Chapter Fifty-One
Miranda
Sometime later, I woke up to angry shouts echoing faintly from down the hall, tension crackling in the air and making my heart thud faster in my chest. The cold sheets tangled around my legs, and the harsh glare from the overhead lights stabbed at my eyes.
As I tried to orient myself, a familiar voice drifted through the haze—Cesar’s, strained with exhaustion.
“They’ve been at it for a while now,” he muttered, the worry in his tone unmistakable.
Blinking away sleep, I turned my head and saw Cesar slouched in a chair beside my bed.
He looked paler than I remembered, his skin drawn tight over the sharp lines of his face, shadows pooling under his eyes like bruises.
The air smelled faintly of antiseptic, and with every labored breath, I could sense his fatigue—his body slack, as if he was fighting to stay upright through sheer willpower.
Concern rippled through me, and I reached for his hand, my fingers trembling as I checked his pulse—steady, but weak.
“I’m fine, sister,” he said softly, giving my hand a reassuring pat, though his voice betrayed the effort it cost him.
“You should still be in the hospital,” I whispered, the sharp scent of fear and worry nearly choking me as I imagined Cesar pushing himself past his limits.
He managed a tired smile. “And leave my brothers to fend for themselves? I don’t think Chicago could survive.
Besides, someone needs a clear head to help Massimo through the mess he’s made.
” His words hung heavy between us, the mention of Massimo twisting something sharp inside me.
I glanced away, staring at the Monet painting Sinclair had placed in my room for me, the memory of Massimo’s betrayal still fresh. I couldn’t bear to relive it.
“I don’t want to talk about him.” My voice came out rough and brittle as I leaned back against the soft plush pillows, crossing my arms tightly over my chest, trying to hold myself together.
Cesar’s voice was gentle but firm, his words carrying a weight I couldn’t ignore. “You’re going to have to talk to him eventually, Miranda. My brother is, if anything, tenacious when it comes to something he wants. And make no mistake; he wants you.”
I couldn’t help the bitterness that crept into my reply. “He lied to me.”
Cesar smirked, not denying it. “Yes, he did.”
The hurt was still fresh, and I listed the consequences one by one, my anger simmering beneath each word. “He cost me my spot in my medical program.”
Cesar nodded, his expression serious now. “He did that too.”
The memories stung. “He had me arrested!”
Cesar gave a wry shrug, his attempt at humor unable to mask the gravity of the situation. “I never said he was smart.”
I pressed my lips together, swallowing down the ache in my chest. The silence stretched, thick and uneasy, broken only by the soft hum of the city outside my window. For a moment, neither of us spoke, the weight of everything left unsaid settling over the room like a heavy blanket.
My hands trembled as I spoke, my voice barely above a whisper.
“I can’t live like that, Cesar. I’m not cut out for your world.
Maybe I am simple-minded, but all I wanted was to go to school, graduate, and become a doctor.
I wanted to spend my life helping others, not getting tangled up in revenge.
I don’t understand your world, and honestly, I’m not sure I want to. ”
Cesar let out a sympathetic sigh and leaned forward, his tone casual but warm.
“Look, Miranda, life’s messy. But you don’t have to face it alone.
You’re anything but simple—trust me. You’re one of the sharpest, toughest women I know.
You’d have to be, being married to Massimo.
” He paused, voice softening. “You both are carrying a lot of hurt and pain that’s unnecessary, and if you don’t let it out, it’ll eat you up inside until you don’t even recognize yourselves anymore. ”
I drew my arms tighter around myself, my words clipped and tense. “How can I trust him when he lied to me about everything?”
Cesar’s eyes softened, and for the first time tonight, he seemed older—worn down by the weight of secrets and regrets.
“Trust isn’t something you’re owed, Miranda.
It’s something that’s rebuilt, brick by brick, even after it’s shattered.
You don’t have to forgive him all at once, or ever, but you have to give yourself the chance to heal.
” He looked at me earnestly. “You deserve to find peace, with or without him.”
A lone tear rolled down my cheek, and I roughly wiped it away, frustration prickling beneath my skin. My throat tightened, the ache settling in my chest as if my ribs were closing in. For a moment, I wanted to disappear, to escape the truth unraveling around me.
“I assume he’s here,” I commented, my voice barely holding steady, craving answers while dreading them at the same time.
Cesar glanced nervously at the door as the shouting grew louder, his fingers drumming an anxious rhythm on his knee before nodding.
“He’s outside, arguing with your father.
” His eyes flickered with something like pity, and I suddenly felt the fragile thread connecting us—two bystanders in a conflict that seemed to have started long before either of us knew.
Looking carefully at Cesar, I asked, “Did you know? I mean, about Mr. Sinclair before Massimo even met me?”
“Yes,” Cesar simply said, owning his part in my misery. “I gave the order to seduce you.”
I dropped my head back onto the pillows and moaned, squeezing my eyes shut. My heart pounded so hard I thought it might burst, cold dread sinking into my stomach like ice. The reality pressed down on me, as heavy as the silence.
Cesar winced, shifting in his seat as though the truth hurt him, too. “I am sincerely sorry for my part in your pain, Miranda,” he said quietly. “Had I known you knew absolutely nothing, I would never have given Massimo that order.”
“So, it’s true then? He’s my real father?”
“Miranda, you are the biological daughter of the Devil himself, Crispin Sinclair. We... Massimo never wanted you to find out like this.” He hesitated, his words catching. “Sinclair is very particular when it comes to people he claims, and sweetheart, he’s claimed you.”
I stared at Cesar, struggling to process what he was trying to say. “What does that mean?”
Cesar took a deep breath and then lowered the boom.
“Crispin Sinclair is not an easy man. Once he decides someone belongs to him—family, business, whatever—he’ll protect you, but he’ll also control you.
It’s his version of love, twisted and possessive.
My brothers and I tried to shield you from him for as long as we could, but now.
..” Cesar glanced away, shame and worry etched across his face.
“Now, Sinclair will make sure you never leave his orbit. You’re not just his daughter. You’re his legacy.”
A loud thump snapped both our heads toward the door.
Cesar shifted to stand, but I was faster, flinging back the sheets and springing out of bed.
I shot him a glare, jabbing a finger in his direction.
“You stay put.” But Cesar’s stubbornness wouldn’t let him stay away, no matter how much he needed rest. I stormed to the door and flung it wide open, catching Silas and Guilio struggling to separate Massimo and Sinclair—who were rolling on the floor, fists raised and faces twisted with fury.
Frustration coiled in my chest, my hands trembling as I seized an expensive vase from the side table. With a desperate cry for order, I raised it high and smashed it against the floor, shards exploding in all directions—a sharp punctuation to the chaos.
Massimo and Sinclair froze, fists still clutching at collars. The crash echoed down the hallway; for a suspended moment, we all stared at the destruction, tension crackling in the air.
“That was a Ming Dynasty vase, Miranda,” Sinclair groaned as he got to his feet and adjusted his ripped suit.
“Now it’s garbage,” I snapped, refusing to be dismissed as I strode toward them.
I leveled a pointed glare at Sinclair, refusing to let him off the hook.
“You are too old to be fighting,” I declared, my frustration boiling over as his eyes widened.
Then, turning my attention to Massimo, I jabbed my finger into his chest, my anger sharp and unyielding.
“And you are still on my shit list! Just what in the hell are you doing here?”
Scowling, Massimo took hold of his broken nose, wincing as he snapped it back into place before glaring at Sinclair. The tension in the hall hung thick as fog before Massimo finally spoke, his tone edged with tension. “We need to talk.”
I bristled, folding my arms tightly across my chest. “I have nothing to say to you.” My words came out sharper than intended, the weight of recent revelations making it impossible to hide my pain.
Massimo’s jaw clenched, his voice dropping to a rough whisper. “You are my wife,” he sneered angrily. “Or have you forgotten?” His words lingered, a bitter reminder of everything that bound—and divided—us.
“How can I forget? You won’t let me. Everywhere I go, you turn up!”
Guilio, usually so quick to act, hesitated now, uncertainty etched across his face as he hung back—unsure if stepping in again would help or make things worse.
My own heart thundered in my chest, muscles wound tight, braced for another outburst that didn’t come.
Then, with a shuddering breath, I stepped back, my resolve dissolving.
Shaking my head, I found strength enough to speak, my voice low and brittle. “I can’t do this. Just leave.”
“Enough,” Massimo growled. His voice was raw as he stepped forward, his tone sharpening every syllable as he reached for my hand, his grip tight, urgent. “You are coming home now.”