Emilia POV:

Hailee Abbott' s presence at the hospital became a daily performance. Each visit was a carefully orchestrated media event, a further cementing of the narrative Cameron had so meticulously crafted. She' d sweep in, perfectly coiffed and impeccably dressed, reporters trailing her like eager puppies. She' d air-kiss my cheek, offer a practiced smile, and then, in front of the cameras, proclaim her undying concern for Gilbert.

One afternoon, as she posed for a photo op outside Gilbert' s room, she turned to a reporter and, with a seemingly innocent flutter of her eyelashes, said, "It's just so tragic, isn't it? Emilia's father, such a respected compliance officer, losing his position all those years ago right after... well, you know. It must have taken such a toll on him, being implicated in that whole unfortunate mess." She paused dramatically, letting the implications hang in the air. "I mean, a compliance officer! So vital for a firm's integrity. It makes you wonder, doesn't it, what really happened back then to cause such a scandal?"

A chill ran down my spine. Gilbert hadn't just 'lost his position.' He had been blacklisted, his reputation shredded, his pension gone. I always assumed it was collateral damage from my own public shaming, a cruel ripple effect. He was my father, and I was his daughter; the guilt by association was undeniable. His health had declined ever since, a slow, agonizing descent.

But Hailee' s words, the way she emphasized "implicated" and "compliance officer," struck a dissonant chord. What really happened?

Gilbert had been a meticulous man, unwavering in his ethics. It was why he'd chosen compliance, to uphold the exact standards Cameron had so gleefully trampled. He wasn't just "implicated"; he was destroyed. And Hailee, by subtly drawing attention to his role as a compliance officer, was hinting at something deeper. Something I hadn't seen.

A cold, hard knot formed in my stomach. Had I been so consumed by my own pain, my own humiliation, that I missed a crucial piece of the puzzle? What if Gilbert wasn't just an innocent bystander in my downfall? What if he was a target, just like me?

The thought propelled me out of the hospital. I hailed a cab, my mind racing. I needed answers. And I knew only one place to get them.

Cameron' s office was a fortress of glass and steel, a monument to his avarice. I bypassed the receptionist, my steps purposeful, my heart thumping a furious rhythm against my ribs. I pushed past his assistant, who sputtered in protest, and stormed into his opulent corner office.

Cameron looked up from his enormous mahogany desk, his expression a mixture of surprise and irritation. He immediately dismissed his assistant with a curt nod. The door clicked shut, sealing us in the silent, tense space.

"Emilia," he said, his voice laced with caution. "To what do I owe this unexpected visit?"

"My father," I said, my voice shaking with suppressed rage. "His 'implication.' His 'scandal.' Was he just collateral damage, Cameron, or were you aiming for him too?"

His usual calm facade wavered for a fraction of a second. His eyes flickered away from mine, a tell-tale sign I remembered all too well. He composed himself quickly. "Emilia, what are you talking about? Gilbert simply lost his position due to the fallout from your-"

"Don't you dare," I interrupted, my voice rising. "Don't you dare blame me for this. Not anymore." I reached into my bag and pulled out a faded, dog-eared document. It was a copy of the internal compliance review report from ten years ago, something my father had managed to hold onto, a last scrap of his integrity. "I found this in his old files. An anonymous tip that led to his suspension, citing 'gross negligence' and 'failure to report suspicious activities.'"

I slammed the report onto his desk, the sound echoing in the silent room. "Take a closer look at the handwriting on this anonymous tip, Cameron. I recognized it. It's yours. The same looping 'C,' the distinctive slant of the 's.' You wrote it, didn't you? You didn't just frame me; you framed my father too. You deliberately orchestrated his downfall."

Cameron's face drained of color. He picked up the report, his fingers tracing the familiar script. For a moment, the mask slipped entirely. I saw fear, and then, a chilling, steely resolve. He put the report down, meeting my gaze.

"It was a necessary step," he said, his voice low, devoid of emotion. "Gilbert was too ethical. He would have uncovered the irregularities in the merger. He would have stopped it."

Rage, pure and incandescent, tore through me. My hands clenched into fists, trembling. "You destroyed him! You ruined his life, his health, everything, just to secure your empire!"

"It was for our future, Emilia!" he shot back, a flicker of his old arrogance returning. "Don't you understand? For us! For the life I envisioned for us!"

"Us?" I laughed, a harsh, broken sound. Tears stung my eyes. "There is no 'us', Cameron. There hasn't been for ten years. You stole my life, and then you broke my father's heart and body just to make more money. How much more did you hide?" My voice was a desperate, raw plea. "What else did you do? Just tell me! What else did I miss because I was too busy bleeding?"

A flicker of something-regret? pity?-crossed his eyes, but it vanished as quickly as it came. I remembered the young Cameron, the one who would protect me fiercely from any perceived threat. The memory was a fresh stab wound.

He stood up, walking around the desk. "Emilia, please. Let me explain-" He reached for my hand.

I recoiled violently, stumbling backward, my body screaming in disgust at his touch. "Don't you dare touch me!"

Just then, his phone buzzed, vibrating loudly on the polished surface of his desk. He glanced at it, then back at me. It buzzed again. He hesitated for a split second, then snatched it up.

"Hailee? What is it?" His voice was suddenly sharp, laced with genuine concern. "What? Slow down. Are you alright? Where are you?"

He wasn't even listening to me anymore. His fiancée, his precious Hailee, was in some kind of distress, and that immediately eclipsed my pain, my father's suffering, everything between us.

He grabbed his jacket, already halfway out the door. "I have to go, Emilia. We'll discuss this later." And with that, he was gone, leaving me alone in his vast, echoing office.

I stood there, the silence pressing in on me, my body shaking. My throat was raw, my limbs heavy. My arguments, my accusations, my desperate plea for truth, all meant nothing. My pain was a minor inconvenience, easily discarded for the more urgent, more important needs of his current life. The sheer, brutal indifference was a slap in the face. My father' s death, my shattered life, was merely background noise to his perfect, curated existence.

Emilia POV:

I walked back to the hospital in a daze, the city lights blurring through my unshed tears. Cameron' s callous dismissal, his utter lack of remorse, had ripped open old wounds and carved new ones. He was a monster, neatly packaged in a tailored suit.

As I approached Gilbert' s wing, I saw Cameron in the corridor, a whirlwind of frantic phone calls and hushed conversations with his security detail. He didn' t even glance my way. I walked past him, my gaze fixed ahead, towards my father' s room.

But as I drew closer, I heard it-a woman' s muffled sobs from within Gilbert' s room. Hailee. What was she doing here?

Anger flared, momentarily eclipsing my despair. I pushed open the door, prepared to confront her.

The scene inside froze me in place.

Hailee was kneeling beside Gilbert's bed, her perfectly coiffed head bowed, her shoulders shaking with what appeared to be remorse. Gilbert, propped up on pillows, his face ashen, was staring at a phone clutched in his hand. His eyes were wide with horror, his lips trembling, unable to form words. The rhythmic beep of his heart monitor was accelerating, a frantic, desperate pulse.

"Oh, Emilia," Hailee whimpered, looking up at me, her eyes brimming with crocodile tears. "I just... I had to tell him. It was eating me up inside. The truth." She gave a little sniffle. "He deserved to know."

My eyes darted to Gilbert. His breath was coming in ragged gasps. He pointed a trembling finger at the phone. I snatched it from his grasp.

A video was playing. A grainy, ten-year-old recording.

Younger Cameron, impeccably dressed even then, was speaking to a sleek, younger Hailee. "Yes, Gilbert Hardin. He's a stickler for rules. He'll find the irregularities in the merger. We need him out of the way. And Emilia... she's inconvenient. Framing her, implicating him... that kills two birds with one stone. Your father gets his merger, and I get a clean slate."

Hailee' s younger self, giggling, wrapped her arms around him. "And then, my love, we can finally be together, without any obstacles."

"Exactly," Cameron replied, his eyes cold, devoid of the warmth he once showed me. "Our future, Hailee."

The video ended.

My father' s hand clutched at his chest, his eyes wide, fixed on me. A single tear traced a path through the wrinkles on his cheek. The heart monitor flatlined, a long, piercing shriek that tore through the sudden silence.

Gilbert's eyes glazed over, losing their light. His hand, still reaching for me, fell limp.

He was gone.

No.

My world shattered. My father. My gentle, honorable father. Killed. By their lies. By their cruelty.

Hailee rose to her feet, her sobs gone, replaced by a malicious smirk. "Well," she said, her voice chillingly calm, "that takes care of a loose end, doesn't it? Cameron won't have to worry about his 'guilt' anymore. And his past won't be tainted by... that." She giggled, a sound of pure evil. "It was my idea, you know. The anonymous tip to frame Gilbert. Cameron worried too much about hurting you. But I knew his future, our future, depended on it. He loved me enough to do it."

Something snapped inside me. My vision tunneled, a red haze descending. I launched myself at her, my hands finding her throat, my fingers closing around her delicate neck. "You killed him!" I screamed, my voice raw, unrecognizable. "You killed my father!"

Just as my grip tightened, a heavy hand grabbed my shoulder, yanking me backward. Cameron. He had returned, drawn by the flatline. He shoved me violently. I stumbled, hitting my head on the bedside table. A sharp pain bloomed, and blood trickled down my temple.

"Hailee! Are you alright?" Cameron cried, rushing to her side, his arm protectively around her. He glared at me, his eyes blazing with fury. "Emilia, have you lost your mind? She was just trying to help!"

Hailee, clutching her throat dramatically, dissolved into fresh, theatrical sobs. "She tried to kill me, Cameron! She's hysterical!"

Cameron turned back to me, his face a mask of disgust. "Look what you've done, Emilia! First the drama, now this. Are you completely insane?"

I stared at them, the loving couple, framed against the backdrop of my dead father. Madness. It was a madness he had created, cultivated, nurtured.

A broken, tearless laugh bubbled up from my chest. It grew, hollow and desolate, echoing in the sterile room. "Yes," I rasped, the words tearing through my throat, "I am insane. You made me insane. Both of you."

Just then, my phone, which had fallen to the floor when Cameron shoved me, buzzed. A text message. An unknown number.

I have been looking for you for ten years, Emilia. We have a common enemy. I have enough evidence to bury Cameron Vinson and everyone associated with him. Do you need help?

My eyes fixed on the message, then darted to Cameron, then to Hailee, their faces contorted with self-righteous anger. My laughter died. A cold, steel resolve settled over me, chilling me to the bone. Help? Oh, yes. I very much needed help.