Amara's POV:
All these years, I believed I was blessed to have a father like him. I'd built my life around that lie, wrapped it like armor around every wound. But life—life had a way of peeling the armor off, layer by layer, until all that was left was a raw, bleeding truth. It wasn't the poison burning through my veins or the knife in my stomach that broke me. It was this. Him.
Tears spilled freely, hot and silent at first, then wracking sobs. Not from pain. From betrayal.
"Mom…" The word tore itself out of me, a sound somewhere between a prayer and a scream. My heart broke wide open. I saw her face in the flickering dark, her hand reaching for me, the blood on her dress.
Through my fading vision, I caught movement—men splashing petrol across the curtains, the floorboards, the walls. The same tactic. The same smell. Burn the house, burn the evidence, burn the memories. History repeating itself like a sick joke.
And then—A scream.
"AMA!"
My heart lurched. No. No. God, no.
Jia.
She'd come back. She was standing at the doorway, her face pale, eyes wide, frozen between shock and horror.
I tried to lift a hand. My arm wouldn't move. "No, Jia… run…" My voice came out a whisper, cracked and broken. "Run."
Liam turned slowly, like a wolf catching scent of fresh prey. His smile widened.
"Well, well," he said softly. "Looks like the other little bird found her way back to the nest."
Albert's head snapped around, eyes locking on Jia. "Jia—!" His voice cracked, sharp with panic, but not for me. Never for me.
Jia bolted forward, ignoring him, her hands reaching for me. "Ama!" she screamed again, kneeling at my side. "What did they do to you—"
"Run…" I managed again, coughing blood. "Please… go…"
But she didn't. Her hands pressed over my wound, desperate, trembling. "I'm not leaving you," she whispered fiercely, tears streaking her cheeks.
Albert's voice broke through the chaos, dripping with false anguish."Jia, why did you come here?" he cried, staggering toward her, his hands trembling as though he were the wounded one. He fell to his knees beside us, his tone sickly sweet with practiced grief. "I came to save Ama, but they locked me inside… and now you—you shouldn't have come, my daughter."
Jia froze, torn between anger and confusion, her hand still pressing against my bleeding stomach. I wanted to scream, to claw at the air and expose him for what he really was, but my throat was closing, my vision dimming. Every word I tried to form drowned in the metallic taste of blood.
Liam glanced at Albert with a smirk, unconcerned, almost bored. "Our work is done. Let's leave," he said flatly, as if my life meant nothing more than a discarded pawn on a chessboard.
One by one, his men followed him out, their boots heavy against the wooden floor. The door slammed shut. The silence that followed was unbearable—thick with smoke, betrayal, and the stench of petrol.
Darkness pressed in around me, a suffocating curtain. My body grew heavier, my strength slipping away like water between my fingers.
And then—I saw her.
My mother.
Her hand stretched out toward me, just as it had sixteen years ago. Her eyes were soft, filled with the kind of love that never dies, even when everything else does.
"Come, Ama," she whispered, her voice gentle, echoing in the hollow chamber of my fading mind.
Tears slipped from the corners of my eyes as I lifted my trembling hand, reaching for her. When our fingers touched, warmth spread through me—something purer than the poison, stronger than the blade.
She pulled me into her embrace, and for a moment, there was no blood, no fire, no betrayal. Just her heartbeat against mine. Just peace.
The world around me blurred, slipping into shadows.
And I let go.
Jia's POV:
It was three in the morning, my hands were trembling, and I called Adrian to arrange all possible facilities there at the hospital. Panick took over me, and I called Vihaan.
"Vihaan, Vihaan... Ama. Ama..." Before I could complete my sentence further between my sobs, the call got disconnected.
As we pushed Ama's wheelbed through the hospital doors, blood was the only thing holding her body together—sticky, dark, endless. My chest ached with every step.
And then I saw him.
Vihaan.
He came rushing down the corridor, his usually steady presence shattered the moment his eyes landed on her. In an instant, his face drained of color, as though life itself had abandoned him.
His lips trembled, but only one word escaped—over and over again, breaking in his throat.
"Ama… Ama…"
He staggered to her side, his hands hovering helplessly above her blood-stained skin, as if afraid that touching her would break her further. Tears welled up, spilling freely, his composure torn to pieces.
"Ama, talk to me… please, Ama, say something. Don't leave me like this," his voice cracked, each word clawing out of him with unbearable desperation.
For the first time, Vihaan—the man who fought courtrooms like battlefields, the man who never bent—was crumbling. And all because the one person who made him whole was slipping away before his eyes.
Vihaan's POV:
The moment I saw her on that wheelbed, drenched in blood, my world didn't just shatter—it ceased to exist. The hospital corridor stretched endlessly, lights blurring, footsteps echoing like someone else's nightmare.
I stumbled forward, grabbing her hand, pressing it to my chest as though I could keep her alive by sheer will. My knees buckled, almost giving way, and I clutched her tighter, rocking slightly.
"Ama… please… talk to me…" My voice broke, each word a ragged whisper. "Look at me, please. Don't leave me here… not like this…"
Her face was pale. Her body was covered in blood, and my heart tore.
"I'm sorry…" I gasped, choking. "I-I-I'm so sorry I'm late. I should've—God, I should've been faster. I should've—" My words splintered into sobs, jagged and helpless. The lawyer, the protector, the man who had never bent—gone. Only a boy left, trembling and shattered, holding the one thing he couldn't live without.
Tears poured down my face unchecked. I pressed her hand to my forehead, felt the warmth, and whispered, "You're not allowed to do this. Not today. Not ever. I need you… I need you to fight me, Ama. Talk to me. Say anything. Just… stay here, with me."
Fragments of memory assaulted me:
Her laughter as she teased me about losing an argument in the library.
That stubborn glare she always wore when she refused to give up on a fight.
The way her fingers had intertwined with mine that first night, I realized I couldn't live without her.
All of it blurred with the red of her blood, the metallic smell of iron, and the relentless fear that this time, I couldn't save her.
"I can't… I can't lose you," I whispered, voice breaking entirely. "Not you. I—please, Ama, stay… please…"
I held her tighter, rocking slightly, whispering apologies over and over, begging for a miracle that wasn't coming fast enough. Each shallow breath she drew felt like it could be her last. I pressed my forehead to her hand, let the tears fall freely, body trembling with exhaustion, grief, and guilt.
"Please… fight… fight for me… Ama…" I choked on the words, sobbing so violently my chest ached. "I can't… I can't. Please…"
Everything slowed. The world outside—the fluorescent lights, the sterile white walls, the hurried footsteps of doctors—vanished. Only her warmth, fragile and fading, anchored me. And in that silence, I let myself break completely.