Empire of Lies and Flames (Ruins of Power #1)

Chapter 34

JAVIER

The room smelled of antiseptic and despair. Monitors beeped steadily and Hugo Alvaro lay in the hospital bed, his frame frail and sunken. His wrists were cuffed to the bed rails, thin arms barely able to lift under their weight. An oxygen mask covered his mouth, muffling any attempts at speech, though his eyes burned with the same venom I’d known all my life.

A police officer lingered by the doorway, casting a brief glance at me before stepping out. “You’ve got ten minutes,” he muttered, leaving us alone.

I let my bag drop to the floor with a dull thud, taking my time as I walked closer. I stood over him, staring down at the man who had once towered over me, his shadow swallowing my world. Now? Now, he looked like a ghost. A wasted, pathetic shell.

For a moment, I said nothing, letting the silence stretch, watching his fingers twitch weakly against the cuffs. His eyes narrowed, trying to summon the defiance that had once made me quake. It wasn’t there. Not anymore.

“You’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you?” I said, my voice low and sharp. “Waiting for me to show up. To give you some twisted sense of satisfaction that you still matter. That you still have power over me.”

His eyes flickered, his breathing shallow through the mask. The faintest sound escaped him—a rasp, a grunt. It didn’t matter. He couldn’t answer, and that was the best part.

I pulled a chair closer and sat, elbows resting on my knees as I leaned in. “You don’t get that satisfaction, Hugo. Not today. Not ever. You’ve lost.”

The corners of his mouth twitched as if he wanted to sneer, but all it did was distort the lines of his sunken face. His eyes followed me, pleading and hateful all at once.

“I’m not here to forgive you,” I continued, my tone calm, measured. “I’m here because you wrote me that letter. You dared to ask me to come here, to see you. Like you thought that after everything, I’d want closure. That I’d want to heal some imaginary wound you think we share.”

I laughed, the sound cold and hollow. “Closure? The only thing I want to close is this chapter of my life. The chapter where you even exist.”

His fingers clawed weakly at the sheets, a feeble attempt at defiance. I leaned back in the chair, watching him struggle to find any semblance of power. “You know,” I said, my voice soft, almost conversational, “for years, I wondered what I’d say to you if I ever saw you again. I rehearsed the words and replayed the arguments in my head. But now? Now I realize words don’t matter. Not to you. You only ever understood one thing—control. Power.”

I stood, pulling the small, capped syringe from my bag. Hugo’s eyes widened instantly, his breathing hitching as he stared at the object in my hand. For the first time in my life, I saw real fear in his eyes. The kind of fear he used to instill in me.

I stepped closer, holding the syringe up so the fluorescent lights glinted off its needle. His head jerked weakly against the pillow, panic evident in the way his chest heaved.

“You know, Hugo,” I said, my voice dropping to a whisper, “all these years, you were safe from me. Locked away. Untouchable. But today? Today you made the mistake of asking for me.”

His muffled grunts grew frantic as I reached for the IV line attached to his arm. He tried to pull away, but the cuffs held him in place. His eyes darted to the door, desperate for someone to intervene. No one was coming. I made sure of that.

“This,” I said, sliding the needle into the line, “is justice. For Mom. For Leila. For everything you took from us.”

The fluid slipped into the line, disappearing into his veins. His breathing hitched, then slowed, his eyes still locked on mine, wide with terror. I leaned in close, close enough that he could see the satisfaction in my eyes.

“Goodbye, Hugo," I whispered, my voice venomous, almost tender. “Rot in hell—where you’ve always belonged. And don’t worry, we’ll meet again. Because when I get there, I’ll ask the devil for a favor.” I leaned in closer, my smile cold, merciless. “I’ll kill you over and over until even he can’t tell where the devil ends and I begin.”

I straightened, watching as his struggles weakened, his body slackening against the restraints. The monitor’s beeping slowed, then stuttered.

I picked up my bag, slinging it over my shoulder as I turned for the door. I didn’t look back. There was nothing left to see.

By the time I stepped into my apartment, the silence clawed at me, sharp and unrelenting. Renée wasn’t here. Her absence was a living thing, hollowing me out, gnawing at what little of me remained. I shut the door with a dull thud and leaned against it, my chest heaving as I exhaled a shuddering breath. The air was heavy, suffocating. Every inch of the place screamed her absence, mocking the emptiness I couldn’t escape.

I dropped my keys onto the counter. The sound barely registered—too quiet to drown out the ghost of his voice. Hugo’s voice. His sneer, his venom, the way he’d always found the cracks in me and torn them wider. It rose like a storm in my head, dragging with it the past I had tried and failed to bury. My pulse thundered, my chest constricting as if his hands were around my throat again.

The apartment was too small, the walls pressing in as my breathing quickened. I ripped my shirt over my head and stumbled into the bathroom, desperate for escape. The shower blared to life, water scalding my skin, but I stayed under it. I needed it—needed something to burn hotter than the rage, the guilt, the memories.

I braced my hands against the cold tile, the water streaming over me, but nothing could drown the images forcing their way to the surface. My mother’s lifeless body sprawled on the kitchen floor. Leila’s sobs, her tiny frame trembling as she begged me not to leave her alone with him. And Hugo... his shadow had loomed over everything, a monster who never stopped, never relented.

My breathing hitched. I slammed a fist into the wall, the sharp jolt of pain grounding me for a fleeting second before the memories surged again. I could see myself as a teenager—scrawny, useless, frozen in fear while Leila screamed for help. The belt had cracked against her, the sound echoing in my ears even now, and I had done nothing. Nothing.

A sound tore from my throat, low and guttural, somewhere between a sob and a snarl. My hands curled into fists, nails biting into my palms as Hugo’s face filled my mind—his smirk, his laughter, the smugness that had haunted me long after I’d shoved him down those stairs. I thought killing him today would be enough, that it would silence him forever. But it wasn’t.

The memory of the knife in my hand surged back. The way it had felt, cold and slick, as I’d driven it into his flesh. The way his blood had run warm over my hands, pooling on the floor. The way his eyes had widened in shock before the paramedics came.

I’d wanted him to suffer, to feel every ounce of pain he had inflicted on us, but it wasn’t enough. Not then. Not now. Killing him had brought no peace—just a deeper, darker emptiness.

I punched the wall again, harder this time, the pain cutting through the chaos in my head. “You’re no better than him,” I muttered, the words trembling as they left my lips. My voice cracked, thick with loathing. “No, you’re worse.”

I looked down at my hands, water dripping from them like blood, and felt the weight of every life I had taken. Hugo’s blood wasn’t the first to stain them. It wouldn’t be the last. The thought made my stomach churn, shame coiling tight in my chest.

The water turned cold, but I stayed under it, my forehead pressed to the tiles. My body shook with the effort to keep it all in, to stop myself from crumbling completely. The cold seeped into my skin, but it couldn’t touch the fire inside, the inferno of rage, regret, and grief that refused to die down.

When I finally stepped out, the mirror was fogged, my reflection mercifully obscured. I didn’t want to see the man staring back at me. Renée’s absence hit me again like a fist to the ribs. She wasn’t here. I didn’t deserve her anyway.

I worked in silence, the soft scrape of the knife against the cutting board the only sound in the apartment. Each slice was unhurried and mechanical, my mind clinging to the rhythm like a lifeline. But no amount of chopping or focus could still the tremor in my hands. The blade slipped, catching awkwardly against the edge of a tomato, and I swore under my breath.

The storm in my head had no outlet, no quiet. It churned relentlessly, clawing at the walls I’d built to contain it.

The creak of the door behind me sent a jolt through my spine. I froze, my grip tightening on the knife. Her scent drifted to me before her voice did—jasmine and warmth, so distinctly her. It cut through the storm inside my head, but not in the way I needed.

Her footsteps were soft. Each one brought her closer.

“Javier?” Her voice was cautious, concerned.

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.

She came closer, her hand brushing my shoulder. The touch burned a whisper of warmth against the frozen void inside me. My fingers curled tighter around the knife until the strain ached.

“Javier,” she tried again, softer this time. “When did you get back?” she asked.

“Earlier,” I said curtly.

After a moment she asked. “Are you okay?”

The words were a knife, sharper than the one in my hand. I wanted her to stop, to leave, to save herself.

“I’m fine,” I managed, the lie hollow and brittle. I didn’t look at her.

“You’re not.” She didn’t move away. “Whatever it is, you don’t have to face it alone.”

Alone. She didn’t understand—I wasn’t alone. I was haunted. My father’s shadow loomed in every corner, in every breath, in every drop of my blood. And now, she was here, walking straight into the darkness, thinking she could pull me out.

The knife slipped again, slicing my finger. The sting was sharp, a jolt of reality. I hissed and dropped it on the counter.

“Javier!” she gasped, moving closer, her arms wrapping around me. Her warmth seeped into my back, the embrace too kind, too forgiving.

I stepped out of her hold quickly. “Don’t,” I said sharply, turning to face her for the first time.

She flinched but didn’t retreat. Her eyes searched mine, wide and filled with something I couldn’t bear—hope. I brushed past her to sit at the table.

She didn’t sit, hovering instead near the edge, her gaze heavy on me. “How was the trip?”

Her tone was cautious and that made me look up. My eyes met hers, and the pretense fell away. She knew. It was in the way her eyes softened, the way her lips pressed into a line as if bracing herself for my response. She knew it wasn’t a business trip. She knew more than that.

I laughed bitterly, the sound harsh and foreign even to me. “You already know the answer to that.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line. “I’m sorry,” she said, the words trembling with sincerity. “For everything you’ve been through. For what he did to you.”

She didn’t understand. She thought I was just a man broken by someone else. But the truth was so much worse.

“Stop,” I said, the word low and venomous. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Talk to me like I’m some tragic victim you can fix.” The anger spilled out before I could rein it in. “You think I’m a good man in a bad situation? I’m not, Renée. I’m the situation. I’m the problem. I’m the thing you should run from.”

She shook her head, stepping closer. “You’re not a problem, Javier. You’re—”

“Don’t,” I snapped, my voice cracking under the weight of my own desperation. “Don’t lie to yourself. Don’t lie to me. You think I’m different from him? From Hugo?”

“You are different,” she said firmly.

I laughed again, harsh and jagged. “I’m his blood, Renée. His son. Do you have any idea what that means? What kind of darkness is in me? What I’m capable of?”

She flinched, but her voice didn’t waver. “You’re not him. Whatever he did, whatever he was—you’re not that.”

“You don’t know me,” I said, my voice dropping to a near growl. “You don’t know what I’ve done. I destroy everything I touch, Renée. And you’re no exception.”

Her breath hitched, and for a moment, I saw the crack in her armor. But she didn’t back down.

“You deserve better,” I said, the words ripping from my throat. “Better than this. Better than me. I’m a monster, Renée. I’ll ruin you.”

Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, but she stood her ground. “You’re not a monster.”

“Stop lying to yourself!” I roared, slamming my fist against the table. “You think love is enough? It’s not. You think I can be the man you deserve? I can’t.”

Her silence was deafening, and it was then I realized I was trembling. My chest heaved with the weight of everything I couldn’t say. Everything I’d done.

“Leave,” I said, my voice breaking. “Get out. Don’t come back.”

“No,” she said softly, firmly.

I laughed bitterly, shaking my head. “Then you’re a fool.” I took a step closer, my face twisted with a cruel mask I didn’t recognize. “You think you can save me? You think I care about you? You’re just another thing for me to destroy.”

Her breath hitched again, but this time she turned, her steps slow and deliberate.

“Okay,” she whispered, her voice cracking.

And then she was gone.

The door clicked shut behind her, and the silence swallowed me whole. I sank to the floor, my head in my hands, choking on the weight of what I’d done.

I’d pushed her away. Just like I’d meant to. Just like I’d feared. Because monsters like me didn’t get to keep the light.