The room was heavy with tension, thick enough to choke on. Carlos could feel the weight of their gazes—his father, Minister Donovan, their lawyers—all waiting for him to break under pressure.
But he wouldn't.
"I'm not marrying Laura," he said, his voice like steel. "Not unless I meet the servant myself."
Minister Donovan's lawyer let out a dry chuckle. "Why prolong this, Carlos? The girl already confessed. You think she'll change her story?"
Carlos kept his expression blank, but inside, his mind raced.
Something wasn't adding up.
Laura was drugged and assaulted. That much was true. But the moment he heard his name being thrown into the accusation, he knew someone, maybe Jonathan had set him up.
He would not be their scapegoat.
"I need to hear it from her," he said. "Face-to-face."
His father exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. "Fine," he muttered. "Tomorrow morning. After that, you will marry Laura."
Carlos didn't trust them, not for a second.
But if he had one shot to uncover the truth, he'd take it.
---
The Next Morning,
Carlos barely slept. His thoughts twisted through the night, haunted by the possibility that this could be his last chance to clear his name.
But when he arrived at the police station and requested to see her, the officer told him with a grim expression.
"She's dead."
The words hit him like a sledgehammer.
Carlos blinked. "What?"
The officer sighed. "She committed suicide last night. Bit off her tongue in her holding cell."
A slow, eerie silence crept through his chest.
His gut twisted. No.
This wasn't a suicide. This was a silencing.
Minister Donovan's lawyer let out a breath, shaking his head. "How tragic."
Tragic? It was convenient.
Carlos clenched his fists so tightly that his nails dug into his palms.
His father placed a hand on his shoulder, voice dripping with false sympathy. "It's over, son. Marry Laura and move on."
Carlos shook him off. "Over?" His voice was sharp, cutting through the room. "You think this is over?"
He turned to Minister Donovan, his dark gaze burning with defiance. "I'd rather face the law than marry her."
His father's eyes darkened. "Carlos—"
"I'll see you in court."
With that, Carlos turned on his heels and walked away.
---
CEE
The rhythmic hum of the train did nothing to ease the storm inside her.
Cee rested her head against the cold window, her reflection a shadow of the girl she used to be.
She felt hollow.
It wasn't just heartbreak anymore. It was something deeper. A gnawing emptiness that wrapped around her ribs and squeezed until it hurt.
She pressed a hand against her stomach.
The nausea had started two days ago, coming in unbearable waves. Morning sickness.
But she refused to acknowledge what it could mean.
Instead, she convinced herself it was stress, exhaustion, grief.
She just needed to breathe.
And there was only one place that had ever felt safe—her mother's house.
---
Home Again
The familiar scent of home hit her the moment she stepped through the door. Warm spices, freshly cooked food—memories of childhood wrapped around her like a long-lost embrace.
Her mother, a woman of quiet strength, stood in the kitchen, her back turned.
Cee didn't say anything. She just stood there, watching her.
As if sensing her presence, her mother turned. The second their eyes met, a mixture of surprise and concern flashed across her face.
"My baby," she whispered, pulling Cee into her arms. "What are you doing here?"
Cee melted into her mother's warmth.
"I just… needed to get away," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.
Her mother didn't push, didn't ask questions. She simply held her like she used to when Cee was a child.
That night, as they sat together, her mother finally broke the silence. "You've been quiet since you got here."
Cee stared at the floor. Her mother always knew when something was wrong.
"I'm fine," she lied.
Her mother sighed. "Sweetheart, you don't have to pretend with me."
The dam inside her cracked.
Tears blurred her vision, spilling down her cheeks. "I think I made a mistake, Mom."
Her mother reached for her hand, squeezing it gently. "Talk to me."
Cee took a deep breath—then she told her everything.
Carlos. The club. The woman. The betrayal. The ache that hadn't left her chest since that night.
Her mother listened silently. No interruptions, no judgment.
By the time Cee finished, her voice was hoarse, her body trembling.
Her mother wrapped her up in a fierce embrace, her warmth a shield against the storm raging inside Cee.
"Oh, my love," she murmured, stroking her hair. "I'm so sorry."
Cee buried her face into her mother's shoulder and let the floodgates open.
She cried.
For Carlos. For the love she thought she had.
Exhausted, drained, she finally fell asleep in her mother's arms.
The next day,
The tension inside the Milton estate was palpable, an undercurrent of unease that even the walls seemed to absorb.
Carlos sat in his dimly lit room, fingers tapping against his phone, his instincts screaming that something was terribly wrong.
Then came the knock.
Urgent. Sharp.
The butler entered, face pale. "Sir, you need to see this."
Carlos pushed off the chair, following the older man down the grand hallway toward the massive windows overlooking the estate's entrance.
Outside, flashing red and blue lights painted the driveway.
Police vehicles. Officers standing by.
And in the center of it all—Minister Donovan, his face twisted in rage.
Carlos exhaled slowly.
So this was how they wanted to play it.
A Desperate Message
Instinct kicked in.
Before stepping out, Carlos grabbed his phone and quickly typed a message to Cee:
> "Something is happening. I need you to wait for me, no matter what. I'll be back."
He hit send, there was no time to dwell on it.
His lawyer's number was next.
"Mr. Donovan is making his move," he said the moment the call connected. "I need you here. Now."
"I'm already on my way," the lawyer assured him. "Don't say a word until I arrive."
But before Carlos could respond—
They Storm In
BANG. BANG. BANG.
The doors flung open with force, the heavy footsteps of uniformed officers filling the mansion.
"Carlos Milton," one of them barked, stepping forward, "you are under arrest for the drugging and rape of Laura Donovan."
His father stood by the side, face void of emotion.
Carlos scoffed. "Figures you'd just watch."
"No choice," his father said, voice low. "You made your decision."
Carlos clenched his jaw. So this was the game they wanted to play.
He raised his hands in surrender. "No need for theatrics, officers. I'm coming with you."
The cold bite of metal snapped around his wrists.
Handcuffs.
The weight of injustice settled on his shoulders.
As they led him outside, Minister Donovan watched with a smug smile, victorious.
Carlos met his gaze, unflinching.
"Enjoy this moment," Carlos murmured as he passed by him, his voice calm but laced with quiet menace. "Because I promise you—it won't last."
The minister's smirk faltered for just a second.
Then Carlos was shoved into the back of the police car.
As the door slammed shut, his mind wasn't on the accusations, the trial, or even the prison bars waiting for him.
It was on Cee.
Did she get his message?
Would she wait for him?
---