“Now, that that’s out of the way,” I say. “We are moving to your other task of helping me to trace the upload, so we might find out who's running the blog.”
Ted hesitates, shaking his head slightly as if trying to find the words to tell me no. “You’re not thinking straight.”
I turn toward the door. “I’m thinking clearer than I ever have.”
And with that, I leave the small office. The hallway feels too bright, and my head feels like it’s floating in the air while simultaneously being crushed beneath cement. Truly a strange sensation. I put on my Ray-Bans to block out the sun before pulling out my phone and calling the only person I need an answer from.
Wyatt.
“Pick up,” I whisper into the phone, beelining to the parking lot. The calls continue to go straight to voicemail, and irritation quickly takes over.Is he behind the blogs? The accident?Wyatt… What are you getting yourself into? The fourth call dies in my ear, the same hollow voicemail tone mocking me. I stare at the screen until my reflection blurs. Wyatt’s silence feels deliberate, like he’s already chosen a side.
I shove the phone back into my pocket before I open my car door and slip inside. With the press of a button, the engine growls to life, and I waste no time placing the car into drive, heading towards the hospital. The place I’m expected to be…
The drive to the hospital is a blur of asphalt and ghosts—June’s face, Michaela’s screams, and my father’s voice cutting through the static as he talked them through it. By the time I pull into the lot, the sun is high in the sky, making the world feel too bright for how grey and twisted it truly is. I pick up my pace and step into the hospital.
Inside, the air is cold enough to sting. Nurses move like shadows, their shoes whispering against the tiles, and beeping machines offer ambience. I pass them without a word, heading straight for the ICU.
As expected, Lucia is already there, draped in grief like its designer. Her hand rests on the bed rail, her nails perfectly manicured, her expression practiced.Was she always this fake?Lucia looks at my father, who lies in the bed, machines beeping all around him, tubes feeding him air he doesn’t deserve.
He looks weak enough to crush…
How easy it would be to end it all…
My hand balls into a fist as I work my jaw back and forth. Sergio Safra is nothing but a whisper of what he used to be, and it hasn’t even been that long. But from where I stand, I take in the wrinkles and age spots that cover his flesh.Has he always looked this way?Or now that he’s fighting for life… it has drained him in a way that is irreversible. When I was a kid, I used to dream of becoming like him… Until I noticed the true depravity of this place… ofhim. My heart feels like it’s being held in someone’s fist, painfully squeezing the more I take him in. Pressure builds behind my eyes, obscuring my vision. I quickly blink it away, strengthening my resolve. There’s no doubt, thisentire system needs to burn, but I’m just one person. If only I could talk to Wyatt, maybe we could work together.
Anything…
Lucia finally turns to me when she hears my footsteps approaching. “Thiago.”
I stop at the foot of the bed, not bothering to lift my gaze. “Did you ever want to be a mother?”
Her brows furrow, her head slightly tilts. “What?”
“Did you ever want to be a mother?” I repeat, pulling out my phone and swiping once, and the video plays of Zayden and my father, showing her the kind of horror that doesn’t need sound. Lucia’s face drains of color, watching a motionless Zayden pass out while my father has his way with him.
“Did you know you abandoned a son who found his way into this hell?” My voice shakes with emotion, and her head shakes with disbelief, but I keep going. Feeding her all this anger that strangles me from the inside. “Did you know that he raped him?” My voice falters, and I bite back a sob that strangles my throat. “That— I…” I clear my throat, watching her stumble back, hitting the wall.
“No, stop.” Her hands move to the air, as if placing an invisible wall between us. “Thiago, stop.”
I don’t, and if the hospital staff could hear us, none of them would bother to stop this.
“Look at your son.” I chuckle at that. Scrolling through my phone, I find the picture I took the night his father died, and hold it up for her to see. Zayden was so out of it that he never noticed , not even when I stole strands of his hair in order to test it. “Look at you… Sure, surgery might have changed a lot about your looks, but you're still rotten in your core.”
Lucia’s eyes dart between the phone and me, her lips trembling, and I still keep going. I step closer, invading herspace, allowing the rage to crawl up my throat until it tastes like relief. She closes her eyes, and I see red.
“Look at him,” I hiss, shoving the phone towards her face. “Look at what you made. You think you can bury this under silk sheets and charity galas? You think standing by him makes you holy?”
She exhales a shaky breath that catches in her throat. “Thiago, please—”
“Please?” I laugh, sharp and hollow. “You don’t get tobeg. You don’t get tocry. You built this. You married amonsterand called it ambition. Abandoning a little boy, for the sake of what?”
She flinches, tears spilling down her cheeks, and still, I keep going.
“You knew he was destroying everyone, including me, and still you fucking stayed.” My eyes bulge with rage, veins popping in my neck. “You stayed because it was easier to be rich…” My voice cracks, but I don’t care. “You let him turn boys into corpses and girls into ghosts. And now you want to play the grieving wife?”
I scoff, disgust rolling off me in waves. Lucia’s hand shoots out, gripping the bed rail like it’s the only thing keeping her upright.
“Stop it,” she whispers. “You don’t understand…”
