Quentin stationed guards at the hospital, but by the time he and Amanda reached the main house, Clark had already vanished.
The two felt a growing sense of dread, but there was little they could do except gather samples of the suspected toxins and rush them back to the hospital for the doctors to analyze. After a grueling day and night of navigating the crisis, Amanda was so exhausted that she fell into a deep sleep the moment they returned to the villa.
Quentin watched her for a moment, ensuring she was resting peacefully, before quietly stepping out onto the balcony to make a call.
"What?"
Derrick's tone was as clipped as ever. Quentin didn't waste time with pleasantries. "I need you to find someone for me."
Derrick sneered. "Do you really consider me your personal bodyguard now?"
"Will you do it?" Quentin's voice was ice.
Derrick sighed, a trace of resignation in his voice. "You always get what you want. Who is it?" He briefly wondered why every exchange of benefits with Quentin felt like he was the one losing out.
Quentin took a deep breath. "Clark, Butler Wayne's nephew. Hurry. I'm afraid Javier is already moving to silence him."
"Got it."
After hanging up, Quentin stood motionless for a long time. He had always known Javier was scum, but he hadn't imagined his brother could be so depraved as to murder the one man who had loved him unconditionally since childhood. He turned back toward the bed, his gaze deepening as he watched Amanda sleep.
Amanda's sleep was far from peaceful. She was trapped in a long, suffocating dream of endless darkness.
She kept running toward a distant flicker of light, her legs heavy and her breath coming in ragged gasps. Just as she reached the glow, the scene shifted. She found herself standing before a coffin. Inside lay her brother—pale, cold, and still. The air was filled with the sounds of humiliation and the mournful cries of her parents.
"No! This isn't true!" she screamed in the dream, tears streaming down her face. She covered her ears, trying to block out the agony. "I was resurrected! My family is safe! My brother isn't dead!"
But the dream refused to break. Suddenly, the figure in the coffin changed. It was no longer her brother, but the elder Mr. Harris.
"You aren't dead!" Amanda shrieked.
In reality, Quentin noticed her distress immediately. Her body was trembling, and she was muttering incoherently through her tears. Panic surged through him as he tried to wake her.
"Amanda! Amanda, wake up!"
In the dream, the cries faded as she forced her eyes open. She woke up with a start, clutching her head and sobbing hysterically. "No, no!"
The fear was so absolute it threatened to consume her. She had come back to life to fix things, not to bring disaster upon other innocent people.
Quentin grabbed her shoulders, his voice loud and commanding to break through her terror. "Amanda!"
The sound of his voice finally reached her. She looked at him, her chest heaving as she recognized his familiar face. "Quentin..."
His throat tightened. He pulled her close, kissing her forehead gently as he wiped away her tears. "I'm here. It was just a nightmare. Don't be afraid."
Amanda hugged him with everything she had. If they had been a moment later—if anything happened to Mr. Harris—she knew she would never forgive herself. Once her breathing stabilized, Quentin pulled back slightly to look at her.
"What did you dream about?" he asked softly.
Amanda blinked her swollen eyes. "I dreamed of your father... in a coffin."
Quentin's expression darkened. He kissed her forehead again. "Dad is going to be okay. Don't let your thoughts go to such dark places; it's not good for you."
Amanda took a deep, shaky breath. "Quentin... have you thought about what kind of ending you're going to give Javier?"
Quentin's pupils narrowed into obsidian points. "I have already set his ending in motion."
Seeing her lips part as if to argue, he gently pressed a finger against them. "I told you not to get involved in this. As long as I am here, you only need to live a happy life. I will handle the filth Javier left behind. I don't want my wife's hands to get dirty." To him, she was radiant—someone to be cherished and protected from the ugliness of his world.
"But the dream felt so real," she whispered, her eyes filling with fresh tears. "Quentin, I don't want him to have an easy death. If you can, torture him. Make him pay for what he did to Dad."
Quentin cupped her face in his hands, wiping the moisture from her cheeks. "I will not let Javier or Clark get away with hurting him. I promise you, I will make them beg for death in the worst possible way."
She looked at him with an intensity that burned. "You had better keep that promise. Or I will never forgive you."
He kissed her one last time. "This is one promise I will never break."