Chapter Fifty-One
Miranda
Sometime later, I woke up to angry shouts echoing faintly from down the hall, tension crackling in the air and making my heart thud faster in my chest. The cold sheets tangled around my legs, and the harsh glare from the overhead lights stabbed at my eyes. As I tried to orient myself, a familiar voice drifted through the haze—Cesar’s, strained with exhaustion. “They’ve been at it for a while now,” he muttered, the worry in his tone unmistakable.
Blinking away sleep, I turned my head and saw Cesar slouched in a chair beside my bed. He looked paler than I remembered, his skin drawn tight over the sharp lines of his face, shadows pooling under his eyes like bruises. The air smelled faintly of antiseptic, and with every labored breath, I could sense his fatigue—his body slack, as if he was fighting to stay upright through sheer willpower. Concern rippled through me, and I reached for his hand, my fingers trembling as I checked his pulse—steady, but weak.
“I’m fine, sister,” he said softly, giving my hand a reassuring pat, though his voice betrayed the effort it cost him.
“You should still be in the hospital,” I whispered, the sharp scent of fear and worry nearly choking me as I imagined Cesar pushing himself past his limits.
He managed a tired smile. “And leave my brothers to fend for themselves? I don’t think Chicago could survive. Besides, someone needs a clear head to help Massimo through the messhe’s made.” His words hung heavy between us, the mention of Massimo twisting something sharp inside me. I glanced away, staring at the Monet painting Sinclair had placed in my room for me, the memory of Massimo’s betrayal still fresh. I couldn’t bear to relive it.
“I don’t want to talk about him.” My voice came out rough and brittle as I leaned back against the soft plush pillows, crossing my arms tightly over my chest, trying to hold myself together.
Cesar’s voice was gentle but firm, his words carrying a weight I couldn’t ignore. “You’re going to have to talk to him eventually, Miranda. My brother is, if anything, tenacious when it comes to something he wants. And make no mistake; he wants you.”
I couldn’t help the bitterness that crept into my reply. “He lied to me.”
Cesar smirked, not denying it. “Yes, he did.”
The hurt was still fresh, and I listed the consequences one by one, my anger simmering beneath each word. “He cost me my spot in my medical program.”
Cesar nodded, his expression serious now. “He did that too.”
The memories stung. “He had me arrested!”
Cesar gave a wry shrug, his attempt at humor unable to mask the gravity of the situation. “I never said he was smart.”
I pressed my lips together, swallowing down the ache in my chest. The silence stretched, thick and uneasy, broken only by the soft hum of the city outside my window. For a moment, neither of us spoke, the weight of everything left unsaid settling over the room like a heavy blanket.
My hands trembled as I spoke, my voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t live like that, Cesar. I’m not cut out for your world. Maybe I am simple-minded, but all I wanted was to go to school, graduate, and become a doctor. I wanted to spend mylife helping others, not getting tangled up in revenge. I don’t understand your world, and honestly, I’m not sure I want to.”
Cesar let out a sympathetic sigh and leaned forward, his tone casual but warm. “Look, Miranda, life’s messy. But you don’t have to face it alone. You’re anything but simple—trust me. You’re one of the sharpest, toughest women I know. You’d have to be, being married to Massimo.” He paused, voice softening. “You both are carrying a lot of hurt and pain that’s unnecessary, and if you don’t let it out, it’ll eat you up inside until you don’t even recognize yourselves anymore.”
I drew my arms tighter around myself, my words clipped and tense. “How can I trust him when he lied to me about everything?”
Cesar’s eyes softened, and for the first time tonight, he seemed older—worn down by the weight of secrets and regrets. “Trust isn’t something you’re owed, Miranda. It’s something that’s rebuilt, brick by brick, even after it’s shattered. You don’t have to forgive him all at once, or ever, but you have to give yourself the chance to heal.” He looked at me earnestly. “You deserve to find peace, with or without him.”
A lone tear rolled down my cheek, and I roughly wiped it away, frustration prickling beneath my skin. My throat tightened, the ache settling in my chest as if my ribs were closing in. For a moment, I wanted to disappear, to escape the truth unraveling around me.
“I assume he’s here,” I commented, my voice barely holding steady, craving answers while dreading them at the same time.
Cesar glanced nervously at the door as the shouting grew louder, his fingers drumming an anxious rhythm on his knee before nodding. “He’s outside, arguing with your father.” His eyes flickered with something like pity, and I suddenly felt the fragile thread connecting us—two bystanders in a conflict that seemed to have started long before either of us knew.
Looking carefully at Cesar, I asked, “Did you know? I mean, about Mr. Sinclair before Massimo even met me?”
“Yes,” Cesar simply said, owning his part in my misery. “I gave the order to seduce you.”
I dropped my head back onto the pillows and moaned, squeezing my eyes shut. My heart pounded so hard I thought it might burst, cold dread sinking into my stomach like ice. The reality pressed down on me, as heavy as the silence.
Cesar winced, shifting in his seat as though the truth hurt him, too. “I am sincerely sorry for my part in your pain, Miranda,” he said quietly. “Had I known you knew absolutely nothing, I would never have given Massimo that order.”
“So, it’s true then? He’s my real father?”
“Miranda, you are the biological daughter of the Devil himself, Crispin Sinclair. We... Massimo never wanted you to find out like this.” He hesitated, his words catching. “Sinclair is very particular when it comes to people he claims, and sweetheart, he’s claimed you.”
I stared at Cesar, struggling to process what he was trying to say. “What does that mean?”
