A Special Gift: Enjoy This Deleted Scene from Professor's Secret Baby

Deleted Scene: Camilla’s First Encounter with Gonzalez

I wasn’t in the mood to go out. All I wanted was a quiet evening in my cozy apartment, curled up with a book and a cup of coffee. But my friends wouldn’t let me get away with it. They insisted I join them at a party, dragging me out of my apartment despite my protests. Reluctantly, I agreed, not expecting much but hoping for a distraction.

As soon as I walked into the gallery, my breath caught in my throat. The walls were adorned with bold, vibrant strokes of paint, each one more captivating than the last. The moment I laid eyes on the artwork splashed across the walls, my insides melted, and my heart began to race with excitement. I knew whose work these were. It had to be.

A sudden rush of realization hit me. He might actually be here.

I stood frozen for a moment, staring at the paintings—each one a visual story, so raw and powerful that they made me feel like I was inside his world. Gonzalez Rodriguez. The artist whose name I’d whispered to myself countless times over the years. The man whose work had stirred something deep inside me ever since I was 15, when I first saw his exhibition at a small gallery back home. The moment I laid eyes on his paintings, something inside me clicked, and I knew that I wanted to study art, not just anywhere, but here—at this prestigious institution, knowing that he would be teaching. It was always a dream of mine, a dream that had driven me to work harder than I ever thought possible. And now, here I was.

“Give a round of applause as I invite the greatest artist in London and one of the most dedicated professors in this institution, Gonzalez Rodriguez!” The announcement boomed over the speakers, and the entire room erupted into resounding applause.

But for me, the clapping was background noise. My eyes were scanning the crowd, desperately searching for him.

And then, just like that, I saw him. He was walking toward me—tall, striking, and every bit as intense as his paintings. His dark eyes scanned the room, and his face wore the same serious, sexy expression that had haunted my dreams for years. There was no smile, no acknowledgment, just that brooding look that made him appear both distant and undeniably magnetic. He wasn’t just a teacher to me; he was my idol. The person whose artistry I had admired from afar and whose presence, now so close, made my pulse quicken in my throat.

I couldn’t breathe. My palms were sweaty, my heart thumping erratically in my chest. Everyone in the room was waiting for him to take the stage, but all I could think about was this single, fleeting moment.

Before he reached the podium, before the attention shifted to the next phase of the event, I knew I had to act.

It was a foolish impulse—completely irrational—but in that instant, it felt like the only thing I could do. I had to introduce myself. I had to seize this opportunity, however brief, however unprepared I was.

Taking a deep breath, I stepped forward, hoping I wouldn’t look like a complete fool."