Chapter 49 #49

Chapter 49 #49
Chapter 49
~Dwayne~ 
That evening, I found myself in the manor’s gym, trying to work off the frustration that had been tightening its grip on me all day.
The place was empty, just the low hum of the lights and the faint smell of rubber mats and metal. I preferred it that way. Silence gave my anger room to breathe.
The heavy bag took the brunt of it.
Punch after punch, my fists slamming into it with a force that rattled the chains above. Each hit landed with intention, each one carrying a name I didn’t dare say out loud.
Dante.
I imagined his face with every strike.
“For using Shailyn,” I growled, driving my knuckles deep into the leather.
The bag swung back violently.
“For manipulating her.”
Another punch. Harder.
“For touching what was mine.”
The thought snapped something inside me, and I hit the bag again and again until my shoulders burned and my breathing turned rough. Sweat rolled down my spine, my hands aching, but I didn’t stop.
Pain was better than thinking.
The door opened behind me.
“You’re going to break your hands if you keep hitting it that hard.”
Her voice was soft, almost cautious, and it cut through my rage instantly.
I turned, chest heaving, and there she was.
Shailyn stood in the doorway like she didn’t belong in this sharp, aggressive space. She’d changed into yoga pants and an oversized sweater that slipped slightly off one shoulder. Her hair was loose, falling around her face in soft waves.
She looked tired. Not just physically, mentally too. 
Not the kind of tired sleep fixes. The kind that settles behind the eyes.
“Are you okay?” I asked, grabbing a towel and wiping sweat from my face. “You look like there’s a lot going on in your head.”
She stepped inside slowly. “Couldn’t focus,” she said.
“On what?”
“On anything,” she replied, letting out a small, frustrated laugh. “My mind just won’t slow down.”
I studied her. “About?”
She hesitated, her fingers twisting into the hem of her sweater. “Everything. The baby. My missing memories.” She swallowed. “That weird phone call from before… oh shit.”
She froze, eyes widening slightly as her hand flew to cover her mouth.
My body reacted instantly.
“What phone call?” I asked.
Her shoulders stiffened. “It’s probably nothing.”
“It’s something, Shailyn,” I said firmly, stepping closer. “When did it start?”
She frowned at my tone. “A few days ago. Why?”
“Just curious,” I said, forcing my voice to sound casual even as alarms went off in my head. “Have you gotten any more calls?”
“No,” she replied. “Like I said, probably nothing.”
“Let me see it” 
She showed me the number reluctantly and I took note of the number and sent it to my private investigator to make further digging into it. 
She moved away from me, walking over to the weight bench and sitting down carefully, one hand resting unconsciously on her stomach. The sight twisted something deep in my chest.
“Please don’t tell Dante about it,” she added quietly. “He’ll be worried.”
As if he actually cares.
I nodded. “Okay.”
She looked relieved, then glanced up at me again. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Why do you and Dante hate each other so much?”
The question caught me off guard.
“That’s… complicated,” I said.
She didn’t look satisfied. “I have time.”
I exhaled. “It’s not something I usually talk about.”
"I have time," she said, looking up at me with those eyes that saw too much. "And I'm tired of people treating me like I'm too fragile to handle the truth. Everyone keeps dancing around things, being careful with me because of my amnesia. But I'm not made of glass, Dwayne. I can handle honesty.”
I sat down on the bench opposite her, elbows resting on my knees.
“Dante and I have always been competitive,” I said slowly. “Even as kids.”
She nodded, urging me on.
“It got worse as we got older,” I continued. “We wanted different things for the company. Different visions. Different priorities.”
“That’s not all of it,” she said quietly.
I looked up at her. “No.”
She leaned forward slightly. “Then what is it?”
“There’s personal history,” I admitted. “Lines crossed. Things that can’t be taken back.”
Her brows furrowed. “What kind of things?”
I held her gaze. “The kind that make you realize someone you trusted is actually a stranger. The kind that show you who someone really is beneath the mask they wear for the world.”
She went quiet, absorbing my words.
“Do you think Dante wears a mask?” she asked.
Yes.
“I think everyone wears masks sometimes,” I said instead.
She tilted her head. “Even you?”
“Even me.”
Her eyes searched my face, like she was trying to see through layers she couldn’t quite name. For a moment, the air between us felt too charged, too heavy with things unsaid.
“I should get back upstairs,” she said suddenly, standing. “Dante will wonder where I am when he wakes up and doesn’t find me beside him.”
The words hit harder than they should have.
“Of course he will,” I muttered.
She paused, glancing back at me.
“Shailyn,” I said before she could leave.
She turned. “Yeah?”
“Be careful,” I said. “With everything. With everyone. Trust your instincts.”
Her expression flickered, confusion, uncertainty, maybe even fear. “Why do you say that?”
“Because sometimes,” I said quietly, “the people closest to us are the ones we should be most careful around.”
She opened her mouth like she wanted to argue, then stopped. Whatever she’d been about to say dissolved into a sigh.
She gave me a small smile. “You worry too much.”
“Someone has to,” I replied.
She shook her head lightly and walked out of the gym.
I stood there, staring at the doorway long after she disappeared, my fists slowly unclenching.
My phone buzzed.
I pulled it out, irritation fading when I saw the unknown number.
Then my blood ran cold.
The message read:
{ Tsk, tsk. Is she a mother or a murderer? }