“Where are you headed?” Damian’s voice sliced through the hallway—low, controlled, and sharp enough to stop movement itself. Authority clung to every syllable, thickened by suspicion. Rico froze near the door. He was going to see Melinda, he wanted to know what she had to say, what secret she wanted to tell him that he didn't already know. His fingers tightened around the car keys, the cold metal biting into his palm as though anchoring him to reality. For a heartbeat, he didn’t turn. The silence stretched, taut and dangerous, as if one wrong move would snap it. Then slowly—deliberately—he faced them. “What concern is my whereabouts to you?” Rico asked, his voice even, deceptively calm. Beneath it, something simmered. His jaw clenched, nostrils flaring slightly as his gaze locked onto Damian’s. “Since when did you question me?” The words thundered through the marble-lined hallway, bouncing off polished walls and expensive decor that suddenly felt like a cage. The air grew

Rico drove out of the compound slowly, his hands locked around the steering wheel as though it were the only thing anchoring him to the present. His knuckles had gone pale, the tendons in his forearms tight with restrained fury. The gates slid shut behind him with a heavy clang—metal on metal, final and unforgiving. The sound echoed far too loudly in his head but he did not look back. The confrontation replayed itself in relentless fragments, looping in his mind like a damaged recording that refused to stop. Every word, every pause, every look had lodged itself deep beneath his skin . Damian’s voice cut through the silence first—sharp, measured, dripping with accusation. That same smug certainty he always carried, as if he was perpetually two steps ahead of everyone else. Damian had stood there with his arms crossed, shoulders relaxed, like a man already rehearsing his alibi. Like someone who had planned for this moment long before it arrived. And Helena… Rico exhaled ha

Right outside the restaurant, Rico was just about to leave when he spotted Melinda standing near the curb. At first glance, she seemed ordinary—just another woman on the street—but the moment caught his attention. Her shoulders were hunched, her hands trembling slightly, and her eyes were red as though she had been crying for some time. At first, Rico felt a flicker of amusement; the scene had a ridiculous edge to it, almost theatrical. But the humor quickly faded when he noticed the man looming over her, his face twisted with anger and impatience, his voice harsh and accusing. Rico’s brow furrowed as he quickened his pace toward them. Something about the situation was off. The laughter bubbling in his chest died instantly, replaced by a steady, cautious wariness. “What’s going on here?” he asked, his voice calm but sharp enough to slice through the tension. The man turned, slightly startled by Rico’s sudden presence. Melinda looked at Rico, a mixture of relief and frustra

Back at the hospital, Ramon’s eyes fluttered open, heavy and unsteady. The harsh fluorescent lights made him squint, and the sterile scent of antiseptic filled his lungs like a chokehold. Every breath felt tight, ragged, and shallow. He tried to lift his head, but pain shot through his ribs, sharp and insistent, and he groaned, instinctively curling in on himself. “Careful,” a nurse said sharply as she hurried toward him, placing a gentle but firm hand on his shoulder. Her expression was tense, wary. “Sir, don’t move. You’ve been through a lot. One wrong movement and—” “Where is she?” Ramon croaked, panic flaring like wildfire in his chest. His throat was raw, his voice hoarse, but he barely cared. His gaze darted around the sterile hospital room, searching for a glimpse of her—any sign that she had survived. “Where’s my girlfriend… Melinda? Get her to me! Did she… did she die in the fire?” The nurse stiffened, startled by the sheer intensity of his panic. “Sir… please,” she said

She could almost sense the intention behind it—the deliberate act of hiding, of keeping a secret. Her throat felt dry, her hands sticky with sweat. The gravity of what she had uncovered settled over her like a heavy blanket, suffocating in its weight. What was Rico involved in? What had he been hiding all this time? And why had no one ever mentioned a thing? Fear coiled tight in her stomach, twisting every thought. She pressed a hand against her chest, trying to steady her rapid heartbeat, and leaned closer to the cooler. She could barely breathe, the metallic scent mingling with the scent of polished wood in the room. Her mind was a whirlwind of questions, none of which she dared speak aloud. Finally, she forced herself to sit on the edge of the bed, just inches from the cooler. The dim light caught the surface of the blood inside, and her reflection in it seemed almost like a distorted warning. Every instinct she had screamed at her to run, yet a strange, stubborn determina