Chapter 38

Chapter 38
Sylvia’s POV –

The marble floors of my mother’s house were too clean and polished that each step echoed back at me like an accusation.
Everything about the place felt sterile, as if it were trying to scrub away the shame that had tainted our name since that video leaked.
I walked carefully, each footstep measured, my eyes so low to avoid the mirrors that lined the hallway. I didn’t want to see my reflection. I didn’t want to see the girl the world had seen: broken, foolish, exposed.

The air smelled of lilies and disinfectant—Mother’s favorite combo when she was angry. She cleaned when she couldn’t control the chaos. It was her way of reclaiming order.
I could hear her voice from the sitting room, sharp and tired, instructing one of the housemaids to “clear every trace of those gossip magazines.”
I didn’t want to see her. Not yet. Not until I’d found the right words to explain what couldn’t be explained.

I was halfway up the staircase when I heard her voice—Abigail’s—smooth and saccharine, dripping venom.

“Going somewhere, dear cousin?”

I froze.
She stood at the end of the hallway, her arms folded, her blonde hair perfectly styled as if she hadn’t been the one to destroy everything.
The sight of her sent a pulse of heat through my veins. Derek’s words replayed in my mind—Don’t let her break you again. I’ll handle her.
But standing there, looking into that smug, unbothered face, I realized I couldn’t wait for anyone to handle her. Not this time.

“You ruined everything,” I said, the words tearing from me before I could stop them.

Abigail’s smile widened, false pity in her eyes. “Oh, sweetheart, I didn’t ruin anything. You did that yourself. All I did was show the truth.”

“The truth?” My hands shook. “You call betrayal the truth?”

She took a slow step forward, tilting her head. “You shouldn’t have played in the dark if you couldn’t handle the light, Sylvia. You of all people should know secrets never stay buried.”

Something inside me snapped.
I lunged.

My hand tangled in her hair before she could even gasp. She shrieked, stumbling back as I dragged her by the hair, fury coursing through me like fire.
“You think this is a game?” I hissed, pulling harder. “You destroyed my family! You turned my mother against me!”

She twisted, her nails scraping against my wrist. “Get off me, you psycho!”

I shoved her against the wall, the sound of impact echoing through the hall. “You took everything from me, Abigail!”

She slapped me, the sting ringing across my face. For a heartbeat, silence fell.

Then I hit her back.

Her lip split. She gasped, clutching her face. “You’ll regret that,” she spat, eyes wild.

“Not half as much as you will,” I said through clenched teeth.

“Enough!”
Mother’s voice cut through the chaos like a whip.
She was on the staircase, her robe flowing behind her, shock and fury twisting her features. “Sylvia! Abigail! Have you both lost your minds?”

We both froze, breathless, hair tangled, faces flushed.
Mother reached us in seconds, her hands trembling as she pried us apart.
“God in heaven,” she murmured, “what has gotten into you two?”

Abigail instantly burst into tears. Of course she did. “Auntie, I swear—I didn’t do anything! She attacked me! She’s jealous—always jealous of me!”

Mother turned to me, eyes sharp and searching. “Jealous? Sylvia, why on earth would you attack your cousin?”

Cousin.
The word scraped against my nerves.
If only she knew.

“She’s lying,” I whispered, but my voice sounded weak even to my own ears.
“I just… lost control,” I finally muttered, brushing past them. “I’m sorry.”

Abigail sniffed with joy beaming on her face, pressing a handkerchief to her lip. “See? She knows it.”

Mother closed her eyes, exhaling hard. “Enough. Abigail, go to your room. I’ll speak to Sylvia alone.”

Abigail hesitated just long enough to throw me a sly, victorious smirk before she turned and glided away.
My hands were still trembling as Mother turned back to me, her anger softening into something else—something that looked almost like concern.

“Come here,” she said quietly. “Sylvia.”

I did, slowly, like a child walking toward punishment.

Her fingers brushed my cheek, her eyes narrowing. “You look pale. Are you… alright? You’ve been losing weight. And your eyes—they look tired.”

I swallowed hard. My body was betraying me again—nausea, dizziness, that constant flutter in my stomach.
“I’m fine, Mom,” I lied. “Just… tired. It’s been a long week.”

Her gaze lingered. “Your body looks different,” she murmured, mostly to herself. “I can’t put my finger on it, but—”

“I’m fine,” I repeated too quickly. “I just need rest.”

She didn’t believe me. I could see it in her eyes, the quiet calculation behind her worry. But she nodded anyway, letting me go. “Alright. Go. Rest.”

I turned, relieved to escape. But halfway up the stairs, she called after me again.

“Sylvia,” she said softly. “Whatever is going on, I hope you’ll tell me before it’s too late.”

Her words hung heavy as I slipped into my room and shut the door behind me.

\---

The rest of the day blurred into restless quiet.
Evening fell heavy over the house; the chandeliers dimmed to amber light, and the scent of dinner drifted faintly through the air. I couldn’t eat. My body refused food. Every thought circled back to Derek—his voice, his hands, the way he’d looked at me before we left the safehouse.
I needed him.
I needed to believe everything we’d endured hadn’t been for nothing.

I sat by the window, staring into the dark garden below when raised voices pulled me from my thoughts.

Father’s study.

Mother’s voice—tight, sharp, incredulous.
Then Father’s, low and controlled.

I crept closer, stopping just short of the door. It was slightly ajar.

“…I don’t care how it’s done,” Father was saying. “Just make sure Derek isn’t overthrown. He’s my son, and the rightful heir to the West division. The council needs to remember where their loyalty lies.”

My stomach dropped.

The voice on the other end of the line mumbled something I couldn’t make out.
Then Father’s final words cut through me: “He stays as the mafia lord. Do you understand me? No one touches him.”

I slapped a hand over my mouth, backing away. My pulse thundered in my ears.
Mafia lord.
Derek.
My Derek.

The phone clicked, and silence fell—right before Mother’s voice tore through the air.

“What did you just say?”

I froze.
Her tone was sharp enough to pierce bone.

Father turned slowly, his expression shifting from shock to panic. “Martha, this isn’t what it sounds like.”

“Oh, it sounds exactly like what it is!” she shouted. “You’re telling me your son—the man you brought into this family—is part of the mafia? That we’ve been living under a roof connected to blood and violence?”

Her voice rose, shattering the fragile calm of the house.
Doors opened down the hallway. Footsteps echoed.
And before I could even move, chaos erupted.

“Keep your voice down,” Father hissed. “You don’t understand—”

“Understand what? That my daughter’s life has been tied to criminals? That Derek—”

“Stop!” I shouted before I could think.

Both of them turned, startled.
My hands trembled as I stood in the doorway, caught between panic and disbelief.
“Please… stop shouting,” I whispered.

Mother looked at me, her eyes wide, brimming with something between horror and heartbreak. “Sylvia, tell me you didn’t know about this. Tell me you haven’t been—”

Before she could finish, heavy footsteps rushed up the corridor.
Derek appeared, his expression fierce, eyes blazing with a mix of fury and fear.
He looked at me first—always at me.

“Are you alright?” he asked, his voice low but urgent.

I nodded weakly. “I heard—”

He crossed the space in two strides, his hands finding my face. “Don’t listen to any of it. Please.”

Behind him, my parents’ voices collided—accusations, questions, disbelief—but in that moment, all I saw was him. The man who’d destroyed me and rebuilt me in the same breath.
The air crackled between us, thick with everything unsaid.
My chest rose and fell too fast. His thumb brushed against my cheek, gentle, grounding.

“I told you I’d protect you,” he whispered. “Even from this.”

The world felt like it was spinning.
The house. The noise. The betrayal.
And before I could stop him—before I could even think—he kissed me.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t polite. It was desperate—full of everything we couldn’t say aloud.
His lips on mine were warmth and ache and fear and promise all tangled together.
The chaos around us blurred. My knees buckled, my fingers clutching his shirt as if it could anchor me to this one real thing.

For a heartbeat, there was nothing else. No past. No family. No mafia. Just him.

Then a gasp cut through the silence.

“Sylvia… what have you done?”

Mother’s voice—cracked, horrified—echoed through the hall.

We broke apart.
Her eyes were wide, filled with tears and disbelief.
Fathe
r stood behind her, silent, his expression unreadable.

The house seemed to hold its breath.

And just like that, the world we’d been trying to keep from collapsing… finally did.