Chapter 204: The Horrific Truth Unfolded

Ethan’s POV

Pain split through my skull as consciousness returned. The first sensation was a throbbing ache radiating from the base of my head where I'd been struck. I tried to move, only to discover my wrists and ankles firmly secured against hard wood. My eyes fluttered open, taking in the dim, damp surroundings of the cave-like chamber beneath Benjamin's office.

I was bound to a chair, positioned directly beside Lila, our shoulders nearly touching. Her eyes widened when she saw me awake, the duct tape across her mouth unable to hide her relief. I tried to offer her a reassuring glance despite our dire circumstances, silently promising that somehow we'd escape this nightmare together.

Across from us, my gaze landed on a figure that made my blood run cold. A man stood with his back to us, methodically sharpening what appeared to be a hunting knife against a whetstone. The sound of metal against stone filled the cave with a sinister rhythm. When he turned, I nearly gasped behind my own tape gag.

It was my uncle Berto—a ghost, a dead man—but the most shocking aspect wasn't that he was alive. It was what had been done to him. His face was a roadmap of burn scars, tissue pulled tight and shiny across his cheekbones. His right ear was mostly gone, and his neck bore the unmistakable pattern of flame damage. One eye was milky white, obviously blind, while the other—eerily similar to my own amber color—fixed on me with undisguised hatred.

"He's awake," Berto announced, his voice a raspy whisper from damaged vocal cords. "Little Ethan, all grown up."

Benjamin stepped forward from the shadows, that same casual smile playing across his handsome face as if we were meeting for coffee rather than in this underground chamber of horrors.

"Good evening, cousin," he greeted, the familial term sending a chill down my spine. "I hope my father didn't hit you too hard."

"You know," Benjamin continued, circling our chairs like a shark, "it was almost too easy luring you here. First, we set the password to your birthday—knowing Lila's curiosity would get the better of her once she found it." He chuckled, running a finger across Lila's cheek. She flinched away, her eyes blazing with fury.

"Then it was just a matter of grabbing her and waiting for you to come charging in like the predictable hero. And your cousin Mason—" Benjamin nodded toward him, "—he's been quite helpful all these years, feeding us information, helping us stay one step ahead."

I glared at Mason, the betrayal stinging even in these desperate circumstances. His eyes flickered away, unable to meet mine.

"But I'm getting ahead of myself," Benjamin said, seating himself on the crude wooden table opposite us. "You deserve to know why you're here. Why all of this has happened."

He leaned forward, those piercing green eyes—so like the boy in the photograph—fixed on me with an intensity that was almost physical.

"I was seven years old the first time I visited the Pacheco mansion," he began, his voice taking on a distant quality.

"A bastard child, born to your uncle's abandoned wife, never acknowledged but occasionally tolerated for social appearances. Your grandfather invited my mother and me to your birthday party—probably out of some twisted sense of obligation to his own blood."

Benjamin's expression darkened, his fingers curling into fists.

"I remember being so excited to meet my cousins. To belong, even for a day, to the mighty Pacheco family." His laugh was bitter, echoing off the stone walls. "Instead, I found myself surrounded by cruel children who saw me as nothing but an intruder. You, Noah, Luke, Gio—you tormented me from the moment I arrived."

A flicker of memory stirred in my mind—a small blond boy in clothes too formal for a children's party, standing awkwardly on the edge of our group.

"And then came the swimming pool incident," Benjamin continued, his voice hardening. "Do you remember that, Ethan? When you suggested a game of 'dunk the bastard'? When you and your friends held my head underwater until I passed out? Until I nearly *died*?"

The accusation hit me like a physical blow. I couldn't remember this—or could I? There was something, a half-formed memory of childish cruelty, of a boy splashing desperately... but the details were hazy, lost in the fog of decades past.

"Only two people came to my rescue that day," Benjamin said, his voice softening slightly. "Lucas pulled me from the water, performed CPR when I wasn't breathing. And Mason stood up to all of you, even though he was younger, even though you mocked him for it afterward."

This explained Benjamin's willingness to accompany Lila to visit Lucas in the hospital—a debt of gratitude that had spanned decades.

"But the real villain of this story isn't you, cousin," Benjamin stood, walking over to Berto. "It's your grandfather, Franco. The man who orchestrated my father's 'death' because he preferred Henry as his successor. The man who decided one son was expendable."

Berto stepped forward, the knife gleaming in his scarred hand. "My own father arranged the fire that was supposed to kill me," he rasped. "Paid men to trap me inside my own home, to burn me alive because I wasn't the son he wanted leading the family business." His damaged voice cracked with emotion. "Because I wasn't *Henry*."

I felt my composure slipping as the horrific truth unfolded. My grandfather—the patriarch I'd respected, feared, and sought approval from my entire life—had attempted to murder his own son. Had nearly succeeded.

Tears welled in my eyes, mirrored in Lila's as she absorbed the terrible revelations. Her shoulders trembled with silent sobs, the depth of this family's depravity too much to bear.

"And now," Berto continued, approaching Lila with his knife raised, "we take back what's ours. Starting with everything *you* love, Ethan."

My heart nearly stopped as he placed the blade against Lila's cheek, drawing it slowly across her skin. A thin line of red appeared, blood beading along the shallow cut, stark against her pale complexion. She didn't make a sound, but her eyes closed tightly, tears squeezing past her lashes.

"Such a pretty thing," Berto murmured, his damaged face inches from hers. "I can see why my nephew is so besotted. Beauty like this is rare—it would be a shame to ruin it all at once."