Chapter 56

The weight of Malaya’s guilt was a crushing, physical force that prevented her from drawing a full breath. She had found Emilio’s address buried deep in an old HR file, and the moment the coordinates were secured, she fled her post without a second thought. The hospital’s demands had become meaningless. The urge to seek penance was an electrical current she could not turn off.

In the taxi, the city lights blurred into streaks that mirrored her frantic mind. She dialed Emilio’s number again and again, the automated voice confirming what she already feared. His phone had never been returned. They had cut him off completely.

She arrived at a quiet, unassuming residential street. The small, detached house felt intensely private and forgotten, almost suspended outside time. Everything was still, holding its breath. Malaya walked up to the door and knocked, the sound loud and hollow in the silence. When no one answered, she raised her hand to knock again, but the door suddenly groaned inward.

Emilio stood there, framed by the dim light of his living room. He looked profoundly aged, not by years but by trauma. His face was swollen and discolored, the faint yellow-green of deep bruises beginning to fade around his jaw and eyes. He looked through her, past her, utterly exhausted.

He didn’t bother about asking how she managed to find his address.

“You should not be here,” he said, his voice a low rasp thick with suspicion. He did not wait for her reply, turning immediately and walking deeper into the quiet house.

Malaya followed without waiting for permission. “What did they do to you?” she asked, rushing toward him and extending a hand she dared not touch.

“Malaya, you should not have come.”

“Listen, I am so sorry. I do not know what got into me. I did not mean to.”

“Do not worry. It is not your fault.”

His calm, compassionate acceptance, even after her betrayal, was worse than any rage. How could he still be kind after what she had done? It broke her defenses instantly.

“But you are not mad at me?” she pleaded, tears stinging her eyes. “Did you know it was me?”

Emilio stopped. His gaze settled on her, a steady, clear well of deep, agonizing disappointment that spoke without a single word.

“Then get angry,” she cried. “Say something. React.”

“Malaya, none of these matters anymore.”

“I told Williams what you did. I caused this,” Her voice cracked as she pointed at the bruises on his face.

“Malaya,” he snapped sharply.

“I want you to tell me everything you are holding back.”

“That is enough,” he shouted. The shout trembled out of him like something that had been trapped for too long. His knees buckled. Tears spilled. “That is enough, Malaya. Even if I told you how much you disappointed me, it would not change anything. I am the one paying for my sins.”

He slid down the wall until he sat on the floor, legs drawn to his chest, a hand covering his face. For the first time since she had met him, he looked defeated.

Malaya knelt beside him, the polished wood cool against her knees. “I resented you so much, and I still do. But I should not have… I will tell Williams that I was the one who spoke.”

Before she could finish, Emilio grabbed her wrist with surprising force.

“Do not do that,” he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “If she does not know it, was you, then do not even think of telling her. You would be condemning yourself.”

“But Makizal already came to my house,” she said. “He knows I am responsible for the info, and he told me to start coming back to work. I was about to quit.”

Emilio’s head snapped up. “Makizal went to your house?”

“Yes. This morning.”

“What did he say?”

Emilio looked terrified.

She remembered the threat in Makizal’s tone, the insinuations about Mr. Asanago. She could not bring herself to repeat it.
So she lied.

“He just told me to go back to work. He gave me my phone. That is all.”

Emilio looked at the time, then held Malaya. “What I am about to tell you, you never repeat.”

She nodded quickly.

“It is over for me.” He lifted the hem of his pants, revealing an electronic ankle monitor gripping his skin. “I cannot leave this house.”

Malaya gasped. “What are they going to do to you?”

Emilio shook his head. “I do not know. But I do not blame you for anything. I might have done the same in your place. But Williams,” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “She is unwell. That is why I kept quiet.”

Malaya blinked. “I thought your silence was because of Polo.”

Emilio shook his head. His silence, the true source of his fear, had not been cowardice. After noticing the widening cracks in Williams’s flawless exterior, he had repeatedly searched her office for a clue. He found it: a carelessly discarded prescription. What he saw confirmed his deepest concern about Williams’s instability. He had not wanted to rush her, fearing that worsening her health would put the entire hospital at risk, and if her lack of stability were ever confirmed, her career would be over. To protect her, he chose silence as a quiet cover-up.

“If you can disappear, do it. And now, I advise you to leave.”

Malaya could not hold back the tears that finally overflowed, tracing cold paths down her exhausted face. The weight in her heart was a physical ache. “Do you still trust me?”

He smiled, a genuine, heartbreaking contraction of his battered features. “I never stopped caring about you, Malaya. And if I am telling you this, it is because it might be the last time we see each other. Go, Malaya.”

He pushed her out and closed the door behind her firmly.

“Emilio,” she cried, slapping the wood, but he ordered angrily, his voice raw, “Go. They will be here soon.”

Malaya looked around, eyes wide and frightened, and hurried away, walking swiftly without looking back. On the street, she tried to force her thoughts into clear lines. Should she go home, pack her things, and run? Or risk everything by contacting the police? And what would she tell them?

She pulled out her phone and quickly typed a text to Rosa, apologizing profusely, overwhelmed by emotion. Her eyes blurred with tears. She was so engrossed in her screen that she failed to notice the dark sedan approaching until it braked silently right in front of her.

She barely had time to shove the phone back into her bag when the driver’s side window slid down.

“Get in,” he said.

Malaya recognized the face instantly. It was Beta. His tone was authoritative and allowed no argument. “Quickly.”

She opened the passenger door and stumbled in, silent and trembling. She could feel her pulse hammering in her temples. Had he bugged her phone? Her apartment?

Beta drove off smoothly, heading toward the main road. “Come on, relax. I am taking you home,” he said with a smile that reached only his mouth, leaving his eyes cold. His right hand rested casually on the wheel, while his left was partially hidden inside his jacket, the familiar, unsettling gesture of a man ready to grab an unseen object. “Malaya Montira, is that right?”

“Yes,” Malaya managed, barely a whisper.

“Good.” The silence that followed was suffocating, broken only by Beta’s low, efficient chatter into a barely visible earpiece.

Malaya was terrified. He had not asked where she lived, yet he was driving directly toward her street.

Finally, the car pulled up in front of her building. He turned to her with a pleasant smile.

“Here you are.”

She fumbled for the door handle, mumbling a thank you, desperate to escape.

“Wait, I forgot something.” Beta’s voice hardened. He handed her a small stack of photographs. “I thought it had been a while since you had seen them.”

Malaya took the photos. They were images of her family in Syria. Her knees went weak. The breath left her body in a shuddering gasp. She struggled to speak. “What do you want?”

“Shut up,” he retorted, the friendly mask dissolving into icy command. “Listen to me very carefully. I don’t know why Makizal spared you. He often takes pity on small, abused women. But if you ever start playing mini vigilante again, or if you dare to do more than your assigned job, the next time you see me, you will bitterly regret it. Is that clear?”

He took a slow, menacing breath, then smiled again.

Malaya nodded instantly.

“Good. So, we do not call the police. And we do not contact Emilio again. In fact, you do not contact anyone. You go to work, you go home, and you live your best life. Even if you consider traveling for a family visit, you already know what can be said or not.” He adjusted his jacket, which had folded near the concealed object. “Now, get out of my car.”

Malaya scrambled out immediately. She understood everything. She had been monitored since Makizal left her apartment. Beta had heard her entire conversation with Emilio and had deliberately waited, using the moment to observe and extract her, confirming the full extent of her knowledge.

From now on, she was collared.

Her life no longer belonged to her.

Obey their rules, or perish for justice.

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