CHAPTER 225: SAVING HER

Stacks of files covered the long oak dining table, the only source of light being the lamp angled toward the center, casting long shadows over crime scene photos, blood-smeared reports, and a worn hospital document bearing Maria-Isabel’s name.

Rafael leaned over the table, sleeves rolled up, cigarette between his fingers—unlit, but twitching like he wanted to light it every second.

Ethan stood across from him, a hand braced against the edge of the table, eyes scanning Maria’s initial arrest report for the third time.

"Her story is solid," Rafael said finally, breaking the silence. "It’s messy, painful—but it’s real."

Ethan didn’t look up. "It’s also emotional. Which means the prosecution’s going to rip it apart."

"Not if we get ahead of them."

Ethan ran a hand through his hair, the exhaustion obvious. "We have three days to put together a timeline, prep her statement, bring in someone who can testify about Daniel’s history of abuse, and... God—Isabella. What if they try to bring her up as a witness?"

"They won’t," Rafael said confidently. "She’s barely two. And sick. Any decent judge won’t allow it."

"But her medical records are in the file now. If they spin that—her attachment to Maria, the seizures, the trauma—they could twist it as emotional manipulation."

Rafael folded his arms. "Then we hit them with the facts. We show them the body in the fridge belonged to a man Maria didn’t even invite into her life. Daniel brought that death into her apartment. He staged it. We prove Daniel had a pattern of tracking and abusing her—hell, we even bring up her childhood. If the court sees her as a victim of lifelong trauma, not just one night of chaos, we might get them to consider a reduced sentence."

Ethan scoffed. "I don’t want a reduced sentence."

Rafael looked up, surprised.

"I want acquittal."

"Acquittal?" Rafael leaned back in his chair. "That’s a stretch, even for you. With two deaths, blood on her hands, and no witnesses?"

"She snapped, Rafael. And she told me why. He hit Isabella." Ethan’s voice cracked slightly. "He. Hit. Her. That’s what pushed her over the edge."

Rafa was quiet.

"I don’t want a plea bargain," Ethan continued. "I don’t want sympathy. I want the truth to burn through that courtroom until they see what she became wasn’t a choice—it was survival."

They sat in silence for a moment. Finally, Rafael nodded slowly. "Then we build a narrative they can’t unsee."

Ethan lifted his eyes. "And?"

"And we start with Daniel’s history. I’ll get in touch with Eldorado and Atlantic PD, see what I can pull up on him—complaints, bar fights, patterns of aggression. You dig into the trust fund story. If she really tried to sign it over to Daniel, that’s a motive he had, not her."

"And her father?"

Rafael sighed. "That’s the part she still hasn’t told us everything about."

"I know," Ethan muttered. "And until she does, we can’t connect the past to the present."

Rafael looked at him curiously. "Why are you doing this?"

Ethan didn’t answer at first. He had a slight wish that Rafael never got to know how he was connected to Maria, and the fact that she was the woman he betrayed Mara with. He made Steph ensure that part of the story never came to light.

Then, quietly: "Because I’m a kind person. And someone I know."

Rafa nodded once. No sarcasm. No rivalry. Just understanding.

The papers rustled as the two men began sorting through the storm, two lawyers on opposite sides of a line they both agreed to erase. For her. For justice. For the time that was slipping away too fast.

—

Three Days Later – The Foundation Clinic

The room was quiet except for the gentle hum of machines and the occasional scribble of a nurse making notes on a chart. Sterile white walls softened by pale blue curtains and the constant scent of antiseptic. But despite the clinical setting, there was a kind of stillness that didn’t feel cold—it felt careful, deliberate.

Steve lay on the reclining chair, a blanket tucked over his legs. An IV line was connected to his arm, slowly delivering the first stage of the regenerative therapy—an immune conditioning serum designed to prepare his body for what was coming.

He stared at the ceiling, eyes blinking slowly and heavily.

Mara sat close by, reading a book without truly reading it. Her eyes kept flicking to Steve’s face, noting every twitch, every breath, every shift in color. Her free hand rested on his, fingers threaded loosely with his.

Stanley stood near the door, arms crossed, phone in hand but untouched. Every so often, he checked the clock on the wall, as though time was moving either too slowly or too fast.

Stefan sat by the window, one leg crossed over the other, tapping a pencil gently against his knee. His eyes weren’t on Steve. They were distant again, lost somewhere between guilt and worry, spinning inside his mind where Aveline’s voice still echoed—wordless but heavy.

"Does it hurt?" Mara asked quietly.

Steve shook his head, offering her a faint smile. "Not yet."

She squeezed his hand gently. "You’re doing great."

He gave a short nod, eyes fluttering shut again.

Just then, Mara’s phone buzzed in her lap. She hesitated before looking. The message preview glowed softly on the screen.

Rafa: How are you? Take care. I love you.

Mara stared at the screen a second longer than she meant to. Then she locked it again and slid the phone into her coat pocket.

Rafa’s words were simple. Sweet. But there was something... off. The distance between them had been growing quietly. Polite texts instead of late-night calls. No updates. No warmth behind the words—just... routine. Like someone trying to remember to water a plant they’d already forgotten the name of.

She looked out the window for a moment. The clouds were hanging low, gentle grey pressing against the glass.

Mara’s chest tightened just a little.

"You’re thinking too loud," Stanley said from the corner, giving her a half-smile.

She smirked faintly, not turning to look at him. "That obvious?"

"Like a neon sign."

Stefan finally spoke. "He’ll feel worse before he feels better."

Everyone turned to him. He hadn’t said a word since they arrived.

"It’s normal," he added. "The body reacts to change like it’s under attack. But that means it’s working."

Mara looked at her brother. Something in his voice was steadier than before, but his eyes were still somewhere else.

"Are you okay?" she asked softly.

Stefan blinked. "Yeah. Just tired."

They let the silence fall again, the kind of silence that didn’t need to be filled. Only respected.

A nurse entered after a while, checked Steve’s vitals, and gave a small nod of reassurance. "Everything’s going according to plan," she said.

Relief passed through the room like a shared breath.

Mara leaned closer to Steve again and brushed his hair gently from his forehead. "You’re stronger than you know," she whispered.

And for the first time that day, Steve smiled fully, soft, real. Outside, the sky threatened rain. Inside, they waited, hearts open and braced