Lahat ng Kabanata ng His to Destroy, Mine to Save: Kabanata 11 - Kabanata 20

DANTEThe guest house loomed ahead. I shoved the front door open.Felix stayed close, his nails tapping across the floor behind me.As I neared the bathroom, my steps faltered.Everything in me braced.And then—I was sixteen again.Feet frozen outside my father’s bedroom door.The smell of gun oil and her perfume twisted in the air like rot and roses. I stepped in, and the world tilted.He was sitting on the edge of the bed, her favorite red dress draped across his lap like it was something sacred. One hand fisted in the fabric. The other held a gun.He didn’t look at me.“They carved her up like meat,” he said. “Because of me. Because I made enemies and believed I could keep her safe.”“Dad—” My voice cracked. Too soft. Too late.His eyes found mine. Hollow. Unforgiving.“Love is a weakness, son. You let it in, and it will be your end. Just like it was hers.”“Don’t,” I said, stepping forward. “Please. I need you.”But the gun was already rising.His last words—“So don’t make my mis

DANTEDarkness cloaked the mansion in early morning stillness. Its grandeur was drowned in shadow. A weight pressed against my chest, fractured dreams clinging like cobwebs. I threw off the covers and headed for the shower.Hot water pummeled my skin, steam wrapping around me, heavy and suffocating. It burned away sleep but didn’t touch the storm in my head.Marisol wasn’t just a complication. She was a reminder. A trigger I hadn’t seen coming.The image struck again. Precise as a blade. Her in the bathroom. Glass trembling in her blood-slick hand. The edge was already cutting into her skin...It hadn’t left me. Not for a second. I saw it when I closed my eyes. Heard the silence when I breathed.I’d already gone over this. Too many times. But no matter how I tried to push it away, it kept coming back.Because it should.I did that. I put the glass in her hand.I’d seen death. Caused it. But that moment was too familiar.My father had looked the same. Pale. Still. Lost in a silence too

MARISOLAt the guesthouse, I woke with a dull throb at the base of my skull. The night before clung to me, thick and heavy, like it hadn’t quite let go.Sunlight spilled through the windows. Too bright. Too sharp. I blinked, slow to catch up with the day. Squinted until the room stopped spinning and settled into focus.Mr. Buttons was curled beside me, his little body warm against my leg. I reached down and ran my fingers through his fur, soft and steady.A small smile tugged at my mouth. At least he was still here.I sat up slowly, letting my eyes scan the room. My guitar rested against the wall. On the chair nearby, someone had laid out clean clothes and a few toiletries.A quiet flicker of gratitude moved through my chest.Maybe things weren’t completely broken. Maybe this was the start of something else.But uncertainty clung tight, cold and quiet. Dante had seemed sincere. Still, his threats whispered through the back of my mind, sharp and impossible to ignore.Has he really chan

DANTEI stepped into the guesthouse and walked straight into chaos.Liquor bottles and half-filled glasses cluttered the countertops. Marisol’s version of bartending, apparently.The freezer door gaped open. Stocked food sat untouched.She’d had other plans.A YouTube music video blasted from the speakers, the singer’s voice confident and crystal clear.I shut the freezer with a sigh. Turned off the TV. Followed the sound of her voice to the bathroom.Stopping in the doorway, I blinked. My brain short-circuited.Marisol sat in the tub, water sloshing gently around her. Her light blue pajamas clung to her body, soaked straight through.A tipsy, over-the-top grin spread across her face as she tapped her phone, music playing low in the background like she was prepping for a solo concert.One hand pressed dramatically to her chest.She spotted the security camera in the corner and pointed, eyes glassy and unfocused but locked on like she had a front-row audience. Then, with the flair of so

DANTETwo days.No sign.No calls.Just silence.The house moved like a machine that couldn’t stop. Bodyguards paced, their footsteps echoing through rooms I didn’t want to enter. Voices stayed low, controlled, urgent. Dad barely left his study.He was obsessed. Consumed. Screens glowed with maps and logs. His desk had vanished beneath photos, lists, dead-end leads. Every hour scraped more hope from the walls.He didn’t sleep. Didn’t eat. He prowled the halls like a ghost with teeth, snapping orders no one questioned. And I stayed out of his way. Wide-eyed. Useless.How do you even exist when the one thing that made you feel safe just disappears?Then the phone rang. Too sharp, too loud. My heart jolted, slamming into my ribs. Dad grabbed it."Did you find her?"A pause. Too long."What do you mean she’s here?"His voice cracked. Just once. But it cracked. Another silence. Then his face folded in on itself, like it couldn’t hold the weight anymore."They... they left her at the gate."