Chapter 970:
His gaze stayed locked on Brad, sharp and accusing. “Haven’t you ever questioned it? You risk your life on every mission—bleed, take bullets, dodge assassins—and for what? The pay barely covers the scars. Don’t you ever feel bitter about that?”
Juan’s eyes narrowed as his words cut deeper. “The Morgan name didn’t rise through battlefields, but through your grandfather’s business empire. And you—even at the top of the ranks—what have you gained besides a shiny medal and an empty title? Doesn’t that feel unjust?”
Juan’s lips curled into a sneer. “Of course it does. Deep down, you want what they have—the comfort, the luxury. Don’t you?”
A low, cynical laugh slipped out of him. “Why else do you pile on so many roles that you barely have time to rest? The world hails you as a hero, worships your image, but look around, Brad. One well-placed lie, and those same people would turn on you in a heartbeat.”
He leaned forward slightly, voice dripping with contempt. “Tell me, is it really worth it?”
Brad listened without a hint of agitation, his expression steady.
“I’ve been asked that more times than I can count,” he said, calm and unflinching. “But the reason I put on this uniform has never changed. I did it to safeguard our borders, not for wealth or applause.”
His gaze never wavered. “People chase what they want. Mine has always been the safety of the nation—not personal glory, not sentiment.”
From beginning to end, he carried the weight of his duty with quiet certainty.
Public scorn, false accusations, the shifting tides of opinion—none of it mattered to him.
His only allegiance was to the land he had sworn to defend.
Juan stared at him, struck silent by the unwavering conviction reflected in Brad’s eyes.
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He took one last drag of his cigar, burning it down to the filter before stubbing it out.
Then, pushing himself up from the sofa, he said evenly, “I’m going to the restroom.”
He paused in the doorway, his voice softer now, edged with weary resignation. “If life were fair, my wife wouldn’t have to turn against her own mother for my sake.”
Inside the restroom, he lifted the lid of the toilet tank, retrieving a concealed phone and a small handgun he had hidden for emergencies.
His hands moved with grim purpose as he typed out a brief message and sent it.
Then he pried out the memory card and dropped it into the toilet, watching it vanish with the flush.
He drew a slow, steady breath, flicking off the gun’s safety with deliberate calm.
A sharp gunshot rang through the villa, its echo lingering in the air.
When Brad forced the door open, Rylie froze at the sight before her.
Blood and fragments of brain matter stained the wall, the air thick with the acrid stench of gunpowder.
It was already over.
Juan had ended his own life.
Brad stared at the motionless body, his brow furrowing as disbelief tightened his features. “How could this happen?” he murmured under his breath, confusion threading through his tone. “He wanted to live.”
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