The day after Rose identified the man, Diego paced furiously in his study, a storm brewing behind his dark eyes. He had barely slept, his thoughts consumed with rage, guilt, and a determination to make someone pay for what happened to her.

When he watched the surveillance footage Rose helped retrieve, his jaw clenched. One of the men who entered the room had a distinct scar above his eyebrow and a lazy eye features Diego would never forget.

He made one phone call. "Find him. I want him alive. And don't involve the police."

Within twenty-four hours, Diego's private investigator, Caleb, located the man. His name was Kelvin, a petty criminal with a string of minor offenses.

Diego and his men captured him in a dingy apartment on the outskirts of the city. The man didn’t resist much, mostly because he had no idea who was after him.

They brought him to a private location, one of Diego’s off-grid estates, where no one could hear anything, and no questions would be asked.

"You know who I am?" Diego asked, his voice like ice.

Kelvin spat blood from his mouth and mumbled, "Diego Edwards."

"Good," Diego said, walking closer. "Tell me who sent you."

Kelvin laughed bitterly, even as two of Diego’s guards pressed him down. "I don’t know who. I swear. I was just told to get rid of the girl."

"Get rid of her?" Diego repeated, fury rising. "So you drugged her, molested her, and dumped her to die like trash?"

“I don't know about that, I don't even know the girl”.

"It wasn’t meant to go that far," Kelvin cried. "They just said to scare her... keep her away."

"Who?" Diego yelled. "Give me a name!"

"I don’t know! They called from a blocked number, paid in cash. I didn’t see a face."

Diego’s heart thudded. He saw the fear in Kelvin's eyes. But he didn’t care. Not anymore.

"You hurt someone I love," Diego said.

"You don’t get to walk away."

He pulled out his gun, aimed it at Kelvin’s chest, and fired. The body slumped to the floor. Blood pooled beneath it, but Diego didn’t flinch.

His guards stood in shocked silence, but they knew better than to question him.

"Clean this up," Diego said coldly. "No one hears about this. Ever."

Diego returned to the city without a word. Not to Rose. Not to the police. Not even to his father.

To the world, everything continued as planned.

***

Back at home, Rose remained unaware of the manhunt. She was still recovering, trying to reassemble her shattered world and pretending for the sake of everyone that she was okay.

The wedding preparations resumed with heightened security. Tailors came to the house instead of Rose going out. Diego had doubled the guards at the gates. Even her mother noticed how tight-lipped and watchful he had become.

"Are you sure you’re okay?" her mother asked one evening.

"Yes, Mama," Rose whispered, though her hands trembled.

Abigail came over daily, offering laughter and distraction. She never asked about what happened but always looked at Rose with eyes full of silent support.

Diego acted as though everything was moving forward smoothly, but he was different, darker, more protective. Every time he looked at Rose, there was pain and unspoken promises behind his gaze.

No one knew that a life had been taken in her name. No one knew Diego had crossed a line.

The invitations went out. The venue was booked. The guest list was finalized. Diego’s father, proud and impressed, called it a symbol of maturity.

"You’ve become a man," he said over lunch. "This marriage will change everything."

But only Diego knew how much had already changed.

And only Diego knew what he had done to protect it.

But inside, Rose was breaking.

It started small.

The smell of eggs made her nauseous. She woke up with dry heaves. Her breasts ached. She felt fatigued but brushed it off as stress from the recent trauma.

Then, for the third time in a week, she found herself holding her stomach in the morning, eyes welling with tears as her mind drifted to that night in the dark room.

Diego noticed.

He had been watching her closely. Her silences were longer. Her eyes clouded with sadness. Her laughter faded fast.

That morning, when she rushed to the bathroom yet again, he knocked once and entered gently.

“Rose… This has been happening too often. I’m taking you to the hospital.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but he gave her a look that silenced her. He held her hand all the way there.

The doctor smiled gently as he returned with the test results. "Congratulations," he said, offering Rose the paper.

She stared at the words like they were in another language.

Pregnant???

Her heart scattered.

Suddenly the room was spinning, the air too heavy to breathe. She gripped Diego’s arm, tears rolling freely down her face.

She didn’t speak the entire drive home. Diego tried to comfort her, but she turned her face to the window.

That night, she cried herself to sleep. Diego watched helplessly from the edge of the bed.

She was pregnant.

She was going to have a baby.

But the thought that tore her apart wasn't the pregnancy itself, it was the unanswered question lingering in her heart: Whose child was it?

Diego didn’t ask. He didn’t push. He simply tightened his jaw, poured himself a drink, and returned to work planning the wedding.

He wouldn’t back out now. The world already knew about the engagement. The press was hungry for every detail. The date was set. The venue was booked.

He would marry Rose.

Even if the child inside her might not be his.

Even if she could barely meet his gaze.

Even if he needed whiskey each night just to breathe.

They had both crossed a line where silence became their language.

A haunting, echoing silence.

***

Diego goes to a bar alone, without his driver or any guard. He orders drinks and he drinks himself to stupor.

Suddenly, Julia walked in smiling sheepishly towards Diego.