Fernando knelt beside her again, voice breaking into something human.
“Never again,” he promised. “Not ever.”
Outside, distant sirens started to feel inevitable.
Viven’s silence didn’t last.
She never survived without an audience.
When the dispatcher’s calm voice spoke through Fernando’s phone, Viven’s expression shifted into something almost wounded, as if she were the victim of a misunderstanding.
“Fernando, please,” she breathed, stepping forward with palms open. “You’re letting fear and a stranger’s accusations destroy us. Think about what this looks like.”
Fernando didn’t blink.
He kept the phone to his ear, but his eyes stayed on Elena.
For the first time, he understood where the real emergency had always been.
Immani rose slowly, placing herself between Viven and the wheelchair.
Not aggressive.
Just immovable.
“Don’t,” Immani said softly.
Viven’s voice sharpened. “You have no right to stand in my way.”
Immani’s eyes didn’t flinch.
“And you had no right to take her strength.”
That was when Viven’s composure finally cracked.
The air in the kitchen turned sharp, charged.
“Fine,” Viven snapped, elegance falling away like torn fabric. “You want the truth? I did what I had to do.”