Carlos shut the door behind him, his apartment feeling both familiar and foreign all at once. The walls, the furniture—everything was the same, yet nothing felt real anymore. His fingers clenched as he pulled off his jacket and tossed it onto the couch. He needed answers, and he needed them now.
Grabbing his laptop, he sat at his desk, the dim glow of the screen reflecting in his stormy eyes. His fingers hovered over the keyboard before he started typing—his father's name, the Milton family history, past affairs, anything that might lead him to the woman who had given birth to him.
Nothing.
Most of the articles were about Alexander Milton's successful business empire, his marriage to Vivian, and how Jonathan was the heir expected to take over. There was barely any mention of Carlos himself, as if he were nothing more than a footnote in the family's legacy.
Frustration burned in his chest.
"She abandoned you."
His father's words echoed in his mind. But Carlos wasn't going to accept that so easily. A mother abandoning her child without reason? It didn't sit right with him.
Determined, he moved to his phone and dialed the one person who had been working for the Miltons long enough to know things—the family's retired butler, Mr. Graham.
The phone rang three times before a groggy voice answered. "Mr. Carlos? It's quite late."
"I need answers, Graham," Carlos said, his voice sharp. "About my mother."
Silence. Then a quiet sigh. "Sir, I… I don't think I'm the right person to—"
"I know she existed," Carlos cut in. "And I know that I wasn't meant to. Tell me what you know."
Another pause. Then, in a low voice, Graham muttered, "I can't talk on the phone. Meet me at the park near Milton Corp. Tomorrow."
Carlos didn't hesitate.
--
The next day, Carlos stood under the dim glow of a streetlamp in the quiet park, hands stuffed into his pockets. The night was cool, the city sounds distant.
A rustle of movement made him turn. Mr. Graham, dressed in a dark coat, approached with cautious steps, glancing around as if checking for spies.
"You shouldn't be asking these questions, Mr. Carlos," the old butler murmured, his voice grave.
Carlos's jaw tightened. "I have the right to know."
Graham sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Your mother… she was never meant to be part of the Milton family. Your father had an affair with a woman from another country. I don't know much about her, only that when she became pregnant, she was—" He hesitated.
Carlos's heart pounded. "She was what?"
Graham met his gaze. "Forced to leave. Vivian made sure of it."
Carlos took a step back, his pulse roaring in his ears. Forced to leave? His mother didn't abandon him—she had been driven away.
A storm of emotions churned inside him—anger, betrayal, and a deep, aching emptiness.
"Where is she now?" Carlos demanded.
Graham hesitated before shaking his head. "I don't know. But I believe she's still alive."
Carlos's hands clenched into fists. That was all he needed to hear.
He was going to find her.
The next day,
Carlos stepped into the dimly lit club, his expression unreadable as he made his way toward a secluded booth at the back. The pounding music and flashing lights were distractions, but he wasn't here to drink or party.
He was here for answers.
An investigator had contacted him earlier that day with new information—information about his mother. And after everything he had discovered in the past 24 hours, he needed to hear the truth face to face.
A man in a dark hoodie was already seated at the booth, a half-empty glass of rum in front of him. Carlos slid into the seat across from him, his fingers curling into fists on the table.
"Talk," Carlos ordered, his voice sharp.
The investigator exhaled slowly before sliding a thin envelope across the table. "I dug as deep as I could for now. Your mother… she's dead, Carlos."
Carlos stiffened. The words hit him harder than he expected, but he forced himself to stay composed. "How?"
"An accident. But it wasn't just any accident." The investigator leaned in, lowering his voice. "It was deliberate. The report was altered, but I managed to recover the original files. The brakes on her car were tampered with."
Carlos's grip on the table tightened. A dull ringing filled his ears.
"She was silenced."
A muscle in his jaw ticked. He had spent years wondering why Vivian hated him—why his father had never spoken of his mother. Now, he had his answer.
They hadn't just erased her from his life. They had killed her.
Carlos swallowed, his throat dry. "Who did it?"
The investigator shook his head. "That, I don't know. But someone powerful wanted her gone. And they covered it up well."
Carlos exhaled sharply, his mind racing. He needed to dig deeper, find out the truth for himself. But before he could ask another question, the investigator's gaze flicked over Carlos's shoulder, and he stiffened.
"We're being watched."
Carlos didn't react immediately. He knew better than to turn around too fast. Instead, he swirled the drink he hadn't even touched, glancing at the reflection in the glass. A woman—blonde, sultry, predatory—was lingering near the bar, her eyes locked onto him.
She started moving toward him.
"Friend of yours?" the investigator asked, his voice cautious.
Carlos frowned. "Never seen her before."
But before he could process it further, the investigator slid a flash drive across the table. "Everything I found is in here. Be careful, Carlos. You're stepping into something dangerous."
Carlos took the drive, slipping it into his jacket. Then, the investigator stood and disappeared into the crowd.
And that was when the blonde woman reached him.
"Mind if I join you?" she asked, her voice smooth as silk.
Carlos eyed her warily. "I'm not interested."
She laughed, ignoring his rejection as she slid into the booth across from him. "Come on, a guy like you doesn't come to a club just to sit alone."
Carlos had no patience for this. He had just found out his mother was murdered, and the last thing he needed was some stranger invading his space.
"I said, I'm not interested." His voice was sharper this time.
But then, his vision blurred.
His brows furrowed. He hadn't even taken a sip of the drink—so why did he suddenly feel… off?
His limbs felt heavier, his surroundings warping slightly.
The woman smirked, standing up and extending her hand. "Come on, let's get out of here."
Carlos's instincts screamed at him that something was wrong, but his body wasn't listening. His muscles were sluggish, his mind foggy. He staggered to his feet, his balance unsteady.
She grabbed his arm, leading him toward the back of the club.
A trap.
Carlos tried to resist, but his body felt disconnected from his mind. He didn't even notice when they reached a private room. The door shut behind them, and the woman pushed him onto the couch, straddling him.
Somewhere deep in his hazy mind, he knew this was wrong. He never let himself get this vulnerable.
But the drug was taking full effect.
His head lolled back against the couch as the woman leaned in, her lips ghosting over his jaw.
And then—his world went black.
---
Ryan leaned against his car, watching the time tick by on his phone. Then, the message arrived.
It's done.
A smirk curled on his lips.
Carlos Milton, the man who had once humiliated him, was finally on the receiving end of a downfall.
And now?
Ryan had the perfect finishing touch.
He pulled up his messages and forwarded the picture of Carlos—passed out, lips dangerously close to another woman's—straight to Cee.
With it, he added a location and a single message:
Room 209. If you want to see what your man is really like.
Then, he sat back and waited.
She wouldn't be able to ignore this.
--
Cee's hands trembled as she held her phone, her eyes locked onto the picture Ryan had sent.
She wanted to believe it was fake.
She needed to believe it was fake.
But the room number attached to the message made her stomach twist painfully.
She shouldn't go.
She should ignore it.
Yet, before she knew it, she was already in a cab, the city lights blurring past her.
Her heart pounded against her ribs as she reached the club, her footsteps heavy as she climbed the stairs to the private suites.
Room 209.
Her fingers hesitated on the handle before she forced the door open.
And then she saw him.
Carlos was sitting against the couch, with a blonde woman was pressed against him, her lips ghosting over his as if she had been kissing him just moments ago.
Cee felt like the air had been knocked out of her lungs.
Her worst fear, her greatest pain—it was happening all over again.
The tears burned before she even realized she was crying. She should have known better.
Carlos Milton was just like every other man.
Without another word, she turned on her heel and walked out.
She didn't wait to hear an explanation.
She didn't even look back.