Chapter 22 Chapter 22
"When the gates stay shut, the desperate learn to build their own path.”
Rihana had been restless since dawn.
The sun had barely lifted above the horizon, yet she was already pacing the length of her father’s study, arms folded, jaw clenched, the silk ribbons on her night robe swaying with every impatient turn. Mayor Brattfield, however, sat calmly behind his desk, flipping through his morning files like her agitation was nothing more than background noise.
“Dad, I want to visit Saint Ridge,” she said for the fourth time, trying to hide the tremor of urgency in her voice.
“No.”
He didn’t even look up.
Rihana’s face twisted. “You’re not even listening to me!”
“I heard you clearly,” he replied, finally meeting her glare. “And I said no. Saint Ridge is a penitentiary, not a playground. You’re not setting foot there.”
“But Hale is there!” she fired back. “And Peterson! They’ve been gone for over 20 months"
“I am aware of where your brother is,” he said sharply, setting the file down. “And I am telling you, as your father and as the mayor of this state, that it is not open for casual family visits.”
The title dropped between them like a weight "Mayor" the shield he always hid behind when he didn’t want to bend.
Before Rihana could retort, a smooth voice slipped into the room.
“Come on,” Maddox said, stepping in with the ease of someone who never needed permission. “Go easy on the little princess. She just misses her brother.”
She turned toward Maddox immediately. Out of everyone in her life, he was the only one who made her feel slightly understood, even if he treated her like a child half the time.
Maddox crouched a little so they were eye-level. His tone softened. “Listen, Rihana. When things settle down and I confirm it’s safe for you to go, I’ll personally make arrangements. You’ll see Hale and Peterson, I promise.”
She didn’t want promises. She wanted to go there now. But she also knew Maddox didn’t make promises lightly even though sometimes it took forever to fulfil them.
Still, the words did nothing to soothe the boiling frustration under her skin.
So she spun around, letting her long braids whip behind her, and stormed out of the office with a dramatic pout.
The moment she stepped into the hallway, she crashed straight into someone solid.
“Ouch...watch where you’re going!” she snapped.
Jason raised a brow. “Me? You’re the one walking like you own the world.”
She glared. “You were standing in the way.”
“I was standing still,” he shot back, crossing his arms. “You just weren’t looking. Typical.”
“Typical what?” she challenged.
Jason tilted his head, unimpressed. “Typical spoilt heiress behavior. Acting like everyone should shift for you. But not me. All I know is ruggedity. I’m not soft enough to entertain princess tantrums.”
The insult hit harder than she expected.
For a moment, she wanted to spit something equally sharp back at him, something to bruise his pride the way he had bruised hers. Her mouth opened… but no words came.
Instead, she inhaled, held it, then exhaled in a thin, controlled stream.
“Fine,” she said quietly. “You’re right. I wasn’t paying attention. I’m sorry.”
Jason blinked.
It wasn’t the apology that shocked him it was the sincerity. For someone like Rihana, pride was practically stitched into her skin.
“Well…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Okay.”
The air between them shifted, lighter yet strangely awkward.
Rihana forced a small smile. “Maybe we can start over. Be friends?”
“No.”
He didn’t even hesitate.
Her smile froze for a second. But she didn’t push. She simply nodded once.
“I understand,” she said. “Your choice. I respect it.”
Then she stepped aside and walked past him.
Jason watched her go, confusion knitting his brows. He had expected yelling, a tantrum, maybe even a threat. Not… maturity. Not restraint. Not whatever that was.
Rihana didn’t stop walking until she reached the front doors of the mansion. The moment she stepped outside into the crisp air, the polite smile slipped off her face, replaced with simmering anger.
Standing near the garden path was one of the household butlers, quietly trimming the hedges. He bowed as she passed, offering a polite morning greeting.
Rihana didn’t even blink.
She lifted her hand and slapped him hard across the face.
The sound cracked through the garden.
The butler staggered slightly, more from shock than the force. “M...Miss Rihana?”
“Keep your eyes on your work,” she snapped, brushing past him.
He bowed again, silent, accepting the mistreatment like it was expected. Like it was normal.
Rihana didn’t care.
All she felt was the roaring frustration, the helplessness, the burning refusal to accept “no” from anyone.
If they wouldn’t let her see Hale…
…then she’d bring Hale to her.
One way or another.
She marched down the driveway with renewed purpose, her mind spinning through possibilities, schemes, and familiar sparks of rebellion. Rihana wasn’t the kind of girl who waited for doors to open, they opened because she kicked them down.
And if Hale wouldn’t be brought out willingly?
Well.
She had other ways.
Back at the mansion, Jason lingered in the doorway, watching her figure disappear down the winding path. Something in her posture; tense, determined, almost dangerous made him uneasy.
He didn’t know her well.
But suddenly, he had the sickening feeling he wanted to keep an eye on her.
For everyone’s sake
The nursing home was quiet. Too quiet, even for nighttime.
Clara’s father sat in the dimly lit common room, rocking gently in his chair by the window. The cold light of dusk traced the wrinkles on his face, making him look older, fragile in a way Clara refused to notice when she visited.
He hummed softly to himself, a lullaby from years gone by. A tune he used to sing to Clara when nightmares kept her awake.
Now, the melody sounded hollow, drifting through empty halls.
Footsteps approached behind him, slow, measured, almost soundless.
He didn’t turn. He kept humming.
The footsteps stopped.
A shadow leaned close to his ear.
A voice, quiet and deliberate whispered something only he could hear.
Something short.
Something sharp.
Something that made his humming falter for a heartbeat.
Then the voice vanished, leaving the air colder than before.
Clara’s father blinked, staring at the window’s reflection.
He didn’t react.
He didn’t speak.
He simply resumed humming, like nothing had happened.
But his hands trembled on the armrest.
And outside, a dark car rolled away from the nursing home driveway, disappearing into the night.