Once the dam of her emotions broke, there was no stopping the flood. Amanda poured all the pain and resentment she had suppressed for two lifetimes into her tears, "releasing" the poison until she had nothing left.
The toll on her body was immediate. By the morning of the second day of the New Year, her fever had spiked to dangerous levels and wouldn't break. Quentin, consumed by a mix of worry and guilt, rushed her to the hospital.
"The patient was exposed to the cold for too long, and combined with extreme mental stress and agitation, a high fever was inevitable," the middle-aged doctor explained seriously. Quentin sat motionless by Amanda's bed, his eyes fixed on her pale face. "Once the IV fluids are finished, she should begin to stabilize."
Quentin nodded dismissively, signaling for the doctor to leave. As the door clicked shut, giving them privacy, he looked at Amanda. Her face was gaunt from the fever, her delicate eyebrows knit together in a fitful sleep. He reached out, his thumb gently smoothing the furrow between her brows.
"Amanda... I'm sorry."
He didn't know exactly when his love for her had become so calculated, a game of loss and gain. Even though he knew she was fragile, he had ruthlessly employed psychological manipulation to force her hand.
Everything at the temple had been a setup. He had intentionally lingered, intentionally "stepped away" to take a call, knowing Javier was lurking in the shadows. He needed to push her to the breaking point. He had used a form of "cold violence"—the silent treatment—knowing that in her unstable state, she would crumble and reveal her secrets just to regain his affection.
He had succeeded; he now knew the depth of her hatred for Javier. But seeing her lying weak and broken in a hospital bed made the victory taste like ash.
"Amanda, you're so wrong to trust me," he whispered into the quiet room.
Through the haze of her fever-dream, Amanda heard his troubled voice. She slowly blinked her eyes open, looking at him with blurry confusion. "Quentin?"
He immediately leaned in, clutching her hand. "How do you feel?"
Amanda didn't have the strength to squeeze back. Her voice was a mere thread. "Hug me."
Quentin forced a smile, climbing onto the edge of the narrow bed to pull her into his arms. "I'm here. Go back to sleep."
Amanda snuggled into his chest, her voice muffled. "Are you still angry with me?"
Quentin's heart constricted with a sharp, physical pain. He took a jagged breath. "I'm not angry. Not now, and never again. I promise."
"Promise?" she murmured, her eyes drifting shut.
"I promise."
He waited until her breathing evened out into a deep sleep before leaning down to press a lingering kiss to her forehead. "Just this once, Amanda," he muttered. "I will never deceive you again. Forgive me."
(Note: Many years later, when a healthy and calm Amanda would eventually piece together his scheme, she would kick him out of the bedroom for an entire month as punishment for his "cunning and scheming.")
The Dark Side of the City
While Amanda slept, a different kind of darkness was unfolding in a smoke-filled room at a bustling bar. Two men sat opposite each other, the air thick with the smell of cheap tobacco and expensive bourbon.
The man holding a cigarette was imposing, a long, jagged scar running down his face toward a milky, sightless eye. "You did well on this shipment, Javier," he chuckled, the scar twisting into a horrifying grimace.
Javier sipped his wine, a cold smile on his face. "When I'm given an assignment, I don't care to be careless."
"Hah! Don't be so humble. I knew you had potential." The one-eyed man burst into a raspy laugh. "By the way, that matter you asked for? It's settled. Go check for yourself."
Excitement flashed in Javier's eyes. This was the leverage he had been waiting for. "Thank you. I'll take my leave."
Javier followed a guard to the top floor, an area guarded by silent, hulking men. At the door to a private suite, a man stepped out, looking refreshed and smug. He handed Javier a USB drive with a knowing nod and disappeared into the shadows.
"Stay outside," Javier commanded his men before entering the room.
A sickly-sweet, medicinal scent hit his nose—the smell of drugs and despair. In the center of the room, a girl lay naked and limp on the bed, her eyes vacant and red from crying. When she saw him, her vacant stare transformed into a look of pure shock.
"It's you!"
Javier laughed, using his foot to kick a discarded blanket over her. "Surprised? Hahaha!"
"You bastard! You set me up!" The girl tried to lunged at him, heedless of her state, but Javier was faster. He delivered a brutal slap that sent her reeling back onto the mattress.
"Don't play the victim with me," Javier sneered. "Using drugs, participating in group sex... do you really think you're still a 'good girl'?"
"Because you trapped me! You forced those pills on me!" she screamed.
Javier simply waved the USB drive in front of her face. "So what? What can you possibly do about it now?"
The girl collapsed, her spirit breaking. "What... what do you want?"
Javier's eyes gleamed with a predatory light. "It's simple. I want the Highland Project, and I want you to be my mole inside the Solis corporation."
"You're insane!" she gasped. "If I'm caught, I'm dead!"
Javier shrugged, tucking the drive into his pocket. "That's your problem. Cooperate, or this footage goes viral tomorrow. The choice is yours."
The girl wept, her tears a mixture of rain and hatred. "You'll never be half the man Quentin is, you monster!"
The smile vanished from Javier's face, replaced by a cold, cruel glint. "You know... I really hate being compared to him."
He slowly unbuckled his leather belt. The girl's eyes widened in terror as she tried to scramble to the corner of the bed.
"What are you doing? No!"
Javier didn't answer. He snapped the belt tight in his hands and brought it down with a vicious force.
"Those who like to make comparisons," he whispered over her screams, "need to be taught a lesson."
For a long time, the only sounds in the room were the girl's agonizing cries and the sound of Javier's manic, excited laughter.