When the lights flickered back on, Bryce stood in a thin undershirt, the collar loose enough to reveal fresh red marks on his neck—evidence of their intimacy.
"You heard that, right?" He sneered down at me. "To her, your parents' deaths are just a minor inconvenience. A little mess I made. Tell me, Brandon—how do you plan to fight me now?"
I stayed silent. Didn't move.
Bored by my lack of reaction, he cursed and stormed out.
The moment the door clicked shut, I pulled out my phone and sent the recording to my lawyer.
I will see Bryce Gilbert behind bars.
My lawyer's reply came instantly. This is why I advised patience. This recording is the nail in the coffin. We have him.
I typed back: Send the divorce papers to Layla's office. Immediately.
After arranging my father's funeral, I sat on a bench outside the operating room, waiting for my name.
As I reviewed the indictment, my phone lit up. Layla.
"The hospital admitted negligence regarding your father," she said smoothly. "I've already held them accountable. We'll hold a joint funeral for your parents. Once I finish up here, I'll come pick you up."
"Okay," I answered calmly, then moved to hang up.