32

The sun had set hours ago when Rafael De Torre stepped out of the car. The night air in Laguna was cool and still, carrying the faint scent of rain-soaked grass and gasoline. The headlights cut through the darkness, illuminating the facade of a half-abandoned warehouse — concrete walls, rusted signage, and silence so heavy it felt alive.

He'd told no one where he was going. Not Lea. Not Beatriz. Not Ellie. This wasn't something they could witness.

It had taken Alex three days to track Joey down — his movements traced, his convoy disbanded, his influence fading faster than his excuses. Rafael didn't want revenge. He wanted truth. But there was a difference between wanting and needing, and tonight he wasn't sure which side of that line he was standing on.

Joey was already there when he entered — disarmed of everything except his arrogance. His shirt was half unbuttoned, his face bruised, the polished mask of the senator replaced by something feral and unmasked. Two of Rafael's men stood at the far corners of the warehouse, silent, waiting for a signal.

Joey smirked when he saw him. "So the great De Torre finally shows himself. What's the matter, Rafael? Couldn't hide behind your daughter's testimony forever?"

Rafael didn't answer. His footsteps echoed against the concrete floor. "You buried Michelle."

Joey's expression barely flickered. "Careful with your words. I buried a wife who embarrassed me, that's all."

Rafael stopped short, his eyes burning. "You killed her."

"Proof?" Joey taunted. "You're not in court, boy. You're in my world now."

Rafael stepped closer, every word sharp, deliberate. "Your world is gone. Your party has cut you loose. Your allies are turning on you. You have nothing left but the truth — and I'm the last person on Earth you can lie to."

For a long moment, the two men stood in silence — predator and prey, mirror and ghost. Joey broke first, a dry laugh cutting through the air.

"I made you," he said. "You think you became Rafael De Torre without my mercy? You were supposed to disappear. I let you live. I could've destroyed you when you came back but I let you live."

Rafael's voice was quiet. "You didn't give me life, Joey. You took it."

He pulled a small recorder from his coat pocket, placed it on the steel table between them, and pressed the button. "Tell me what happened to Michelle."

Joey sneered. "You think this matters? You think anyone will believe you after everything that's happened? You're still the woman who got knocked up and ran away."

Rafael's jaw tightened, but he didn't flinch. "Say it again."

"Face it, Rafaelle," Joey hissed, spitting the old name like venom. "You were a scandal that never ended. I did what I had to do — with you, with her, with everyone who forgot their place."

Rafael's hand slammed against the table, the sound cracking through the warehouse. "You drugged me! You raped me! You took my child!"

Joey didn't even blink. "And the world still thinks I'm the father. You should thank me."

The words snapped something inside him. Rafael leaned in, his voice trembling with rage and grief. "You think what you did made you powerful? It made you small. You've spent more than two and a half decades building a throne out of the women you broke — and now the world's watching it burn."

Joey's smirk faltered for the first time.

Rafael's voice dropped lower, colder. "Michelle deserved better. Ellie deserved better. Even I deserved better. So you're going to say it — right here, right now — because this is the last chance you'll ever have to tell the truth."

He nodded once to Alex, who turned on the warehouse's floodlights. The glare was blinding, white, relentless. Joey winced, his composure cracking.

Rafael stepped closer, inches away now. "Tell me what happened."

Joey's voice was dry. "She found out. About the money, the fake donors, the laundering. She threatened to go to the press. I couldn't let her destroy everything."

Rafael's chest heaved. "So you killed her."

Joey didn't deny it this time. He just looked up, something twisted and hollow in his eyes. "You don't get to play saint, De Torre. We both did what we had to do to survive."

Rafael's hand trembled as he stopped the recorder. "No, Joey. You survived by killing everything that ever loved you. I survived by loving what you tried to kill."

He turned toward the exit, his voice soft but sharp as glass. "The police are waiting outside."

Joey's face drained of color. "You—"

"I didn't need to hurt you," Rafael said. "I just needed you to damn yourself."

He signaled to Alex, who opened the door. Blue and red lights flashed in the distance, faint but unmistakable.

When Rafael stepped outside, the air hit him like absolution. Rain began to fall — slow at first, then heavy, washing the dust from the concrete.

He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply, the sound of sirens growing closer.

Alex approached quietly. "You sure about this, boss?"

Rafael nodded. "It's over."

As the police cars arrived, he turned once more toward the warehouse, watching as the officers moved inside. Joey's shouts echoed for a moment — anger, denial, disbelief — before being swallowed by the storm.

By the time Rafael arrived back at the villa, dawn had begun to break. Lea was waiting at the door, wrapped in a robe, her eyes red from sleepless worry.

She didn't speak when she saw him. She just ran to him, wrapping her arms around his chest, feeling the tremor in his body.

"Paeng," she whispered. "What did you do?"

He buried his face in her hair. "What I had to. It's over now."

Lea didn't ask again. She just held him tighter, as if to remind him that he was still human, still hers.

From the staircase, Ellie stood in silence — her face pale, tears slipping down her cheeks. She didn't know what had happened, not yet, but she knew her father's eyes.

He had gone to war with his past — and this time, he had come home.