CHAPTER 113: TRUTH

Eva woke up to darkness. She couldn’t see a wall, the ceiling, or even the color of her own clothes. Everywhere was pitch black, and the harder she strained her eyes to make sense of her surroundings, the more her vision ached.

She jerked her arms forward instinctively but instantly regretted it, hissing as sharp pain shot up her wrists.

Her hands were tied behind her with rope—tight, unforgiving, the coarse texture biting into her skin until it burned.

She realized she was sitting on a chair. It felt like wood beneath her, but in the absence of light, she couldn’t be sure.

"Who’s out there? Get me out of here!" she shouted, her voice rough with panic. But no footsteps came, no response at all. Her chest tightened. "Someone get me out! Help!"

Her cries filled the room for what felt like forever until her throat grew raw, parched from thirst.

Something wet dripped across her cheek, and she didn’t need a mirror to know it was blood. Her body already throbbed from the car crash, and now she was trapped.

Fear threatened to creep into her heart, but she pushed it down. She’d been in tight corners before, and she refused to let this one destroy her spirit.

"Marcus De Rossi!" Her voice rang sharp, slicing through the silence. "I know you’re out there. You dragged me here for a reason, so stop hiding and face me!"

Her words echoed, swallowed by silence. She could hear her heartbeat pounding in her ears. The quiet stretched on, cruel and suffocating.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the door creaked open. Light spilled in for only a second before it slammed shut, plunging her back into darkness.

Footsteps followed. She tracked the sound until another click filled the room and a harsh light blazed to life, nearly blinding her.

Eva squeezed her eyes shut, her lashes damp with sweat. Slowly, her vision adjusted. Strands of hair clung to her face, and she flicked them away with a sharp tilt of her neck.

When her gaze settled, fury burned hot in her chest.

"You," she spat, venom lacing every syllable.

Mr. De Rossi stood before her, his expression calm, even amused. Her glare was sharp enough to cut, her nails itching to rip his skin apart, to tear him down piece by piece until nothing of him remained.

"I have to say, I’m impressed," Marcus said, his voice smooth, dressed now in different clothes than the ones he’d worn during the debate. "You kidnapped James. Tried to use him against me. Bold. Very bold."

He nodded once, like a father conceding that his child had managed a clever trick.

"You’re so heartless," Eva shot back, her voice firm despite the rope cutting her wrists. "You had him killed without a second thought. Are you so afraid your filthy secrets will finally come to light?"

Marcus’s lips curved into a faint smile. He had faced enemies before, but the woman bound in front of him was the closest anyone had come to truly threatening his empire.

"And here you are," he replied smoothly, stepping closer. "Kidnapped. Helpless. Do you really think I’ll let you go? No, Eva. I cannot. Releasing you would mean gambling my victory in this election. And winning is the only thing that matters."

Eva scoffed. She refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her break.

"So what then? You’ll hurt me? Kill me? You can’t. Because—"

"Because Dante won’t allow it?" Marcus cut in, his grin widening when her face faltered. "What if I told you Dante doesn’t care what I do to you? What if I told you he would be relieved if I erased you from his life for good?"

"You’re bluffing," Eva hissed. "Dante loves me. If you hurt me, he’ll come after you."

For two long seconds, Marcus stared at her. Then, he erupted in laughter, loud and mocking.

The sound pierced through her resolve, clawing at every thread of trust she had in Dante. His laughter was deliberate, meant to humiliate, meant to make her doubt.

Marcus clutched his chest, trying to compose himself. "So blind. Both of you. You call it love, but it’s nothing but foolishness."

At his signal, the door opened again. Three men entered.

They looked at Eva like she was nothing more than a pest. Two of them stationed themselves behind her, their presence unnecessary but intimidating all the same.

One of them handed Marcus a phone.

Eva narrowed her eyes. She didn’t know what trick he was about to play, but her stomach twisted with dread.

"You’ve always wondered about your parents’ deaths, haven’t you?" Marcus asked, his voice dripping with cruel amusement.

A shiver ran down her spine. Her scowl deepened, but her gaze flicked to the screen.

It was a grainy CCTV recording, the angle high, taken from above.

There he was. Dante. Standing face-to-face with his father. Their conversation played out clear as day. Eva’s stomach lurched when Marcus De Rossi, in his own voice, admitted to killing her parents—casually, cruelly—calling them pests.

Her breath hitched.

Slowly, she lifted her eyes back to Marcus, who now wore a devil’s smile.

"Don’t look at me like that," he taunted. "I didn’t betray your trust. Dante did. He discovered the truth you’ve been searching for, yet he kept it from you. Do you know why?" Marcus leaned closer, lowering his tone to a venomous whisper. "Because I am his father. He will always side with me."

Eva’s chest tightened, her pulse racing in her ears.

"And do you know who killed James?" Marcus added, his grin widening as if savoring every second of her unraveling.

This time, there was no video. Instead, he made a call.

He pressed the phone to speaker. "Dante," Marcus said once the line connected. "You did well killing James."

Eva froze.

"I had no choice," Dante’s voice came through the speaker, heavy and unmistakable.

Her heart cracked.

Every ounce of belief she’d clung to shattered in that instant.