Fernando turned back to Viven, voice cracking into something raw.
“You told me you took her to appointments,” he said. “You said Thursdays. You said the driver knew. You said the paperwork was in the study.”
Viven’s smile tried to return, but it looked wrong now. Paint on a cracked wall.
“You’re spiraling,” she said. “You’re letting grief turn you cruel.”
“No,” Fernando whispered, stepping closer. “I’m finally seeing the shape of the lie.”
He stormed into the study, yanking open drawers he’d avoided for months.
Contracts.
Invitations.
Charity gala folders curated like Viven’s personality.
But no medical reports.
No scans.
No physician letterhead.
Just emptiness where proof should have been.
Fernando spun back toward the kitchen.
“Where are the records, Viven?” he demanded. “Where are the receipts? Appointment reminders? Anything that exists outside your mouth?”
Viven’s gaze flicked for one quick second.
Not to Fernando.
Not to Elena.
To the back hallway.
To the freezer.
To escape.
Fernando caught it.
That flicker was the moment doubt became certainty.
He stepped in front of Elena again, blocking Viven’s line of sight like a shield.