Antonio's POV
The moment had come.
Selene sat across from me, cross-legged on the floor of my studio, tracing lazy circles on the rim of her coffee cup. There was a softness to her — vulnerable, quiet — but it wasn't the same kind of silence I once feared would shatter her. This silence was waiting. Trusting.
"I need to tell you something," I said, carefully. My voice was calm, but my chest was tight.
"It's about Victor."
Her lips froze on the edge of her cup. Her posture straightened almost instantly — not in fear, but alertness. Ready.
"Go on," she whispered.
I took a breath.
"Ayra and I started looking into him after she saw some messages and receipts in a shared family folder — ones that didn't make sense. They were subtle… but creepy. Payments from Victor to someone who used to work in your old neighborhood. A guy who apparently used to tail you home without your knowing."
Selene paled.
"She confronted the guy. I was nearby. He was hesitant at first, then spilled everything when he saw Ayra record the conversation. Victor hired him. Not to harm you physically, but to watch you. Report your whereabouts. Your friends. How often you went to the clinic… if you were alone at night. It's been going on for years."
Selene's cup slipped from her hand, landing on the floor with a dull thud. Thankfully, it was empty. She didn't blink.
"He used to say he was like a 'second father,'" she whispered. "That's what he told my parents…"
I reached for her hand. "That was the image he wanted everyone to see. But behind it? He's been trying to manipulate and isolate you. Ayra thinks he hoped to control your path, maybe even influence future decisions tied to your family's business."
Her hands trembled. She didn't cry. She shook. Anger. Betrayal. Realization.
"He saw me as weak," she said, her voice hollow. "Easier to cage."
"No," I said firmly. "He saw your light. And he hated that he couldn't dim it."
We sat in silence for a beat. Then she asked, "Do my parents know?"
"Not yet. I wanted to come to you first. Because this is your past. Your story. You decide who hears it next."
Selene looked at me for a long, long time. Her eyes didn't tear up. They sharpened.
"I'm not hiding anymore, Antonio."
"I didn't think you would."
And when she finally stood, her shoulders squared with quiet fire, I knew: Victor had messed with the wrong girl.
This wasn't the end.
This was her beginning.
Selene's POV
I had always thought that the hardest part of truth was hearing it.
But now I knew—it was carrying it.
It was pacing the length of my room with that same name, Victor, echoing like a trapdoor under my feet. It was rehearsing the words a hundred different ways, and still choking on the first breath.
Antonio waited downstairs with Ayra. They both knew this moment wasn't just mine — it was all of ours — but they had given me the space to walk into it on my own. Until I called them in.
I finally stepped out of my room, every footstep weighed in the silence of our home. My parents were seated at the edge of the veranda, sipping tea like nothing had shifted beneath our world. The way they smiled when they saw me — it made this harder.
"Mom… Dad," I said, voice steady despite the thunder behind it.
They looked up, concerned immediately.
"What is it, sweetheart?" Mom asked.
I sat across from them, spine straight. " Victor." I just said his name Infront of them.
Their faced to me.
My mom asked,"Is something wrong with him?"
"No, just that I know he paid someone to follow me. To watch me. To report everything back to him. I know he used your trust to get closer, and he tried to own a piece of me you never noticed was slipping."
Dad's hand froze mid-air. Mom's cup rattled in her saucer.
"I didn't know until recently," I continued, "but Ayra found proof. Antonio helped. They uncovered everything. And now I know why I always felt like something was off—why I felt… looked at. Not protected. Watched."
A thick silence followed. Mom looked shattered. Dad's fists curled slowly in his lap.
"What!" Dad whispered, "I thought he loved you as a Daughter."
"Yes, he tried getting your trust ," I said softly. "But I am telling you that you can't let people like him orbit this family anymore. We can't afford silence."
Just then, I turned to the door and called, "Antonio. Ayra."
They entered quietly, Antonio standing behind me, his hand gently brushing my shoulder. Ayra took the seat beside me like a soldier on the same front.
"I believe Selene," Ayra said. "I saw the receipts. I met the man. He admitted everything. This wasn't guidance — it was control."
My mother wept. Quiet, but hard.
And my father—he finally looked at Antonio, and then at me. He nodded, eyes heavy with regret and something deeper: respect.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't protect you from the one person I trusted too blindly."
"You protect me now," I replied. "By standing with me."
And he did.
So did my mother.
The storm hadn't passed, but the light had finally cracked through. For once, we weren't just a family tied by love. We were bound by truth.