XXXVI. Shattered Ties

Marisol told me that Amy had left for a three-day business trip abroad. She had departed with the confidence of a queen, convinced that I was still unconscious and incapable of escaping. To ensure her peace of mind, she had stationed guards all around the house.

"This is a good chance to escape," Marisol urged, her grip firm on my hands.

But I simply shook my head. "If I run away, I'm taking you with me. Amy will never forgive you when she finds out I'm gone. You'll be the one she hates the most."

Marisol's face tensed, hesitation flickering in her eyes.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"Your father…" she murmured weakly.

My stomach twisted. I had spent years convincing myself that I no longer cared about him, that I had buried my longing deep enough to forget. But the truth was, a small, fragile part of me still wanted to see him—just once.

"I'm fine, Aunt Marisol. I've accepted that he—"

"You don't understand." She withdrew her hands and took a deep breath. "You need to know something about your father—"

Before she could finish, the sound of approaching footsteps echoed through the hallway. My pulse spiked. I threw myself back onto the bed, shutting my eyes, pretending to be unconscious, while Marisol hurriedly adjusted my blankets.

The door creaked open.

"Is she still not awake?" A man's voice. Cold, distant, unreadable.

"I think she needs more rest to fully recover her strength," Marisol answered calmly.

Who was he?

I heard Marisol being dismissed, the door clicking shut behind her. Silence followed.

Then, suddenly, warmth. A palm cradled my hand, pressing it against a cheek.

My stomach churned. Who was this man to be so familiar with me?

My instincts screamed at me to pull away, but I forced myself to remain still.

"I missed you so much," he whispered, voice laced with an emotion I couldn't place. "I thought I'd never see you again. I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. But you're real. You're so damn real, baby."

I nearly gagged.

"Now that I have you in my arms, I won't let anything or anyone take you away from me ever again. You're mine, and you know I'm yours, baby. So wake up, and let's leave as soon as possible."

Chills shot down my spine.

No.

Whoever he was, I wanted nothing to do with him.

His phone rang, breaking the unsettling tension. He answered in a hushed voice, his words indecipherable. After a moment, he kissed my forehead—disgusting—and murmured a goodbye before leaving.

The second I heard the door click shut, I shot upright and scrubbed my forehead with my sleeve. Gross.

My heart pounded so hard I thought it would burst.

Who was he?

One thing was clear—I had to get out of here.

I climbed out of bed and tiptoed toward Amy's room. She had all the keys to the house, including the one I needed to escape.

Just as I reached the door, I heard soft footsteps.

I ducked behind a cabinet, peeking cautiously.

A nurse?

I frowned as she entered Amy's room.

Why would a nurse be here? And why in Amy's room?

As soon as she left, I slipped inside, expecting to find nothing but Amy's lavish possessions.

Instead, my body froze.

A man lay in the bed. Pale. Frail. Tubes and wires clung to his body like shackles. Machines beeped softly around him.

My breath hitched.

Who was he?

Another prisoner? Another victim of Amy's cruelty?

I hesitated, then reached out and gently tapped his shoulder. "Wake up," I whispered. "I need you to wake up so I can get you out of here."

Nothing.

I sighed, ready to give up. But just as I turned to leave, cold fingers curled around my wrist.

I gasped, whipping around.

"D-Don't leave," he croaked.

Thank God—he was awake.

I sat beside him, squeezing his hand in reassurance. His grip was weak, but desperate. He looked like he had been suffering for a long time.

Amy was a monster.

"Did Amy do this to you too?" I asked. He didn't answer, but the pain in his eyes spoke volumes.

"Amy locked me in here too," I admitted. "But don't worry, I'm trying to find a way out." I laughed bitterly. "Crazy, isn't it? I used to love this house. Now, all I want is to escape the place I once called home."

His fingers tightened around mine.

I offered him a small, sad smile. Maybe he understood.

His eyelids grew heavy, exhaustion pulling him under again.

I gently pulled my hand away and stood, scanning the room. A framed picture lay face down on the bedside table.

Curious, I picked it up.

The moment my eyes landed on the photo, my world shattered.

I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe.

All I could do was stare, my heart breaking into a thousand pieces.

It was my father.

He looked younger in the photo, healthier, happier. His arm was wrapped around a woman I barely recognized—her features familiar yet unplaceable. But there was no mistaking the resemblance.

It was my mother.

My fingers trembled as I traced the glass, my mind struggling to process what I was seeing.

How?

My father… was the man lying in the bed?

No. No, that couldn't be. My father had abandoned me. He had left without a word, without a single trace. Amy had always said he was too busy, too far away to care.

But if he was here… if he had been here all this time, sick and imprisoned… then what else had Amy lied about?

Tears blurred my vision.

"Amy…" I whispered, a fresh wave of rage burning through me.

She had done this. She had kept him locked away, hidden from me. She had controlled everything, weaving a web of lies so thick I hadn't even thought to question them.

But now, I knew the truth.

And I would make her pay.