The walls of the Connor estate were soundproofed, insulated with wealth, and designed to hide the noise of conflict. But tonight, something deeper than sound rattled inside those halls—something ancient, something cruel, something finally waking.
William came to in the back seat of a luxury car, his head throbbing, his phone missing. They were warned by Amanda, but the bodyguards had already been waiting for him at the gate of the university. It was already too late.
A voice crackled through the speaker in the car's divider: "We're almost home, Mr. Connor."
Home.
He pressed a hand against the window. Cold glass. Speeding trees. An ache lodged in his chest.
The gates of the estate opened silently, swallowing the car whole. The gravel crunched beneath the tires like broken bones.
Two suited bodyguards—broad-shouldered, impassive—escorted William through the marble foyer. He didn't resist, not yet. He knew where they were leading him. The drawing room.
And sure enough, there they were.
Mildred Connor, standing tall in her forest-green gown, as if sculpted from ice. Gregory beside her, jaw rigid, fingers clasped behind his back like a general ready to deliver judgment.
The fire crackled softly behind them, a grotesque imitation of warmth.
William stopped at the threshold.
"Where's my phone?" he asked.
Mildred didn't answer.
Instead, Gregory stepped forward. "Sit down, William."
"I'd rather stand."
"You've been very irresponsible," his mother said, her tone deceptively calm. "And very foolish."
"I was at school" William said slowly.
Gregory's voice cut through. "And meeting with him."
William's blood went cold.
Mildred's eyes narrowed. "We know everything, William. Amanda told us. And then your little friend Anne tried to sneak onto our property last night to leave a note. They're all meddling in things they don't understand."
William's hands curled into fists. "They're not the ones trying to control my life."
Mildred's voice cracked like a whip: "We are trying to save your life."
Silence.
Then Gregory stepped forward. "You're sick, William. Don't you see it? You were obsessed with that boy—Archie. You lost yourself. You drove off that night like some lunatic, and look what it got you."
William's voice was low, trembling. "I love him."
"You don't know what love is," Mildred spat. "You only know weakness. You humiliated this family. And we fixed it. We fixed you."
"You drugged me. You erased him from my life. You broke me."
Gregory's voice rose. "We did what had to be done. You had a future—Harvard, politics, legacy. And you were going to throw it all away for what? Some... phase? Some pathetic teenage fantasy?"
William stepped forward now, eyes bright with fury. "He wasn't a fantasy. He was real. He is real. He saved me from this place."
Mildred's face twisted. "He dragged you down. You were hysterical. Obsessive. You wrote his name in every page of your journal for months. You stopped eating. You talked about running away, leaving the country—like a criminal. We had to sedate you just to get you to stop screaming his name."
"Because you wouldn't let me see him!" William shouted. "You locked me in that clinic after the accident like a prisoner. You took advantage of my mental trauma and convinced me I had permanent memory loss. You made me believe I imagined everything."
Gregory's face flushed with rage. "You were unstable."
"No," William growled, "I was in love. And I was a young. You took advantage of that. You made me think something was wrong with me."
Mildred's lips thinned. "There is something wrong with you."
The words hung in the air like smoke. William flinched as if struck.
Gregory's voice turned low, dangerous. "We will not let you throw your future away again. You are going to forget him. You are going to finish your studies, marry Amanda—or someone better—and move on. Or we will make sure you're institutionalized again, and this time, you won't be released."
"You're bluffing," William whispered.
But Mildred smiled. "Are we?"
He took a step back, chest heaving.
"You're monsters," he said, voice cracking. "You don't love me. You love what I represent."
Mildred's expression softened, almost tragically. "You are our son. But if we have to destroy you to save you, we will."
And then—everything broke.
From the hallway came a crash. One of the guards staggered in, his jacket torn, blood seeping from his lip.
Amanda stormed into the room behind him.
"You're not going to touch him," she said.
Mildred's voice turned to acid. "You don't belong here."
"No," Amanda said, pulling something from her coat pocket. A USB drive. "But this does."
Gregory frowned. "What is that?"
"Hospital surveillance footage," Amanda said. "From the clinic where you sent William. Conversations. Medical records. Drug logs. You wanted to erase a boy. Instead, you created a paper trail."
Mildred went pale.
"I know I was part of it. Of your little perfect empire building and setting an engagement with William. But I'm not anymore." Amanda turned to William. "I told you I'd stand by you—and I meant it."
William's breath caught. "Why?"
"Because I finally realized love doesn't come in marble halls and quiet betrayals. It comes in chaos. And courage."
Gregory lunged toward the USB, but Amanda stepped between them.
"No more secrets," she said.
The silence was deafening.
William looked at his parents—cold, frozen relics of a world he no longer belonged to—and then at Amanda, the woman he once thought would become his wife, now his unlikely ally.
And then he walked away.
No one stopped him.
Because for the first time, William wasn't afraid.