Back From Prison, Built For Revenge - Chapter 32: Chapter 32

In the dim light of the fire escape at Dawnridge General Hospital, the air between Chloe and Carlos was stretched taut, ready to snap.
Chloe stared coldly at him, her eyes unyielding. His grip on her wrist was a dull ache, but the turmoil in her heart was far more painful.
"Are you out of your mind?" Carlos demanded, his voice a low growl of suppressed fury. "Marrying Yael Foster? Do you have any idea who he is?"
"Of course I do," Chloe said, her voice flat and lifeless. She met his gaze directly. "He can't get it up."
Carlos froze, clearly not expecting her to be so blunt. He let go of her wrist but didn't back away, his eyes scanning her face for any sign of a crack in her composure.
"You know that, and you're still going through with it?" His voice was low and dangerous, heavy with a pressure she could feel in her chest. "Are you throwing your life away like it's some kind of joke?"
"My life has been a joke for a long time, hasn't it?" Chloe let out a short, sharp laugh, full of self-mockery. "The day they sent me to prison, I lost everything that mattered."
Her words were a knife in his gut. His brow furrowed, and he opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Finally, he managed, "So this is your plan? Getting revenge on the Stones?"
"Revenge?" Chloe shook her head. "No. I'm just trying to survive."
Carlos suddenly laughed, a bitter, helpless sound. "Survive? You think marrying Yael Foster is surviving? That's just another cage, Chloe. One that's a hell of a lot filthier than the Stones' ever was."
"At least in that cage, I won't have to see Yolanda's face," she shot back, her words like ice.
The air went still, a heavy silence falling between them. Carlos took a deep breath, trying to calm the fire in his chest, but it only burned hotter.
"You're just doing this to spite me," he said, his tone certain. "Because of what I said before."
"You're giving yourself way too much credit," Chloe cut him off, coolly tucking a stray strand of blonde hair behind her ear. "My decisions are my own."
Carlos stared at her cold, beautiful face, his expression a storm of conflict. He stepped forward and took her wrist again, his grip much gentler this time. "Don't do this to yourself, please," he said, his voice low and soft, a stark contrast to his earlier anger. "If you need help, I can—"
"I don't need it." Chloe pulled her arm free, taking a step back. She crossed her arms, creating a physical barrier between them. "We're done, Carlos. Go worry about your fiancée. She's the one who needs you."
The word "fiancée" hit him like a physical blow, and he froze. He stared into her dark, unreadable eyes, which reflected his own frustration back at him.
"My fiancée?" he murmured, a mocking smile twisting his lips. "Chloe, you really think I give a damn about some arranged marriage?"
"Don't you?" she challenged, raising an eyebrow. "Yolanda Stone is Dawnridge's little princess. You two are a perfect match."
He laughed again, a low, hoarse sound tinged with a strange sadness. "A perfect match?" He shook his head, then looked up at her, his voice almost pleading. "Chloe, what if I told you I've never had feelings for her? Would you believe me?"
Chloe faltered for a second, but her composure returned instantly. She turned her face away, refusing to meet his eyes. "That's not my problem," she said flatly, turning to leave.
A faint but distinct set of footsteps echoed from down the hall.
They both turned to see a janitor in blue overalls pushing a cleaning cart. The man stopped when he saw them, his expression a mixture of confusion and caution.
"Sorry, didn't know anyone was in here," the janitor mumbled, then quickly pushed his cart past them. As he went by, he couldn't help but glance back at Carlos, his eyes filled with a probing curiosity.
The stairwell fell silent again. Chloe was the first to break the standoff. "I'm leaving."
"Where are you going?" Carlos asked. He reached out as if to stop her, but let his arm fall to his side. He watched her walk away, a bitter, complicated smile on his face.
In the spacious living room of the Stone Villa, a file was slammed onto the marble coffee table with a sharp crack.
Peter stood over it, his face livid as he pounded his fist on the tabletop, venting his rage.
"Hayden!" he roared, his voice thick with anger. "What the hell were you thinking?"
Hayden, sitting on the sofa, kept his head down, his fists clenched in his lap. He remained silent, knowing nothing he could say would appease his father.
"Dad, please don't be angry," Yolanda said, rushing to her father's side. She gently tugged on his sleeve. "Hayden was just trying to do what's best for the family. He just got carried away."
"'Got carried away?'" Peter sneered, turning a disappointed glare on his daughter. "Yolanda, stop making excuses for him. This screw-up nearly destroyed us. If I hadn't stepped in to do damage control, the Stone family name would be mud right now."
Yolanda bit her lip, feigning hurt while inwardly sighing with relief that the blame wasn't falling on her. She glanced at her brother, but he was still staring at the floor, silent.
"Enough!" Peter sighed heavily, waving a dismissive hand. "I'm tired. Get out of my sight, both of you."
Once they were alone, Yolanda sat down next to her brother. She placed her hand over his clenched fist. "Hayden, don't let it get to you," she said, her tone a soft, probing mix of comfort and curiosity. "I know Dad's just stressed. He still loves you."
Hayden didn't respond. He just sat there in silence, his fists clenched so tight his knuckles were pale.
Later that night, the light in the study was still on.
Hayden, still reeling from the confrontation with his father, was hunched over his desk, sketching. Under his pencil, an intricate piece of jewelry was taking shape.
He pressed too hard, and the sharp point of his pencil pricked his finger. A single drop of blood fell onto the white paper, a stark red blemish on the unfinished design.
He stared at the bloodstain for a long moment before carefully folding the drawing and tucking it away in a drawer.