Hania suddenly shoved Sana. Staggering backward, Sana barely managed to stay on her feet, but her voice remained firm.
"Mom, I didn't.."
"Don't call me that! I don't have a daughter like you!" Hania's voice cracked as she screamed. "If it weren't for you, your father wouldn't be dead! If it weren't for you, the Vellore family wouldn't be in ruins! Get out! I don't want to see your face!"
Each word was filled with hysteria, overflowing with pain and hatred.
"No! That's not true!"
Sana's heart twisted painfully. She stepped forward, reaching out to grab her mother's hand, but Hania flung it away without hesitation.
This was her mother, the woman who gave birth to her and raised her.
So why did she hate her so much?
"You're a curse! Why did I even give birth to you? Why aren't you the one lying in the ground instead of your father? Why are you here now? Go back to being the CEO's pampered wife! Or are you waiting until you've dragged me and your brother into the grave too?"
Hania's finger trembled as she pointed at her like she was a sworn enemy, not her own child.
"Mom, I…"
Sana's eyes filled with tears. She bit her lips tightly, trying to hold herself together. But before she could say another word, Hania's voice cut her off again, sharp and vicious.
"I'm not your mother!"
Then came the slam of the door.
The deafening bang left Sana standing alone, shut out, once again, by her own family.
Why wasn't she the one who died?
Why?
She had made the mistake, and yet someone else had paid the price.
Her body swayed, barely holding up. Her face was ghostly pale.
"Why… why wasn't I the one who died…"
She whispered under her breath, dazed, walking forward aimlessly like a soul stripped of life.
SCREECH.
A sharp screech of tires cut through the air. Sana looked up, her expression blank.
And then everything went dark as she collapsed.
The black Lamborghini stopped just inches from where she had fallen.
Samuel Bonovel rushed out of the car. Seeing her lying motionless on the ground, his clear brown eyes flickered with alarm and something deeper, concern, perhaps, or regret.
"Sana?"
He gently patted her face. When she didn't respond, he quickly picked her up and carried her into the car.
…
Late at night, a black Bentley rolled to a silent stop in front of a villa.
Enrique stepped out, leaning wearily against the car door. His handsome face was shadowed with exhaustion, the cold of the night still clinging to him. He lit a cigarette, exhaling slowly as his deep eyes settled on the second-floor window, barely open.
Pitch black, just like it always was.
For seven years, he couldn't remember how many times he had stood here. He didn't even know why he kept coming. He never went inside. He just stood there, looking at that window, quietly imagining what she looked like when she slept.
But tonight… something pulled him forward.
This time, he stepped inside.
"Is the sir back?"
Mrs. He emerged at the sound of the door. Seeing Enrique's tall frame, she paused in surprise.
He didn't respond. He only loosened his tie as he moved toward the stairs, his voice low and cold.
"Has Madam been feeling better?"
Mrs. He looked startled. "Madam… Madam hasn't come home."
Enrique froze. His steps stopped, and even the hand undoing his tie stilled.
"She hasn't been back these past two days?"
His voice was colder than ice, sending a chill through Mrs. He. She nodded nervously.
"N-No… she hasn't come home since the day before yesterday."