Chapter 5 - The Father She Thought She Hated
Brena could not move.
Her father stood in the hallway as though twenty years had not passed.
His hair had turned silver.
His face had lost weight.
But his eyes were exactly the same.
The same eyes that had watched her walk down the aisle.
The same eyes that had lied to her.
The same eyes that had once held her when her mother died.
“You're alive,” Brena whispered.
Grant nodded.
“Yes.”
“You let me believe you were dead.”
“I had to.”
“You watched me marry him?”
“Yes.”
“You knew?”
“I knew everything.”
Tiberio stepped forward.
Grant looked at him.
“I knew you'd hate me.”
“You were right,” Tiberio said.
Grant nodded.
“You should.”
Brena turned toward her father.
“Did you kill Alio?”
“No.”
“Did you betray him?”
“No.”
“Did you steal from him?”
“No.”
“Then why did you let everyone believe you did?”
“Because Roman needed someone to blame.”
Grant looked at Tiberio.
“And you made it easy.”
Tiberio's face darkened.
“You knew I would come after you.”
“Yes.”
“You knew I would marry your daughter.”
“Yes.”
Brena felt sick.
“My father planned my marriage?”
“No,” Grant said.
“I gave him the opportunity.”
“What does that mean?”
Grant took a breath.
“When I realized Roman was going to kill me, I created a trust.”
“The one in my name.”
“Yes.”
“I didn't know.”
“That was the point.”
He explained.
The trust contained evidence.
Financial records.
Names.
Audio recordings.
Payment trails.
Enough to destroy Roman.
But there was a problem.
The trust could only be accessed by Brena.
Grant had assumed Roman would eventually attack him.
He needed a protector who would be strong enough to stand between Brena and the criminals.
He knew Tiberio would hunt him.
He knew Tiberio would hate him.
So he waited.
He believed one day Tiberio would become Brena's shield without realizing he had become her protector.
Brena stared at her father.
“You used me.”
“I did.”
Her eyes filled.
“Just like everyone else.”
“No.”
Grant's voice broke.
“I used my money, my name, my life.”
“I never used you.”
“You let me marry a dangerous man.”
“I believed he would eventually love you.”
Tiberio went silent.
Grant looked at him.
“You do.”
It was not a question.
Tiberio didn't answer.
Brena looked between them.
“No.”
Both men looked at her.
“You don't get to decide what this marriage means.”
She walked upstairs.
For the first time since the wedding, she removed her wedding ring.
She placed it on the dresser.
Then she cried.
Not because of Tiberio.
Not because of her father.
Because she finally understood how little control she had possessed over her own life.
The next morning, she left the penthouse.
She returned to her studio.
Nora welcomed her without asking questions.
Brena spent three days working.
Then Tiberio arrived.
He stood outside the shop.
She looked at him through the glass.
“You can't keep coming here.”
“I know.”
“What do you want?”
“To tell you the truth.”
“Which one?”
“The only one I have left.”
She crossed her arms.
“I don't believe you.”
“You don't have to.”
He placed the ring on the counter.
“I didn't bring this to make you wear it.”
“Why?”
“Because it belongs to you.”
She looked at it.
“The marriage was supposed to be revenge.”
“Yes.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Because revenge stopped mattering.”
She looked away.
He continued.
“I thought marrying you would destroy Grant.”
“It did.”
“No.”
He shook his head.
“It destroyed me.”
That sentence broke through her defenses.
Tiberio admitted he had fallen in love with her.
Not because of the wedding.
Not because of her father's name.
Because of the woman who had demanded heat in his penthouse.
The woman who defended her employees.
The woman who questioned his decisions.
The woman who had entered his dangerous world and refused to become afraid of it.
“I don't expect forgiveness,” he said.
“Good.”
“I don't expect you to come back.”
“Good.”
“I only want you to know that if you walk away, I'll let you.”
Brena stared at him.
“That is the first thing you've ever offered me without conditions.”
He nodded.
She picked up the ring.
But instead of putting it on, she placed it inside a drawer.
“I'm not ready.”
“I know.”
He turned.
“Tiberio.”
He stopped.
“Who is Roman?”
He looked back.
“Someone who isn't finished.”
That night, someone set fire to the studio.
Brena was inside.
The smoke alarm failed.
The front door would not open.
She tried the windows.
Locked.
Then the ceiling began to collapse.
She screamed.
And through the smoke, she heard a man's voice.
“Brena!”
May you like
Tiberio.
He had returned.
