Chapter 55

Rouffie finally opened his eyes. He tried to eat the fruits his sister had brought, but every swallow was a struggle. The doctor adjusted the machines beside him and checked his vitals.

“If everything stays normal, he can be discharged as early as tomorrow morning.”

Yada’s face lit up with relief.

“So, you wanted to leave us so soon?” Pako teased lightly.

Rouffie forced a weak smile, then looked directly at him, cutting straight to what mattered. “Yo… is she okay?”

He did not use her real name, but Pako knew he meant Kannika.

Pako, whose real name was Jeremiya, remained tragically silent. His heavy look was an answer in itself. Yada, standing beside them, suddenly felt a wave of crushing guilt. She was celebrating her brother’s recovery while Kannika was slowly fading away, bearing the full and devastating weight of the mission’s failure.

Before Rouffie could insist, the door swung open with quiet authority. A severe-looking man entered, flanked by two officers. Their badges hung around their necks.

“Internal Service. Please leave us alone with the patient.”

The tone was dry and rigid. Yada and Pako exchanged a startled glance before stepping out.

In the hallway, the worry Yada had been suppressing erupted. “What’s happening? Why are they here?” she whispered fiercely.

“It is standard protocol,” Pako tried to reassure her, his gaze avoiding hers. “They just want to know what transpired.”

Yada shook her head, unconvinced. She had been briefed on the mission’s regulations. “They committed an infraction. Will they be in trouble? I need to know the risks. My brother and Kannika, what fate awaits them?”

“We should not be talking about this here,” Pako warned, casting a glance down the corridor.

“Please, he is my brother. Clarify it for me!” she pleaded.

Pako sighed, running a hand over his tired face. “Listen, you already know an agent cannot act without their chief’s explicit order. Your brother should never have been on that mission.”

“But it succeeded.”

“If the local police had not intervened, they would both be dead,” Pako retorted, his voice rising slightly before he checked himself. “But your brother has your father, and…”

“Kannika has no one,” Yada finished. The statement wounded her deeply. Jeremiya’s silence confirmed everything. Her father’s influence would move mountains, ensuring Rouffie’s mistake was buried and his career salvaged. Kannika, however, a girl without the protection of family or wealth, faced total disgrace. Their profession did not pity disposable agents.

Yada swallowed hard, remembering something else. “Jeremiya, can I ask you a question? It is about Kannika.”

He nodded cautiously.

“Why is Kannika’s adopted sister in foster care?”

“No, Yada. That is highly confidential.”

“If I wanted to, I could find out. But you are her friend. I am asking you because it matters.”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Just tell me. I will explain later. You owe me this. Remember when I helped you.”

Pako felt the familiar and heavy anchor of indebtedness. Yada had saved his career after a disastrous drunk-driving incident, making it possible for him to continue working. He was trapped.

After a long and agonizing pause, Pako risked revealing the secret. He made her promise an oath of silence, then explained the long and painful battle Kannika had fought to regain custody of her adopted sister after their mother’s death. No relatives to take her sister. No stability in her occupation. Constant travel. Hidden identities. A profile that made her legally unfit to raise a child.

Yada’s eyes glistened. Everything was clear and damning. Not only was Kannika’s custody battle a constant, losing fight, but now, with the disciplinary action looming, she risked an irreversible and permanent sanction. Yada looked back at the closed door of Kannika’s room, overwhelmed by a profound guilt.

Across town, Malaya returned to the Niran Kai Medical Centre, her heart beating a frantic rhythm against her ribs. The fear Makizal had implanted was working. Williams’s executive block was eerily calm, her office door closed.

Malaya approached cautiously and entered the outer office. Rosa was there, not working, but slowly and meticulously tidying her desk. Rosa glanced at her, then returned to her work, cold and distant.

“Rosa, did you get your phone back?” Malaya whispered, trying to bridge the gap.

“Yes, they gave it back to me. I assume they gave you yours back, too,” Rosa replied curtly, stacking papers without meeting Malaya’s eye.

Malaya sensed the monumental shift. “Yes. And did they tell you anything?”

“Even if they had, you would be the last person I would tell.”

“Rosa… what is wrong?”

Rosa finally turned, her gaze fierce and burning. “You did not come back to the hospital to work, did you?” She placed her phone deliberately on the polished mahogany desk. “You came back to get justice for yourself.”

Malaya flinched, recognizing the realization in Rosa’s eyes. She knew. Malaya was responsible. “Rosa, I…”

“Good for you,” Rosa added bitterly.

“What? Did you want those men to get away with everything?”

“So, your solution was this? To destroy everything in your path?”

“Rosa, I do not understand you.”

Rosa’s voice was strained, brimming with sudden and raw emotion. “I do not condone what Dr. Emilio did, but he confided in you like a friend. And you abandoned him, you judged him, and you decided to expose him publicly, condemning him without mercy.”

“I did what was right.”

“If you loved justice so much, you should have started by seeking justice for yourself. Where is the person who harmed you? Did you report him?”

The question sliced through Malaya like a blade.

“Why did you not seek your own justice before forcing others into a war they were not ready for?”

Malaya stood there, silent and trembling.

“I came to your aid,” Rosa continued. “I cared for you. I trusted you. And you used me. You used my phone. You used my information. And all I got was a knife in my back.”

“Rosa, I…”

“Enough.” Rosa stepped away, tears in her eyes. “Maybe Emilio was trying to protect those women for a reason. You stirred a wound they were not prepared to reopen.”

She walked toward the exit. Malaya hurried after her. “Rosa, please. I am sorry.”

“Tell me something. Why did you really come back?”

“To work,” Malaya whispered.

Rosa nodded once. “Well then. Congratulations.”

She took a shaky breath. “As for me… I am fired.”

“What? No, how? Why?”

Rosa looked at her with crushing disappointment. “You know why.”

She turned and left the hospital.

Malaya felt her legs weaken. She returned to the office and collapsed onto Rosa’s vacant chair, burying her face in her hands. Rosa was not tidying documents; she was handing over the last of her files. Rosa, the woman who had opened the doors when no one would hire her, who had been her anchor when she was sinking, who defended her, sheltered her, and loved her, barely knowing her, was gone. Blinded by a self-serving vengeance disguised as justice. Now she had not only inherited the most prestigious position but had ejected the only person who genuinely cared for her.

Yes, Makizal had returned Rosa’s phone and searched her apartment, allowing her to put the pieces together: Malaya’s sudden curiosity about hospital rumors, the suspicious attention to Emilio’s documents, and the moment of inattention when her phone was compromised. Rosa realized the betrayal had been deliberate, calculated, and professional.

Malaya had forgotten one immutable truth: the circle of elites does not operate by ordinary rules. They discard and elevate based solely on utility and survival. Williams, fair but ruthlessly influential, had chosen to fire Rosa for an unknown reason.

Wiping away her tears, another thought struck her. Where was Emilio?

She did not even know where he lived; their relationship was confined to the office. The terrifying realization crashed over her. Everyone knew her, but she knew no one. She had never listened when Emilio spoke of his father, never known this was his father’s final resting place until he confided in her.

“Emilio…” She sighed, heavy with regret for not truly listening to the story of the only person who knew everything.

She stood and headed toward Polo’s office, hoping he could help.

“Turn around,” the guard posted outside Polo’s now guarded door commanded flatly.

Only then did the weight of her actions crash fully onto her shoulders. She had wanted to do good, but without the consent or counsel of those she claimed to protect.

Desperate, she searched the office for any information that could lead her to Emilio’s home.

She was determined to fix what she had broken.

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