LOGINFour's POVThey wheeled Sophia away at 2:47 in the morning. I memorised the exact time because I needed something concrete to hold onto. Dr Walsh walked beside the gurney, her hand resting protectively on the plastic incubator. Veronica tried to follow but a nurse gently stopped her. We were not allowed in the operating room. We could only wait.The surgical waiting room was empty at this hour. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, too bright and too cold. Plastic chairs lined the walls in neat rows. A television mounted in the corner played silent news. Veronica sat down heavily, her c-section incision clearly painful though she would not admit it. I sat beside her and took her hand.We did not speak. There were no words adequate for this moment. Our four-pound daughter was having open-heart surgery. Surgeons would stop her heart, repair the hole, and restart it. She might not survive. The odds
Veronica's POVFour stopped eating. I watched him disappear into himself over the following days, his eyes hollow and distant. He sat in the nursery we had painted together, staring at the empty crib like it was a grave. The lavender walls that had seemed so hopeful now felt like a mockery. Every baby item we had carefully chosen felt like a promise we might not be able to keep."This is my fault," he said one night.His voice was flat, dead. "I am cursed. Everything I touch gets damaged. My father damaged me and now I am damaging my daughter before she is even born."The words cut through me like glass. I wanted to argue, to tell him he was wrong, but I knew logic would not reach him right now. Fear had wrapped around his heart like a vice and he could not see past it. So instead I knelt in front of him, taking his cold hands in mine, forcing him to look at me.
Four's POVMarcus Reynolds cried for twenty minutes straight. Dr Chen sat quietly, letting the grief pour out of him. I watched this broken man sobbing across from me and understood something fundamental. We were both victims of my father. Different kinds of victims but victims nonetheless.When Marcus finally caught his breath, he looked at me with raw vulnerability. "I have spent twenty-eight years hating. Hating your father. Hating you. Hating myself for not saving my dad somehow. The hate ate everything. My marriage. My relationship with my kids. My entire life became about this one horrible thing.""I understand that," I said quietly. "My father made me into someone I hated. I spent years trying to escape what he made me.""Tell me about him," Marcus said suddenly. "Your father. What was he really like?"So I told him. Not the sanitised version but the truth. I
Four's POVThe lawyer's office smelled like old paper and secrets. I sat between Veronica and Elena, staring at the small recording device on the table. Marcus, my attorney, stood by the window. Elena's lawyer sat across from us. Nobody spoke. We all knew what was coming."Are you ready?" the lawyer asked.I was not ready. I would never be ready. But I nodded anyway.He pressed play.My father's voice filled the room and I stopped breathing. I had not heard that voice in years but my body remembered it instantly. Every muscle tensed. My hands curled into fists. Veronica grabbed my arm, anchoring me."This is the confession of Antonio Lasombra," my father's voice said. Calm. Measured. Like he was discussing stock portfolios instead of murder. "I am recording this because I want the truth known after my death. Not for redemption. I d
Veronica's POVFour stopped sleeping. I watched him deteriorate over three days, pacing the house at night, jumping at shadows, refusing to talk about the nightmare that woke him screaming. He looked haunted in a way I had not seen since the early days after we first met. This was different though. Deeper. Older.On the fourth morning, I found him in Monte's room at dawn, just watching our son sleep. His face was wet with tears."Four," I said softly.He turned to me and I saw real fear in his eyes. Not the controlled vigilance he usually carried but raw terror."I think I remember," he whispered. "I think Elena was right. I think I watched my father kill someone and I buried it so deep I convinced myself it was a nightmare."I crossed the room and took his hands. They were ice cold."We need to call Dr Morrison," I said.
Four's POVThe café smelled like burnt coffee and regret. I sat by the window, watching strangers pass, wondering if any of them carried secrets as heavy as mine. My phone buzzed. She was here.Elena walked in and I recognised her immediately. Not from resemblance but from the way she moved. Guarded. Careful. Like she expected the world to hurt her and had learned to hurt it first. She was thirty-five, dressed in a sharp blazer that screamed lawyer, her dark hair pulled back tight. But it was her eyes that stopped me. Cold grey eyes. My father's eyes.She sat down without greeting me. No handshake. No smile. Just assessment."You look different from what I expected," she said."So do you."She ordered black coffee. I already had mine, though I had not touched it. The silence stretched between us, thick with unspoken histories and shared damage.
Detective Rivera's POVI had been waiting for Jason Hale to do something like this. Not hoping, never hoping, but waiting with the grim certainty that came from twenty years working violent crimes. Men like Jason did not just fade away quietly after their victims escaped. They escalated.The call c
Manuel's POVFour was falling apart and I had never seen it happen before. In twenty years of working beside him, through hostile takeovers and corporate espionage and family betrayals that would break most men, I had watched him remain ice cold. Calculated. Untouchable.
The morning had started with something close to hope. Four had kissed my forehead before leaving for work, a gesture so tender it made my chest ache. For a moment, I had let myself believe we were building something real. Something that could survive the wreckage of our past.That hope died the sec
Four’s POVShe slept curled against the blanket, Monte Jr. nestled at her side. My eyes traced the lines of her face, soft, vulnerable, unguarded. She looked… human, finally. After months of tension, fear, and careful distance, she looked like she belonged somewhere, even if only in this room.I d







