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Chapter Ninety- Eight
Melinda stayed curled on the bed long after Ramon left, listening to the faint click of the front door and the echo of his footsteps disappearing into the night. The silence that followed was suffocating—thick, heavy, pressing down on her chest until it felt like she could barely breathe. It wasn’t the peaceful kind of silence. It was the kind that settled after violence, after rage. The quiet that warned another storm was coming. Her eyes burned. Her skin pulsed. Her mind throbbed. She knew—without doubt—that this thing with Ramon wasn’t over. He wasn’t done with her. He was never done. The moment she told her mother she would come visit, everything shattered. Ramon had caught her with her packed bag and dragged her back into the apartment like she was property, not a person. Now the locked doors, the confiscated phone, the constant monitoring… all of it was a cage disguised as love. No one was going to let her leave. Not even for her own mother. That truth sat like a stone in he
Chapter Ninety-Seven
Sonia sat on the edge of her bed with her arms wrapped around her legs as she stared blankly at the opposite wall. She had been trying to calm her thoughts for hours, but her mind refused to settle. The atmosphere inside the house felt strange—heavy in a way she could not explain She rested her chin on her knees and drew in a deep breath. Every instinct inside her whispered that something was wrong, even though no one had said a word to her. The silence was not peaceful. It pressed against her chest and made it difficult to think clearly. Suddenly, she heard footsteps in the hallway. Sonia lifted her head instantly. Without hesitating, she rose from her bed and moved to the door. She opened it slowly and peered out. Rico was walking toward his room. The sight of him made her breath hitch. He looked pale and shaken, almost as if he were recovering from a fever or a shock. His eyes were empty, and his shoulders slumped forward as though they were carrying a weight far too he
Chapter Ninety -Six
Ramon rubbed a hand over his face, frustration burning like a migraine behind his eyes, and took a slow, steady sip of vodka. The liquor slid down his throat with a bitter punch, doing absolutely nothing to ease the pressure in his chest. He had asked his friend and business partner, Davis, out to a bar to talk about Silver Line Logistics—really talk about it—but so far, the conversation had spun in circles like the ceiling fan above them. The bar was loud, thick with perfume, cheap cologne, and the artificial sweetness of flavored alcohol, but Ramon barely heard any of it. His mind kept drifting back to numbers, contracts, and the cruel finality of a deal slipping through his fingers. “What do we do now?” he asked finally, his voice tight, the question scraping out of him like gravel. Davis didn’t answer immediately. He leaned forward, elbows on the table, eyes locked on his glass as if the answer might be hiding somewhere in the bottom. Then he sighed—an exhausted, defeated soun
Chapter Ninety-Five
Rico’s voice cut through the thick silence like a whip. “That is a lie!” he shouted, chest rising and falling sharply. “How can you stand there and say something like that? Grandfather, I donated that blood for Eliron. There is no universe in which I would steal it.”The Patriarch lifted his gaze slowly, exhaustion etched into the lines of his face like age carved into stone. “Rico… I don’t know what to say,” he said softly, his voice tinged with disappointment.“Well, say you believe me. I have the video footage showing Dr. Harry taking the blood. What I cannot comprehend is why this stranger would come in here and deliberately take the fall for something he clearly did not do.”Damian stiffened beside them, his heartbeat hammering in his chest. The tension in the room thickened like smoke, choking and heavy. He wanted to breathe, but each inhalation felt wrong—weighted, dangerous, uncertain.“Can we see this video?” Damian asked, his voice cautious, almost too careful, even to his o
Chapter Ninety-Four
The polished marble of the West estate gleamed under the overhead lights, but Damian barely noticed. His chest felt tight, constricting with every step, his hands curling into fists at his sides as he followed Rico and the patriarch down the hallway. The blood was in the Patriarch’s office, sealed in a cooler to hide its unnatural glow, to reserve it for purposes only a few knew. And Damian knew exactly what a single misstep here could mean. This was going to be more complicated than he had anticipated. Maybe—no, probably—Rico would figure out he had taken the blood. If that happened, every plan they had painstakingly built would unravel. The thought of it made Damian’s stomach twist. Finding Rico’s trust destroyed, navigating the fallout with the patriarch breathing down his neck… it was a bigger mess than he had wanted to imagine. Each footfall echoed too loudly in the hall, a grim reminder of the weight pressing down on him: the stolen blood, the shattered trust, the looming dis
Chapter Ninety- Three
Damian stared at Rico, his chest tightening as the word left his mouth. “Stolen?” he repeated, disbelief twisting every muscle in his face. The syllable sounded wrong on his tongue, harsh and accusing, yet impossible to deny. “That isn’t possible. It doesn’t make sense. Who would even attempt something like that?” Rico didn’t flinch. He held his gaze steadily, though exhaustion lined every contour of his face. “I don’t know who did it,” he said, his voice quiet but firm, “but I know for certain that someone took it. And Eliron never received the blood.” The patriarch’s eyes shifted to Damian, and the weight of his disappointment hit instantly, more suffocating than any shouted anger could ever have been. It was silent, suffused with expectation and judgment, and it pressed on Damian like a hand around his chest. He tried to straighten, tried to meet the gaze, but the force behind it made him feel small, incompetent, fragile. “That is quite an accusation, grandson,” the patriar
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