Chapter 260
Lucas' POV
I pressed my palm against my forehead, the fluorescent hospital lights burning into my retinas. "She did have an accident," I said, my voice coming out hollow. "Because I failed to protect her."
Miguel's weathered face contorted, aging a decade in the span of a heartbeat.
His hands—the same hands that had once signed million-dollar contracts—now trembled as they gripped the corridor railing.
"This is all because of you, isn't it?" His accent thickened with each word, grief and rage bleeding together. "Ever since my daughter met you, her life has been nothing but a downward spiral."
I opened my mouth, but no defense came. What could I possibly say?
"First, you bankrupted our family." Miguel's voice rose, drawing concerned glances from passing nurses. "Then my wife ended up in a vegetative state. And now my daughter is in the emergency room fighting for her life."
Each accusation hit like a physical blow. I stood there, taking it, because some part of me believed I deserved every word.
"What did we ever do to you?" Miguel demanded, stepping closer. His eyes were bloodshot, wild with incomprehension. "We canceled the engagement, yes. When your family went bankrupt, we were afraid our daughter would suffer if she married you. We made a hard choice to protect her future."
He paused, his breathing ragged.
"When she tried to go find you afterward, we locked her in her room. We wouldn't let her throw her life away on a man with nothing." His voice cracked. "We're her parents. Everything we did, we did because we thought it was best for her happiness. So tell me—why did you come back just to destroy us?"
Something cold settled in my chest. A terrible suspicion that had been lurking at the edges of my consciousness suddenly demanded attention.
"My family's bankruptcy," I said slowly, forcing myself to meet his eyes. "You had no part in it? You didn't kick us when we were down?"
Miguel's bitter laugh echoed off the sterile walls. "I swear to you, I could never do such a thing." He studied my face with something that might have been pity. "Whoever really destroyed your company—you haven't caught them yet, have you? They're probably still out there somewhere, laughing at all of us."
He paused, and when he spoke again, his voice was quieter. "You're a victim too, aren't you?"
The words hit me like a sledgehammer. My knees wanted to buckle. Seven years. Seven years of carefully cultivated hatred, of using that fury as fuel to claw my way back from nothing. Seven years of punishing the wrong people.
This couldn't be right. It couldn't—
Then Miguel dropped to his knees in front of me.
The sight of this proud man—a father broken by fear and desperation—kneeling on the hospital's linoleum floor shattered something fundamental in my chest.
"I'm a selfish man," Miguel said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I just want my family safe. Healthy. I want them to live in peace." He looked up at me, tears streaming down his face. "Please. Don't hurt my daughter anymore."
My hands clenched into fists at my sides. My jaw locked tight. I felt my left eye twitch—a tell I'd thought I'd trained out of myself years ago during high-stakes negotiations.
A memory surfaced: Sophia, weeks ago, sending me a message telling me to investigate the truth behind my family's bankruptcy—something I'd dismissed as manipulation.
I'd deleted it without responding, convinced she was trying to distract me, to redirect my focus away from the revenge I'd spent years planning.
What if I'd been wrong about everything?
I turned away from Miguel's kneeling form, my throat too tight to speak. Three steps brought me to the window overlooking the parking lot. With shaking hands, I pulled out my phone and dialed my private investigator.
"Victor," I said when he answered. "I need you to investigate something. The Reynolds Real Estate bankruptcy seven years ago—I want the truth. The actual truth."
"Sir, I thought we'd already—"
"Dig deeper." My reflection in the window looked gaunt, haunted. "Follow the money. Find out who really orchestrated the collapse. I don't care what it costs or how long it takes. I need to know."
"Understood. I'll start immediately."
I ended the call just as the surgical ward doors swung open. A doctor emerged, still wearing blood-spattered scrubs. My blood turned to ice.
Miguel scrambled to his feet, rushing toward her. I followed on numb legs.
"Mr. Cruz?" the doctor asked, her expression professionally neutral in that way that never means anything good.
"Yes—how is she? How's my daughter?"
The doctor's gaze flicked to me briefly before returning to Miguel. "Your daughter is stable. However, she's suffered multiple fractures to her ribs and left arm. She'll need to remain on strict bed rest for several months."
Relief flooded through me so intensely I had to grip the wall for support. "And the baby?"
The doctor's expression shifted, becoming more guarded. "I'm very sorry. We couldn't save the pregnancy."
The world tilted sideways.
Miguel made a sound like he'd been gutted. "Pregnancy?" His head whipped toward me, comprehension dawning in his eyes. "My daughter was pregnant? With your child?"
I couldn't answer. Couldn't breathe. The doctor's words echoed in my skull on an endless loop: Couldn't save it.
"She's in room 407," the doctor continued quietly. "She's still unconscious from the anesthesia, but you can sit with her."
"I want to go with you," I said, my voice rough.
Miguel turned on me, his grief transforming into pure rage. "A child," he said slowly, each word deliberate. "My daughter was pregnant. She miscarried. And the baby was yours?"
I nodded once, the admission scraping my throat raw.
"Let me understand this." Miguel's voice rose again, trembling with fury. "For years, you've been parading around with your fiancée in public while keeping my daughter locked away like some kind of secret. You got her pregnant, and now she's lost the baby because of the woman you chose over her." He stepped closer, his finger jabbing into my chest. "What exactly did you think my daughter was to you? A toy? A possession to be used when convenient?"
His hand came up fast. The slap connected with my cheek, the sharp crack echoing down the corridor. My head snapped to the side, but I didn't feel the pain. Couldn't feel anything except the overwhelming need to see Sophia, to confirm with my own eyes that she was alive.
Miguel drew his hand back for another strike.
"Sir!" A nurse rushed forward, grabbing his arm. "Please, this is a hospital—"
"Let him," I said quietly.
The nurse looked at me like I was insane, but loosened her grip slightly. Miguel's hand trembled in the air between us, his face twisted with anguish.
"You don't even have the decency to defend yourself," he said, his voice breaking. "Because you know it's all true, don't you? You know what you've done to her."
"Yes," I said. "I know."
Miguel's hand dropped. He turned to the nurse, his shoulders sagging with exhaustion. "Take me to my daughter. Please."
As they started down the corridor, Miguel looked back at me one last time.
"Get out," he said flatly. "When my daughter wakes up, the last person she'll want to see is you."