiterated to Pete, "This is your real dad, honey. Lucas is your uncle, not your father. He's your dad's twin brother," she explained with patience, though she had hesitated to reveal this before Valentine's arrival for reasons she couldn't quite grasp.
Pete's eyes filled with tears as he asked, "Mom, what are you saying?"
Pete had observed Valentine but found no resemblance between them. To Pete, a son should look like his father, and a daughter like her mother. The logic didn't add up for him.
Andrea struggled to articulate her thoughts, her mind was a whirlwind of confusion.
Before she could speak, Valentine cut in sharply, "I am your father, Valentine Anderson. That bastard you've been calling 'dad' is actually my twin brother, Lucas Anderson."
Valentine was seething with jealousy upon learning that not only had Lucas taken Andrea from him, but his son as well.
Pete protested vehemently, "He’s not a bastard; he’s my father!"
Valentine snapped back, "He's a liar and a cheat. He’s not your father, I am your real father!"
"You are not my father!" Pete retorted, standing up furiously, his cheeks flushed with anger, rejecting the parental claim Valentine was asserting.
"Whether you like it or not, I am your father, and that is something you cannot change!" Valentine declared, his face a mosaic of raw emotion.
Mrs. Anderson, Benita, and Andrea were rendered speechless by the spectacle of Valentine arguing with a seven-year-old.
"I will never accept you as my father," Pete declared with staunch defiance, his fists clenched, tears threatening to spill as he turned and ran from the room.
Andrea, stricken with panic, hurried after him, her voice echoing through the mansion, "Pete! Pete!!"
After being rejected by his own son, Valentine Anderson was consumed by anger. His face darkened, his chest tightened, and he clenched his fists so tightly that his knuckles turned white with rage.
"Val, you have to realize he's just a child. You can't expect him to accept you as his father just because you say so," Mrs. Anderson attempted to explain gently.
"But he accepted that bastard Lucas, as his father without question. Why then does he reject me his real father?" Valentine Anderson retorted, his unhappiness evident in his voice.