OWNED BY MR. MANRIQUIZ [THAT RUTHLESS BILLIONAIRE]

CHAPTER 11

The air turned oddly cold the moment the heavy door creaked open again.

I was still on the floor, my knees pressed to my chest, the scratchy blanket wrapped around me like it could shield me from the uncertainty around me. I expected someone—might be anyone, only a warm presence in this place. But instead, a different kind of silence entered the room. Not quiet. Not gentle.

Sharp heels tapped against the marble floor.

I slowly looked up.

A woman in a crisp, pearl-colored dress stood in front of me. Her perfectly curled hair fell down her shoulders like a magazine ad, and her lips were painted red—fierce red. She looked expensive. She looked terrifying.

"Mrs. Bellington," I whispered.

I recognized her from a photo once. Lexi’s mother. A powerful businesswoman. A socialite. The kind of woman who makes entire rooms fall silent when she enters.

“Stand up,” she said, voice like steel.

I tried. My body trembled as I reached for the edge of the bed to pull myself up. I didn’t want to look weak. Not in front of her. But my arms failed me halfway. The soreness, the bruises, the exhaustion—they were all still there.

And just as I managed to get my balance…

SLAP!

My head snapped to the side.

I froze.

It stung. Not just physically. Emotionally. Deeply.

"You stupid, selfish girl!" she screamed.

My eyes started to tear up. But I stayed silent. My mouth slightly parted, my heart pounding so hard it almost broke my ribs.

“You think I’m here to save you?” Her voice cracked with rage. “You think I came here out of pity?”

I shook my head. “I—I don’t know why I’m here. I didn’t mean for any of this—”

“You didn’t mean?” Her voice rose. “You crashed into my daughter’s car, Callie! She’s not going to walk again! She’s in a wheelchair! A bloody wheelchair!”

“No…” I backed a little, legs hitting the side of the bed again. “No, no, that can’t be…”

“She had a wedding to walk into. With her fiancé, no less.” Her eyes bore into mine. “And now? It’s postponed. My daughter lost her legs. And you? You’re sitting here acting like you’re the victim?”

I was speechless. My mouth opened but no words came out. I didn’t remember hitting anyone. I didn’t remember anything after the wine, the vodka, the dark road, and—

A crash.

A blinding light.

Then blackness.

“I didn’t know,” I whispered. My hands trembled. “I didn’t know someone was in the other car…”

“That’s exactly the problem,” she said, straightening. “You didn’t know. Because you didn’t care. All you could think of was drinking your heartbreak away like some drama queen in a soap opera. You were careless. Reckless. And now we all pay the price.”

I felt the sting of guilt crawl into my chest and settle like poison. She was right. No excuses. I was reckless.

“I’m sorry,” I managed to say. “I’m… I’m so sorry.”

She chuckled bitterly. “Sorry won’t bring back my daughter’s legs. Sorry won’t walk her down the aisle.”

She stepped forward and leaned close.

“You ruined two lives, Callie Torres,” she hissed. “And now… it’s your turn to suffer.”

I flinched, not just from her words, but from the weight of truth behind them.

“You will pay for what you did,” she continued, her voice cold and calm now. “I don’t know how yet. But know this—whatever comfort you had in this world? It’s gone.”

With one last sharp look, she turned around and walked to the door.

Before leaving, she said over her shoulder, “You better start praying, Callie. Because this is just the beginning.”

Then the door slammed shut, and I was alone again.

But this time, it felt darker than ever.

I stayed curled in the corner of the room, knees to my chest, the cold floor pressing into my skin like punishment I willingly deserved. My shoulders shook as the weight of everything came crashing down all at once. I could barely breathe.

I ruined someone’s life.

No—two lives.

Lexi lost her legs.

Mr. Manriquiz postponed their wedding.

And me? I was trapped in this room like some broken animal, slowly remembering the blood, the screech of tires, the crash. The burn in my throat from the vodka, the haze of the club lights just hours before the accident, and now this… silence that screamed louder than anything.

Mrs. Bellington’s words repeated in my ears like a curse.

"You ruined two lives, and now you must pay for it."

I hugged myself tighter, trying to keep my soul from falling apart.

"If only I hadn't broken up with Troy..." I whispered to no one. My voice was dry, barely audible. "If only I hadn’t gone to that club. If only I didn’t drink... if only I thought before I let my heart break in public..."

But the thing with “if only” is, they don’t change anything.

They're just ghosts that cling to you, make you wish, make you ache. But they don't fix what's already done.

And what's done is... unforgivable.

I sobbed into my arms. My whole body trembled. My mouth tasted bitter—regret had a taste, and it was dry, sour, and full of shame. Every decision I made led me here. A locked room. A ruined life. Not mine—Lexi’s.

I imagined her—beautiful, popular Lexi Bellington—now bound to a wheelchair. Her legs, her freedom, her future… stolen by me.

What kind of person does that?

What kind of person drinks recklessly and drives like the world doesn't matter?

I wanted to scream. To hit myself. To bleed if I had to just so I could undo what I’ve done. But there’s no way to reverse this.

I broke down harder, covering my face with my palms. My tears soaked through my fingers.

I hated myself.

I hated how much I loved Troy.

I hated that I let love drag me to the lowest parts of myself—down to self-destruction.

I hated that I still missed him, despite everything.

I hated that after all of this… I was still thinking about my boutique.

God, what kind of selfish, awful person am I?

My head dropped between my knees. My hands trembled as I pressed them against my temples.

Everything is gone now.

My freedom.

My peace.

My identity.

And that dream—the one I built from scratch, with the hours I skipped sleep, the sacrifices I made just to design my own fashion line, to rent that first small space and turn it into something. That boutique... it was my escape, my redemption, my pride.

What now?

Will the name Callie Torres even survive this scandal—if it ever gets out?

Will people still walk into my store with admiration, knowing that I destroyed someone’s life?

Or will they whisper behind my back, walk out, or worse, never come at all?

I shook my head hard. “No. No. No...” I murmured. “I can’t let this be the end of me.”

I sniffled, wiped my eyes with the sleeves of my shirt. My voice was still shaky, but firmer than before. “I will not let this destroy everything I worked hard for.”

Yes, I did something terrible.

Yes, I deserve to be punished.

But if there’s one thing I can still fight for—it’s that name. That boutique. That small corner of the world that I made my own.

“Callie Torres,” I whispered with determination. “I will sacrifice anything just to protect what I built.”

Even if it means accepting whatever the Bellingtons want to throw at me.

Even if it means living like this—in a cage, in guilt, in fear—if that’s the price.

But I won't let my name rot in shame. I will carry it, even if my back is bent and my eyes swollen.

I will make it through this.

No matter what it takes.

Even if it means living with the pain forever.