They Tried to Kill Me Quietly, Now I’m Coming Back Loud

Betrayal

Chapter 2

Esteban's heart seized in his chest as he followed the sound of that laugh down the hallway. Room 816. The numbers swam before his eyes, mocking him. His trembling hand reached for the door handle just as it swung open from the inside.

There she was.

Miranda stood in the doorway, her hair disheveled and falling loose from what had clearly been a neat bun. Her face was flushed a deep crimson, a sheen of sweat glistening on her forehead and upper lip. Her blouse was hastily buttoned, one side tucked in, the other hanging loose. She froze when she saw him, her eyes widening in shock.

For a moment, they simply stared at each other.

Then the tears came—hot, angry, devastating tears that poured down Esteban's gaunt cheeks like rivers of pure anguish. His chest heaved with the effort of breathing through the sobs that threatened to tear him apart from the inside.

"Why?" The word ripped from his throat, raw and broken. "Why is God still torturing me like this? I'm already dying! Isn't that enough?"

Miranda's mouth opened and closed, her face cycling rapidly through shock, panic, and something that might have been guilt. "Esteban, I—this isn't—"

"Don't!" He pointed at her with a shaking finger, his voice rising to a shout that echoed down the hallway. "Don't you dare lie to me again! Is this why? Is this why you wanted me to give up treatment? Because I'm getting in the way of your affair? Because my being alive is inconvenient for you?"

"No! Esteban, please, you don't understand—" Miranda stepped forward, her hands raised placatingly. "This is business. I'm treating clients. I have to work harder now, you know that. I have to—"

"Business?" Esteban's laugh was hollow, bitter as poison. "I heard everything, Miranda! The moans, the sounds—everything! You think I'm stupid? You think I'm so sick I can't recognize what I heard?" His voice cracked, breaking on the last word. "What are you doing here? Business, or have you become a prostitute?"

Miranda's face flamed an even deeper shade of red, and for a second, genuine shame flickered across her features. But then something shifted in her expression—her jaw hardened, her eyes went cold, and she lifted her chin defiantly.

"So what if I did?" The words came out sharp and challenging. "So what if I cheated? What's so wrong about that, Esteban? Tell me."

He staggered back as if she'd physically struck him. "What's wrong? Are you serious right now?"

"You weren't making money before you got sick," she continued, her voice gaining strength and venom with each word. "And now? Now you're just a drain. Medical bills piling up, no income, and for what? So I can watch you die slowly? Should I really spend my whole life waiting around for you to die? Is that what you expect from me?"

"I'm your husband!" Esteban's voice broke completely, dissolving into anguished sobs. "We made vows!"

"Vows don't pay bills. And I deserve to be happy too, don't I? I deserve a life that isn't spent watching someone waste away." Miranda crossed her arms, her expression utterly cold, devoid of any trace of the woman he'd married. "I have a right to pursue my own happiness."

Esteban laughed then—a terrible, broken sound that was more sob than laughter. "You're shameless. Absolutely shameless. How did I never see this before?"

"Shameless?" Miranda's eyes flashed with anger. "You should blame yourself for being so useless! If you had even a fraction of capability, if you could have provided for me properly, I wouldn't be in this position. You want someone to blame? Look in a mirror, Esteban. Maybe if you reflected on your own incompetence instead of pointing fingers, you'd understand why this happened."

Before Esteban could respond, the hotel room door opened wider, and a young man emerged. He was tall, dressed in an expensive designer suit that probably cost more than three months of Esteban's old salary. His hair was perfectly styled, his watch gleaming gold on his wrist. He looked at Esteban with undisguised contempt, his lip curling in disgust, before sliding his arm possessively around Miranda's waist.

"Miranda, baby, who's this?" The man's voice dripped with disdain. "This pathetic thing crying in the hallway?"

Miranda melted into his embrace immediately, her whole demeanor shifting from defensive to coquettish in an instant. "Just my soon-to-be ex-husband, Enrique. Nobody important."

Enrique Wilson. Of course. The name fit perfectly with his arrogant smirk and the way he looked at Esteban like something he'd scraped off his expensive shoes.

"Soon-to-be?" Enrique raised an eyebrow, glancing down at Miranda with amusement. "Why wait? Divorce this worthless piece of trash now. I'll take care of you from now on, sweetheart. You won't need to worry about anything."

"Really?" Miranda's voice turned sweet, almost childlike as she gazed up at Enrique with adoring eyes. She pressed herself closer to him, running her fingers along his lapel. "Would you buy me a villa then, baby? I'm so tired of living in that cramped little apartment. I want space. Luxury. Something worthy of me."

Enrique smirked, his hand sliding lower on Miranda's waist in a gesture clearly meant to humiliate Esteban further. "Of course, darling. As long as you keep making me happy, villas and luxury cars are all yours. Hell, I'll buy you a whole block if that's what you want." He leaned down and kissed her neck, his eyes locked on Esteban the entire time. "Whatever my baby wants."

Miranda giggled—actually giggled—and tilted her head to give Enrique better access to her neck. "You're so good to me. So much better than—well, some people."

They were flirting, groping each other right in front of him, as if he were nothing more than a piece of furniture. As if his heart wasn't being ripped from his chest with every word, every touch, every casual dismissal of the two years they'd spent together.

Esteban's hands clenched into fists at his sides, his nails digging into his palms hard enough to draw blood. His vision went red at the edges, a roaring filling his ears that drowned out everything else. His whole body shook—not from illness this time, but from pure, undiluted rage.

"Alright, show's over." Enrique's tone turned sharp and dismissive. He waved his hand at Esteban like shooing away a stray dog. "Get out of here, you sickly wretch. Go home and wait for the divorce papers. Better yet, do everyone a favor and die already so Miranda can move on with her life."

Miranda laughed—a light, carefree sound that stabbed straight through Esteban's chest. "He's right, you know. Since you're going to die soon anyway, we might as well divorce now. And obviously, you'll leave everything to me. It's only fair, considering all I've suffered."

Something inside Esteban snapped.

He didn't think. Couldn't think. His body moved on pure instinct, driven by a cocktail of rage, betrayal, and desperation. His fist swung through the air with all the strength his weakened body could muster and connected solidly with Enrique's smug face.

The crack of impact echoed down the hallway.

Enrique hadn't been expecting it—why would he? Esteban looked half-dead already. The punch caught him completely off guard, sending him stumbling backward. He crashed to the carpeted floor with a cry of shock and pain, his hands flying to his nose as blood began streaming between his fingers.

"You broke my nose!" Enrique's scream was high-pitched, almost hysterical. "You broke my fucking nose!"

For one brief, shining moment, satisfaction flooded through Esteban's veins like liquid fire.

Then Miranda was on him, shoving him away from Enrique with surprising force. "Are you insane? What is wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with me?" Esteban's voice was ragged, barely recognizable. "What's wrong with YOU?"

Miranda crouched beside Enrique, fussing over him, dabbing at his bleeding nose with the hem of her blouse. "Baby, are you okay? I'm so sorry, I—"

Esteban raised his hand and brought it down across Miranda's face in a sharp slap that echoed like a gunshot.

Miranda's head snapped to the side, her hand flying to her reddening cheek. She stared up at Esteban with absolute shock, as if she couldn't believe he'd actually done it.

"That," Esteban said through gritted teeth, his chest heaving, "was for being shameless."

"You son of a—" Enrique surged to his feet, his expensive suit now stained with blood, his eyes blazing with fury. The surprise attack was over, and now Enrique had the advantage. He was healthy, strong, well-fed. Esteban was none of those things.

The first kick caught Esteban in the stomach, driving the air from his lungs and sending him crashing to the floor. He tried to curl into a protective ball, but Enrique was on him immediately, raining down kicks and punches with brutal efficiency.

"You think you can hit me?" Enrique snarled between blows. "You pathetic, dying piece of garbage? I'm going to teach you a lesson you won't forget!"

Each impact sent explosions of pain through Esteban's already fragile body. He tried to fight back, tried to defend himself, but his limbs wouldn't obey. They were too weak, too heavy. All he could do was endure as Enrique's fists and feet found every vulnerable spot.

"Enrique, that's enough!" Miranda's voice sounded distant, muffled, as if Esteban were underwater. "You'll kill him!"

"So what?" Another kick, this one to Esteban's ribs. Something cracked. "You said he's dying anyway!"

Esteban's vision was starting to go dark at the edges, tunneling down to a pinpoint. He could taste copper in his mouth—blood from where he'd bitten his tongue. His thoughts were scattering like leaves in wind, impossible to hold onto.

Then Enrique's foot connected with Esteban's temple.

The world exploded in white light, then immediately faded to black. All sound cut out, replaced by a high-pitched ringing that seemed to come from inside his own skull. Esteban felt himself floating, disconnected from his body, from the pain, from everything.

"Am I going to die?" The words formed somewhere in the darkness, barely more than a thought. His lips might have moved, might not have. "I don't want to..."

But the darkness didn't care what he wanted. It swallowed him whole, dragging him down into an abyss so deep and so complete that even his last desperate prayer for life couldn't find purchase.

The last thing Esteban Rodriguez felt before consciousness left him entirely was the cold hotel carpet against his cheek and the distant sound of Miranda's laugh.

Then—nothing.