Alex collapsed, unaware of the figure that left.
The corridor still carried the faint echo of retreating footsteps, swallowed quickly by the sterile silence of the hospital wing.
The fluorescent lights above flickered faintly, casting an almost unreal glow over the polished floors.
Everything felt suspended — like time itself had hesitated, unwilling to move forward.
Maria was trying to comfort him when the sharp _click-click_ of Celine’s heels echoed through the hall.
The sound cut through the silence like a blade, controlled, steady, deliberate.
It didn’t sound like someone rushing in panic.
It sounded like someone arriving with purpose.
She rushed forward.
“Alex, what’s wrong?
Why are you in tears?
I hope nothing happened to my husband—”
Her voice trembled just enough to sound convincing, her hands already reaching out as though desperate to hold onto something before it slipped away.
Luke rushed in right behind her, grabbing Alex by the shoulders.
“Where is Father?
Where—”
His grip was tight, almost painful, his eyes wide with something raw — fear, confusion, and something deeper that hadn’t yet fully surfaced.
Alex couldn’t speak.
His throat felt like it had closed in on itself, suffocating every word before it could form.
His chest rose and fell unevenly, breaths coming out shallow and broken.
He just pointed at the door.
The simple motion felt heavier than anything he had ever done.
Luke shoved it open and froze.
The patient was covered in a white cloth.
The room beyond was colder than the hallway, quieter in a way that felt unnatural.
Machines stood still, their usual beeping absent.
The stillness wasn’t peaceful.
It was final.
“No.
No, this can’t be—” Luke ripped the cloth back and saw Richardson’s face.
“No!
Oh God, this can’t happen!
Why?”
His voice broke apart mid-sentence, cracking under the weight of disbelief.
His hands trembled as they hovered over the lifeless body, as if he expected movement — some sign, any sign, that this wasn’t real.
Celine let out a practiced sob.
It rang out sharply, almost perfectly timed, filling the room with a sound that demanded attention.
Luke spun on Alex, shaking him.
“What happened to Father?
What happened to him!”
Alex’s voice cracked.
“He got into an accident and… he couldn’t make it.”
Even as he said it, the words felt hollow.
Incomplete.
Like a lie that didn’t fully belong to him.
“No!” Luke shoved Alex away and punched the wall.
“You don’t understand— Father was everything to me!
No!”
The impact echoed through the room, dull and heavy.
Pain shot through Luke’s knuckles, but he didn’t react to it.
It was nothing compared to the storm rising inside him.
Celine grabbed Luke’s bleeding hand.
“Calm down, son.
Calm down.” Then she turned to Alex, her eyes sharp.
“What happened?
What caused the accident?”
It was searching.
Calculating.
“I don’t know,” Alex said.
“I don’t know what was wrong with Father.
He just got into that… that scene.
Before he could say a word to me, he died.
It can’t be.
Oh God, why like this?”
His voice wavered, but beneath it, something else lingered, something quieter, more controlled.
_This isn’t the plan,_ Celine thought, her heart racing.
_Why would they kill him without passing control to my son first?_ But her face stayed soft, grieving.
The face of a wife.
The face of a stepmother.
Her nails dug slightly into her palm, hidden by the folds of her dress.
For a fraction of a second, irritation flickered beneath her grief, quickly buried.
“No.
What are we going to do?” she whispered aloud.
The question hung in the air, unanswered, heavy with implication.
Alex’s eyes never left her.
“All I know is this: this accident wasn’t ordinary.
It was planned.”
His tone had changed.
Subtly, but unmistakably.
He said it deliberately, scanning Celine’s face because his father had warned him: someone in this house.
If someone in the house could do that, one thing was certain: they were after the wealth.
His gaze sharpened, watching every micro-expression, every flicker in her eyes, every slight tightening of her lips.
But Celine didn’t flinch.
_Why is he looking at me?
Does he suspect something?
Why is he saying this deliberately?_ Her heart pounded, but her mask held.
She tilted her head slightly, letting fresh tears gather in her eyes, letting her shoulders sag just enough to sell the image of a grieving widow.
“Oh God, what are we going to do?” she cried again, louder for the nurses to hear.
A nurse passing by slowed for a moment, glancing into the room before quickly moving on.
The performance had its audience.
Alex stood up, voice like steel.
“I’m going to find the culprit.
And I swear, I’ll kill him in front of my father’s grave.”
The words landed heavily, echoing against the walls.
Celine’s heart jolted.
But her face remained beautiful, devastated, perfect.
Inside, however, everything tightened.
For the first time, she felt something close to unease.
Luke stepped forward, chest heaving.
“No.
Brother, I’m going to fight with you.
Anyone who had a hand in Father’s death, I will make sure I kill him too.”
His voice was raw, unfiltered.
There was no calculation in it — only pain, burning hot and immediate.
Celine’s body froze.
A little flinch.
Stiff.
Luke didn’t notice.
But Alex did.
It was small.
Almost invisible.
But it was there.
“But son,” she said, voice soft, “why are you talking with such hate?
For that person…”
She tried to pull him back, to soften the intensity, to redirect the energy before it grew into something uncontrollable.
Luke’s eyes burned.
“If you knew what Father was to me, you’d know this person has hurt me deeply.
He killed Dad.”
His chest rose sharply, and for a moment, it looked like he might break down completely.
Then his eyes slid to Maria.
“And who are you?”
The shift was sudden, jarring.
Every face turned to her.
Alex stepped in front of her, shoulder to shoulder.
Maria felt it immediately — the weight of their attention.
Her fingers tightened slightly around Alex’s sleeve, her body instinctively moving closer to him.
“My girlfriend,” he said flatly.
“The way you’re eyeing her in the midst of us — she’s not a stranger.”
His tone carried warning.
Clear and unmistakable.
“She _is_ a stranger,” Celine cut in.
Her voice was calm, but there was a faint edge beneath it.
She looked at Maria again, longer this time.
Slower.
Measuring.
“She’s not a stranger to me,” Alex snapped.
“And I trust her more than I trust anyone in this family.”
The room went still.
Even Luke paused, his anger momentarily overshadowed by surprise.
“What are you saying?” Luke asked.
“I’m saying she’s my life.
You get it?
If you don’t, you don’t.”
There was no room for argument in his voice.
No hesitation.
Maria’s heart skipped.
The words hit her unexpectedly, but the tension in the room didn’t give her space to process them.
Alex turned away.
“I’m going now.
The doctors will move the body to the mortuary.
In three days, we’ll prepare his burial.”
His voice had settled again, controlled and almost cold.
It was the voice of someone already moving forward, already planning, already thinking beyond grief.
He didn’t wait for a response.
He walked out with Maria still clinging to him, because the look Celine was giving her, the cold, measuring stare, was causing goosebumps on her skin.
As they stepped into the hallway, the air felt heavier than before.
Behind them, the room remained filled with silence, grief… and something far more dangerous beginning to take shape.
Celine’s gaze lingered on the doorway long after they had disappeared.
Slowly, her tears stopped.
Her expression didn’t.
But her eyes changed.