Breaking The Rules

Chapter3

“What?!” I shouted.

Tony began pacing frantically across the rug. “They cut the timeline down to five days, Sandra!” He slammed his palm onto the coffee table with a sharp, explosive *bang*, making me jump. “I need to stop them before this destroys everything.”

“I think I have a solution,” I said, my voice cutting through his panic.

He spun around, staring at me.

“My parents,” I continued, swallowing hard. “I can talk to them about this. It’s no longer something we can afford to keep private.”

Tony looked instantly unsure. Guarding his personal life and keeping his pride intact was second nature to him, but right now, survival mattered more than privacy.

“Are you sure they can help?” he asked, his voice tight.

“I doubt they have the full two million sitting in liquid cash, but they have resources, and they have connections. Let’s just try. And you can call your parents, too,” I offered.

“Are you sure about this?” Tony asked later that evening, after I had laid the plan out fully before him. We had agreed that we both needed to reach out, he would speak to his family, and I would approach mine.

“Sweetheart, at least let’s try,” I pleaded softly, sitting beside him on the couch and searching for his exhausted, bloodshot face. “You know how they are. They are going to be deeply upset if they find out about this crisis later through someone else. I’ll go to their house tomorrow and explain everything in person.”

Tony looked directly into my eyes for a fraction of a second before quickly turning his head away. But he wasn't fast enough. At that brief glance, I saw everything he was desperately trying to hide from me.

Pain. Deep, suffocating fear. Pure, soul-crushing fatigue.

It broke my heart into a thousand pieces.

“Everything is going to be fine,” I assured him, wrapping my hand over his, trying to project a confidence I didn't possess. I doubted he believed a single word coming out of my mouth, but I needed to say it anyway. I couldn't bear to see him sink any deeper into despair.

Tony didn't argue. Instead, he brought my hand up to his lips, pressing his mouth gently against my knuckles in a kiss that felt heavy with unspoken grief.

“Thank you, baby,” he murmured, his voice so quiet, so full of heartbreak, that it tore straight through me.

After he went upstairs to rest, I dialed my mother’s number, telling her I would be coming over the following afternoon to see them both. No matter what was happening in my life, I always made it a point to call ahead before visiting my parents. That way, my dad could clear his schedule and cancel any meetings or events that might keep him away from the house.

My whole family loved me dearly, but my father and I shared a bond that was truly sacred. He held a place in my heart that no one else could ever touch. A faint, bittersweet smile touched my lips as I recalled the time Mum had called me in a full-blown panic, claiming Dad was gravely ill and begging for my presence. I had nearly lost my mind, speeding down to their house with my stomach in knots, only to walk through the gate and find my father sitting comfortably on the veranda, sipping tea and laughing with a neighbor.

When I had stood there in utter confusion, Mum had taken my arm and pulled me inside, chuckling. “If I hadn't lied that your Dad was sick, would you have actually come today?” she had asked with a playful smirk.

I had felt a sting of guilt back then for making her feel secondary, but the truth was simple: I couldn't force my heart on who to love most. My father was my anchor.

---

The next morning, the clock was ticking down with brutal precision.

Tony had already left for the office by the time I woke up. I immediately phoned Tiana at the salon to inform her I wouldn't be coming in today. Before leaving the house, I made sure to clean up, cook a warm meal, and put everything in order, knowing I might be staying late depending on how the conversation with my parents went. Mum had confirmed they would be back at the house by 1:00 PM.

Yet, as I pulled into their long, winding driveway later that afternoon, an unsettling quiet hung over the entire property.

I parked the car and stepped out, staring at the grand front door. The silence felt wrong. Usually, long before you reach the porch, you can hear Mum’s loud, high-pitched laughter echoing from the living room or kitchen. Today, there wasn't a sound. I stood there for a moment, wondering if they were even home.

I pulled out my phone, intending to call Mum again, when my gaze drifted upward. A window on the second floor was pushed wide open.

Stefan’s room.

My brother was notoriously meticulous about his privacy; he never left a door unlocked or a window open if he was stepping out. If the house was unlocked, he had to be inside, likely buried under headphones or getting dressed.

Walking up to the heavy wooden front door, I turned the brass knob. It gave way easily, opening with a soft click. I breathed a tentative sigh of relief, stepping into the cool, silent entryway.

“Stefan?” I called out.

Silence answered me.

I checked the kitchen downstairs, empty. Dropping my handbag onto the plush living room couch, I turned toward the staircase. He had to be up there.

As my foot hit the third step, a faint sound drifted down from above.

I paused, holding my breath to listen. It was a muffled cry, quickly followed by a sharp, rhythmic groan. My stomach dropped. I took the stairs two at a time, heading straight down the hallway toward Stefan's room at the very end . . .