Rico arrived at the hospital just as Damian and his family were seated in Dr. Harry’s office. The air was thick with unease, each of them silently wrestling with the uncertainty of Eliron’s condition. Damian sat rigid in his chair, hands clenched on the arms, jaw tight as his mind replayed the events that had led them here. Helena sat beside him, her fingers intertwined nervously, and Sonia’s small frame mirrored the tension around her. Every sound—every distant beep or shuffle in the hospital corridor—seemed magnified in that room. They were still debating what to do next, weighing the risks of pressing Eliron too soon against the desperate need for answers. Rico moved quickly through the sterile corridors, his steps measured but urgent. His heart thumped, a mix of apprehension and determination driving him forward. He reached the nurses’ station, scanning the area until a nurse finally noticed him. “I… I need to inform the doctor first,” she said cautiously, her voice polite b

Damian and Helena walked toward the car with a slow, deliberate pace, their faces carrying the weight of unspoken truths. There was something in their eyes—a knowing glance—that made Sonia instinctively stiffen. Damian’s jaw was tight, Helena’s lips pressed together, and the way they moved, side by side but silently in sync, told Sonia more than any words could.Eliron must have been telling Rico everything he knew, she thought. And if that was happening, then there was no going back. The threads of secrets, lies, and half-truths were unraveling, and they all had to deal with it—now, before it was too late. Helena gave Damian a look that was half warning, half reassurance, and he nodded subtly, though his tension did not ease. The moment was charged with something Sonia couldn’t name, but she felt it crawling under her skin anyway. It was a dangerous moment, and she hated that she couldn’t control it. Then Damian’s phone rang. He glanced at it, frowning slightly, and the phone’s vi

Rico stood frozen in the hallway, his eyes fixed on Dr. Harry. The air felt thick, almost suffocating, as though every second stretched too long, giving weight to the words that were about to fall. “Master Rico,” Dr. Harry said, his voice measured, careful, respectful, yet laced with curiosity. “Is she… your mother? Is Eleanor Devi your mother?” Rico’s chest tightened, his hands curling into fists at his sides. His heart pounded like a warning drum inside his ribcage. He wanted to speak, to shout yes and throw himself at the truth, but something restrained him. Saying it aloud, even to someone he trusted, carried consequences he could not ignore. The West family—calculating, ruthless, dangerous—could learn the truth, and his mother’s safety would be shattered in an instant. He swallowed hard, forcing his voice into calm, controlled tones. “She’s just an elderly lady I saw while out. I offered to help her,” he said. He could feel the tension in Dr. Harry’s eyes, the subtle narrowing

The moment she stepped into Rico’s office, she froze. It wasn’t hesitation. Not really. It was a physical reaction, a catch of her breath, a sudden awareness that she was no longer in control. Her eyes roamed the room, and she felt a faint, unfamiliar tightness in her chest. Everything about the office screamed quiet authority: the dark wood of the floor, the polished surfaces, the floor-to-ceiling windows framing the city below like it belonged to him. The space wasn’t loud, wasn’t decorated to impress anyone. It simply was, and it carried weight. She had expected chaos. A man scrambling to assert himself. Instead, she found calm precision. Power distilled into form. She felt smaller than she’d intended, though she wasn’t about to show it. “Your office is amazing, Rico,” she said, forcing her voice into a casual brightness. “Who would have thought you’d rise to fame so easily?” Rico didn’t respond immediately. He didn’t need to. He let her words hang in the air, like smoke, st

Sonia pushed open the glass door of the bar, letting the soft glow of the interior wash over her. The music was lively but not overwhelming, the kind of upbeat rhythm that made the space feel welcoming yet intimate. She scanned the room, her eyes instinctively seeking a table, a corner where she could settle in and wait. Her friends hadn’t arrived yet, and the emptiness of the space around her made her chest tighten in a way she didn’t like. With a small sigh, she slipped into a booth near the window, the leather seat cool against her skin. She picked up her phone and tapped out a quick message, her fingers slightly trembling, betraying a restless impatience. “Here, guys. Where are you all?” She hit send and immediately regretted it, fidgeting as she watched the three tiny dots that signaled delivery and, soon after, read receipts. The ping of the message delivered seemed louder than it should have, echoing her irritation and her unease. She set the phone down carelessly, letting it