Chapter 22: Love Made Me Lethal

“She helped Victor fake your dad’s suicide,” Adrian said. “She was there that night.”

The elevator doors started to close.

My mom did not move.

“Hold it,” Singh said. She stuck her arm out. The doors bounced back.

Adrian’s smile did not change. Even in cuffs.

“You are lying,” I said to him. 

“Am I?” Adrian said. “Ask Carla. Ask her why she married your dad three months after Victor threatened him. Ask her why she kept the red drive in her jewelry box instead of giving it to the police.”

My mom flinched.

“Not here,” Singh said. “We take this to Interview Room 3.”

“I am not going anywhere with him,” my mom said. Her voice shook.

“You are not under arrest,” Singh said. “Yet. But you are coming.”

I looked at my mom. Really looked.

The woman who taught me to hide. Who told me bullies were just sad. Who made me promise to stay quiet.

“Is it true?” I asked her.

Her eyes filled. “Isla, please.”

That was not a no.

My chest cracked.

I thought the truth would set us free. I did not think it would break me again.

“Take her,” I said to Singh. 

“Isla,” my mom said. 

I could not look at her. If I did, I would shatter.

Singh led my mom away. Adrian followed, still smiling.

The elevator doors closed.

I stood there. The red drive felt heavy in my hand. 

For fourteen years I thought it held music. My dad’s voice. 

It held his death. 

And my mom helped.

“Isla.”

I turned. 

A nurse stood there. Tasha. From the ICU.

“Roman is asking for you,” she said. “He pulled his IV out.”

Of course he did.

I ran.

Room 304.

He was sitting up. Oxygen off. Monitor beeping fast. Blood on the sheets where the IV had been.

“Lie down,” I said. 

“You left,” he said. His voice was raw. “You walked out with her. With the drive.”

“I had to,” I said. “To clear you.”

“Did it?” he asked. 

I did not answer. 

Because I did not know anymore. 

Roman looked at me. “What did Adrian say?”

I closed the door. “That my mom helped Victor fake my dad’s suicide.”

Roman went still. 

“She was there,” I said. “That night. According to him.”

Roman closed his eyes. “Isla.”

“Do not,” I said. “Do not pity me. I cannot take it.”

“I am not pitying you,” he said. “I am furious for you.”

He swung his legs over the bed. 

“Stop,” I said. “You will tear your stitches.”

“I do not care,” he said. “My wife just found out her mother lied to her for fourteen years. I am not lying in bed.”

Wife. 

The word hit wrong now. 

“We annulled it,” I said. “Remember? No contracts. No conditions.”

“Then let me hold you as a man,” he said. “Not a husband. Not a patient. Just me.”

I wanted to. 

God, I wanted to. 

But every time I trusted someone, they broke me. 

Victor. Julian. 

My mom.

“You asked me to trust you,” I said. “Ten minutes ago. In this room.”

“I know,” he said. 

“Can I?” I asked. “Can I trust you, Roman?”

He stood. Slow. Pain in every line of his body. 

He walked to me. 

He did not touch me. 

He waited. 

“You can,” he said. “With my life. With your heart. With everything I am.”

I believed him. 

I hated that I believed him. 

Because if he lied too, I had nothing left. 

I stepped into him. 

His arms came around me. Careful of my back. Careful of his chest. 

I breathed him in. Antiseptic and blood and him. 

“Do not leave me,” I whispered. 

“Never,” he said. “Not again.”

The door opened. 

Carol. The hospital attorney. 

Her face was pale. 

“The guardianship hearing is not canceled,” she said. “Julian’s lawyer filed an emergency motion. He says your mother is an accomplice to murder. He says you knew. He says you are covering for her.”

My stomach dropped. 

“He says you are mentally unfit,” Carol said. “That you are suffering from trauma-bond delusion. That you married your bully, hid evidence, and now you are protecting your mother.”

No. 

“He wants the court to appoint him,” Carol said. “As your guardian. Until Roman is convicted.”

Julian. From jail. 

Still playing. 

Still winning. 

“Can he do that?” I asked. 

“If the judge believes you are a danger to yourself or others, yes,” Carol said. “The hearing is in ten hours. 9 AM.”

Ten hours. 

To prove I was sane. 

To prove my mom was innocent. 

To prove Roman was innocent. 

To save the trust. 

To save the clinic. 

To save us. 

I pulled away from Roman. 

“I have to go,” I said. 

“No,” Roman said. “You stay here. We fight this together.”

“I cannot,” I said. “If I am with you, they say I am compromised. If I am your nurse, they say I am delusional. I have to prove I can stand alone.”

“You are not alone,” Roman said. 

“Aren’t I?” I said. 

The words slipped out. 

His face fell. 

“I did not mean,” I said. 

“Yes, you did,” Roman said. “And you are right to. Everyone you trusted lied to you. Your dad. Your mom. Victor. Julian. Even me, for ten years.”

“Not you,” I said. “Not anymore.”

“Then let me help,” he said. 

“You cannot,” I said. “You are cuffed to a bed. Again.” 

He was not. Not right now. But he would be if Briggs had his way. 

“I can think,” Roman said. “I can plan. That is what I do.”

He was right. 

He was strategic. 

And I needed strategy. 

“Okay,” I said. “Talk.”

“First,” Roman said. “The red drive. Make three copies. One for Singh. One for your lawyer. One for the press.”

The press. 

“Julian controls the narrative,” Roman said. “We take it back. Victor confesses to murder on tape. That is news.”

“Second,” Roman said. “Your mom. She is not a criminal. She is a victim. Victor threatened her. Threatened you. She did what she had to.”

I wanted to believe that. 

“Third,” Roman said. “Me. I testify. I tell the court why I married you. Why I changed the will. Why I would never hurt you.”

“You cannot,” I said. “You are a suspect.”

“Not if Victor’s confession clears me,” Roman said. “Not if the DA drops the charges.”

If. 

A big word. 

“Isla,” Roman said. He took my hand. “Look at me.”

I did. 

“You are the strongest person I know,” he said. “You walked into hell at seventeen and you survived. You walked into my ICU room and you saved me. You walked out of that Vegas chapel and you kept going.”

Tears burned my eyes. 

“Do not let them take that from you,” he said. “Do not let Julian win. Do not let Victor win. Do not let your mom’s fear win.”

He was right. 

I had been small. I had been silent. 

Not anymore. 

“Okay,” I said. “I fight.”

He smiled. Tired. Proud. 

“Good,” he said. 

For the first time, I did not feel small. I felt dangerous. 

Love did not make me weak. Love made me lethal. 

He pulled me close. 

His lips brushed my ear. 

“I love you,” he whispered. “No contracts. No conditions. Just me.”

“I love you,” I whispered back. “No fear. No silence. Just us.”

His phone buzzed on the table. 

The burner phone. From his belongings. 

We both looked at it. 

It was on. 

A text lit up the screen. 

Unknown number. 

You should have stayed small, Isla. Now you both die. Check the lake.

The lake. 

Where Roman first apologized to me at seventeen. 

Where we were supposed to go in the epilogue. 

Where someone was waiting.