Chapter 50 50

Chapter 50 50

Chapter 50

Sonia stood in front of the mirror, brushing her hair while silently studying her reflection. Her thoughts weighed heavily as she recalled Victor’s recent plea for help.

"Don’t you dare, Sonia. I won’t allow it," Fabian said sharply.

Sonia froze mid-brush, turning toward Fabian, who was seated on the bed, laptop open in front of him.

"Fabian, I can't shake this feeling. I need to know what really happened to Themarie," Sonia said, her voice trembling with conviction.

Fabian removed his glasses and met her gaze.

"Sonia, that woman destroyed your life. She tortured your son for years. And the man asking for your help—he deceived you, used you, and took everything you had," he reminded her coldly.

Sonia's lips pressed into a thin line. Everything Fabian said was true… but Themarie was once her closest friend—the first person who ever reached out to her in a time of need.

"Why can’t you understand that I just want to give Themarie the justice she deserves?" Sonia asked, her voice breaking as she stood up, tears threatening to fall.

Fabian cursed silently, visibly agitated. "Sonia, don’t cry. No matter what you say, I won’t agree to this," he snapped, slamming his laptop shut and storming out of the room in frustration.

Left alone, Sonia wiped her cheeks, struggling to understand why Fabian couldn't see her side. Themarie’s death haunted her, a pain she couldn’t ignore.

Nearly thirty minutes passed. Fabian sat on the sofa, unable to focus on his work. He leaned back, rubbed the bridge of his nose, and sighed in frustration. Sonia wouldn't leave his mind.

In a split second, he decided to call his father. As the phone rang, he hesitated—but on the third ring, just as he was about to hang up, his father finally answered.

“This better be important, kiddo. It's four in the morning, for God’s sake,” his father grumbled groggily.

“Dad… what should I do?” Fabian asked, his voice low and uncertain.

“What happened?”

Fabian could hear his father moving around, possibly stepping out of the bedroom.

He explained the argument with Sonia. “She wants to do something I can’t agree with. I’m scared, and all these ‘what ifs’ are consuming me,” Fabian admitted, staring up at the ceiling, eyes shut tight.

His father was quiet for a moment. “Sonia’s a strong woman. Don’t you trust her?”

“Of course, I do,” Fabian said quickly. “I trust her more than anyone. She’d never disappoint me.”

“Then why are you so afraid?” his father asked plainly. “You’re her husband. That means facing things together, even when you don’t fully agree. Being married doesn’t mean you stop being two individual people. If she wants to do something important to her, then support her.”

Fabian's eyes opened. His father’s words hit hard.

“Never dismiss what your wife feels just because you want peace or think it’s for her own good,” his father continued. “You’re not the only one in this relationship. Her voice matters just as much.”

Then, with a softer tone, he added, “Don’t make the same selfish mistakes I did. I almost lost your mother because of it.”

Fabian’s expression softened. “Thank you, Dad,” he whispered.

As the call ended, the door behind his father creaked open.

“Who were you talking to?” his mother asked, entering the room.

Fabian’s father showed her the phone. “Fabian,” he replied.

“Did I wake you?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No, I just woke up and noticed you were gone. Come back to bed.”

As they returned to their room, she asked, “Why did Fabian call?”

The door shut behind them, and quiet returned to the room.

Meanwhile, Fabian had fallen asleep on the sofa without realizing it. He stirred slightly when someone gently draped a blanket over him and cuddled beside him.

He opened his eyes slightly and saw Sonia resting against his chest, arms wrapped around him.

He shifted, wrapping his arms around her in return.

“Let’s talk later. Sleep now,” he whispered, kissing her forehead.

“Goodnight,” he murmured.

Sonia snuggled closer, whispering, “I love you.”

Fabian’s face softened. “I love you too, sweetheart.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Fabian asked the next morning.

I raised an eyebrow. “Did you even listen to me last night?”

“Even if Victor hadn’t asked for help, I would’ve investigated. I want to take down the Valencia family, every single one of them,” I said firmly. “I won’t be satisfied just watching them fall from grace. They need to pay for everything.”

“My plan is to make my move once Season 1 of the drama airs. That should be enough time to reap what I’ve sown,” I added with a faint smile.

Fabian stared at me. “What exactly did you do?”

“Let’s just say I’ve got plenty of aces up my sleeve. And when I lay them all out, they’ll explode like a time bomb right in the middle of their perfect lives,” I said, placing the plate of hotdogs on the table.

“But it’s still not enough. They stole Themarie’s life. Her death isn’t enough of a price to pay for what they did to me.”

Fabian pulled me close by the waist as he sat, hugging me.

“Just promise me you won’t do anything dangerous,” he pleaded.

I smiled slightly and hugged his head gently. “Fine, fine.”

That was how we made up. Fabian told me he called his father last night because he was feeling lost.

Hearing that made me feel guilty. Fabian has been nothing but an amazing husband and father. I felt like I was taking advantage of his kindness with my impulsive decisions.

But I want to do something on my own. I can’t rely on Fabian for everything. He’s already done so much—especially for my son—helping me win custody and embracing him like his own.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, hugging him tighter.

We stayed like that for about two minutes before he invited me to eat.

“Vladimir! France! Breakfast is ready!” I called out to our kids, stepping away from Fabian.

But no one came into the kitchen. I went to the living room.

“Vlad? France?”

I peeked down the staircase and noticed the front door was slightly ajar.

“Mommy!”

The door opened, and both children entered. France held a sunflower, and Vladimir carried several packs of candy.

“Where did these come from?” I asked, rushing toward them.

“There was a delivery. The doorbell rang, and we answered it since you didn’t hear it,” France said innocently.

I took the items from them, alarm rising in my chest. I called Fabian, and he came quickly when he saw what I was holding.

“Can you tell the guards to make sure all deliveries go through them first?” I asked nervously.

Fabian’s expression darkened, and he walked out to speak to the security team. Being an actor himself, he understood the risks—especially with kids around.

I placed the flowers and candies on the coffee table and knelt in front of my children.

“What do I always tell you when we go out?” I asked.

They answered in unison, “Don’t talk to strangers. Don’t go anywhere without adult.”

“Don’t accept anything from strangers. And next time, if someone rings the bell and you don’t know them, don’t open the door,” I added, hugging them tightly.

“But they’re fan gifts, Mommy,” Vladimir said.

I pressed my lips together. “I can get those gifts myself, sweetheart. What if that person wasn’t good? What if they took you? Please just listen to Mommy, okay?”

They nodded.

I looked back at the flowers. That was the second time I’d received the same type of bouquet. Same design. Same card.

The public didn’t even know about my return yet. How did someone know my address?

Fabian came back and walked straight to the table. He threw the candy and flowers in the trash.

Artists are only supposed to receive gifts at designated events or workplaces—not at their homes. It’s seen as invasive and even disrespectful.

“Eat up, then get dressed. You’re going to school,” I said, glancing at France.

“Mommy, are we not coming with you to visit Vlad’s stepmom today?” France asked.

I paused, glancing at Vladimir, who quickly looked away.

I wanted to bring them, but… I looked at Fabian. We’d already discussed this. The funeral would be packed with media. The Valencia family was unpredictable. I didn’t want our kids caught in any scene.

“Sorry, honey. You can’t come. Too many people and reporters,” I said, patting France’s head.

They were too young for that kind of exposure.

“Okay, Mommy. We’ll prepare for school after breakfast,” France replied with a smile.

I smiled back, touched by how understanding our children were.

“Are you okay?” Fabian asked in the car. The air was cold, and so was my heart as we headed to Themarie’s funeral. It was the last day of the wake—tomorrow, she would be buried.

I didn’t think Victor’s mother would cause a scene in public, not with the media and police present.

As expected, the venue was packed—more than I anticipated. Cars lined the street. Famous faces filled the room. Some even pretended to cry. Typical showbiz.

“What are you doing here?” Victor’s mother asked, brows furrowed.

I stared at her calmly. “I came to pay my respects to Themarie.”

She muttered under her breath for us to leave, but I smiled and thanked her instead—for allowing me to be there.

Her eyes widened in disbelief as I walked past her.

I stood before Themarie’s photo, beside the urn containing her ashes. She had been cremated shortly after the accident. Her body was crushed by the truck—almost beyond recognition.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Victor approaching.

“Thank you for coming,” he whispered.

I smiled wryly and turned to him. “I doubt that’s what Themarie would say if she were watching us right now.”

Victor exhaled. “I regret everything. Losing her made me realize a lot…”

“This is probably karma… for everything I did to you. For being such a terrible father to our son,” he admitted.

“I’m sorry for what Themarie and I did.”

I stood there, emotionless. I didn’t know what to feel—happiness? Anger? Disappointment? But relief wasn’t one of them.

“You don’t actually expect me to forgive you, do you?” I asked coldly.

Victor looked at me and fell silent.

I smiled bitterly. “I will never forgive you.”

“Your apology will never be enough—not for what you and your family did to me and my son.”

I had once considered them family. I gave them everything. And they gave me pain, betrayal, and loss.

They turned their backs on me—and stole everything, even my child.

No “sorry” could ever mend the hole they carved into my heart.