Chapter 1039:
For a suspended heartbeat, at the brink of death, it was simply these two siblings—setting aside every wound, every history, every scar—joining forces to pull her back from the void.
But Paola didn’t reach for him. Instead, her voice frayed to a whisper as she looked only at Rylie. “There’s nothing left of me. Let me fall. Let that be my apology.”
Rylie tightened her grip, her voice steadier than her shaking arms. “It doesn’t work that way, Paola. Dying isn’t repentance—it’s escape. If you want to make things right, you live. Do you hear me?”
“That fantasy that guilt disappears by dying isn’t redemption,” Marcus added.
Despite all she had done, she had been family to him once—even if she was only a cousin tangled in complicated loyalties. Seeing her collapse into this hollow, desperate state stirred a muted ache in him.
He reached down, bracing her shoulder as Rylie clung to her arm, and together they hoisted her upward, inch by inch, refusing to yield.
Once Paola’s feet found solid ground, Marcus pulled her to safety, then guided Rylie back from the crumbling edge, keeping both women out of danger.
Sirens split the air at that moment as ambulances from HaloFlow Hospital converged with fire trucks and police cruisers. Responders poured in to evacuate the crowd and secure the collapsing site in an orderly fashion.
𝗥𝖾аd 𝘸і𝘁𝗵𝗈𝗎𝘁 іոtеr𝗿u𝗉𝗍𝗂𝗈𝘯𝘴 𝗼ո 𝗴𝘢𝗹n𝘰𝘃е𝗅s.𝖼𝗈m
Outside, Terrance and the other Detour Inc. executives stood in handcuffs, giving hurried statements as officers recorded every word.
Laurel broke into sobs so wild they twisted her voice. “Paola and Gregg are still inside! My God—my daughter! Please, someone, please save them!”
Laurel’s desperate sobs trembled through the circle of police and rescue workers until a strained, sandpaper-rough voice rose behind her.
“Mom.”
The single syllable sliced through her crying. Laurel froze mid-breath, her body turning toward the sound as if pulled on a string.
With Marcus steadying her, Paola stood shakily on the pavement, her frame marked with cuts and bruises. Her eyes—dark, hollow, and thick with resentment—met Laurel’s, and that quiet, festering hatred sent a cold tremor down her spine.
“You… you…”
Paola brushed Marcus’s supporting hand aside and lurched toward her mother, determined to walk the final steps alone.
Whether it was her torn clothing, her blood-matted hair, or the raw fury rolling off her in waves, the people clustered nearby instinctively parted. Their gazes snapped toward her as if witnessing something volcanic.
“Are you disappointed that I’m still alive?” Paola asked, her tone flat but edged like broken glass.
Under the harsh lights, with police officers, medics, and dozens of shaken dinner guests crowding the scene, Laurel’s complexion blanched. She summoned a tight, shaky smile—far more strained than the tears she’d showcased moments earlier—and reached for her daughter’s hand.
“Paola! What nonsense is that? How could I ever be disappointed? I was terrified for you! Seeing you safe… I’m so relieved!”
She layered her guilt beneath frantic tenderness, but the tremor threading through her voice gave her away. The sharp, warning glint she shot Paola didn’t go unnoticed. She hadn’t expected the daughter who once bowed to every command to stand against her now.
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