THE HEIR I WAS MEANT TO HATE

001: INTERVENTION

~FABIOLA~

~Four Years Later~

“Maximus Alfred is threatening to sue for defamation if you don’t drop the case, Mrs. Mendoza.”

The voice of Detective Paul Miller echoes in my head as I grip the cold railing of Lake Street Bridge. Below, the water churns like ink, thick with the city's filth. It matches exactly how I feel inside.

“The department wants nothing to do with this anymore,” he’d said, his voice cold. “It’s been four years. Move on.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then you’re walking on dangerous ground. Drop the case, or your sister goes to jail for the death of Violet Romano.”

I remember the way my throat tightened—the sudden, suffocating realization of his betrayal. “What? Courtney didn’t kill anyone. Violet was her friend! Her classmate! She overdosed, you know that!”

Paul had only chuckled. He knew I wasn’t strong enough to fight a lie that big. “Doesn’t matter, does it? The point is, your sister was the one who found the body.”

The memory stings worse than the light rain currently plastering my unkempt hair to my skull. I can't feel the cold. I haven’t felt anything real in one thousand, four hundred and sixty days.

Paul was Alex’s best friend, and he’d traded that loyalty for Alfred gold.

“I tried, Alex,” I whisper to the wind, tears trailing down my cheeks. "I’ve been trying…But they’ve taken everything. I can't let them get Courtney too. So I’ll come to you."

It’s been four years of watching the Alfreds smile their shark-like smiles from magazine covers while I drown in the grief they built.

I just came from the graveyard, apologizing to a cold headstone and to Faith—my child who never took her first breath.

I swing my leg over the railing of the bridge, then the other. Closing my eyes, I tilt my head back.

Just let go, Fabiola. It's easy. You'll see your child and husband soon—

"You've been standing there for almost ten minutes love." A deep baritone voice sounds from behind. I freeze, eyes snapping open.

"Go away," I grit, refusing to look back, lest I lose focus. "I'm trying to concentrate."

I hear the flick of a lighter, then the faint smell of cigarette smoke carried by the wind. "If you really wanted to jump, you would've done it by now."

The casual cruelty in his tone makes my blood boil. I whip my head around to find a tall, imposing shadow in the rain, looking completely unbothered. He takes a drag from his cigarette, the ember glowing orange in the darkness.

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Me?" He exhales smoke slowly. "I'm not the one standing on a bridge in the middle of the rain pretending to be brave."

"f**k off!"

"That's not commitment…that's hesitation." He leans against the railing like he has all the time in the world. "People who've truly made up their minds to die don't shake. They simply let go."

"You don't know anything about me!"

“Get down and tell me.”

“I said f**k off!”

"I know you're scared," he says. "you're holding on to that railing for dear life."

"Stop talking like you understand!" My voice cracks. "You have no idea what they took from me!"

He's quiet, rain streaming down his face. When he speaks again, his voice is low, almost angry. "My mother stood at her bedroom window once. Screaming about how no one understood her pain. How she had nothing left."

I freeze.

"She was selfish too," he continues, tone emotionless. "Didn't think about the people she'd leave behind to clean up the mess. To live with the guilt." He takes another drag. "But at least she had the guts to make a choice. You? You're just wasting time."

"I am NOT selfish!" I scream. Who the hell does this stranger think he is? "You have no right to judge me! You have no idea…"

I spin fully, vision blurry with tears, ready to scream in his stupid face.

It's a big mistake.

My foot slip, cracking the concrete.

"Watch out!"

A hand shoots out—fingers like iron clamping around my wrist, scorching hot against my freezing skin. His cigarette tumbles into the darkness below.

The scream rips out of me before I can stop it. Too loud. Too desperate for someone who wanted to ‘let go’ a minute ago.

I beg him not to let go.

Not because I'm falling—

Because I don't want to.

He yanks me forward, slamming me against his chest. We hit the pavement together, a chaos of wet clothes and gasping lungs.

"I've got you love," he gasps into my hair, voice heavy, rough—nothing like the cold indifference from before. "I've got you. It's okay."

It's not. It's really not. I’ve failed.

I’m almost convinced he cares.

A jagged fork of lightning tears the sky open, turning the world blindingly white for an instant, highlighting his face for the first time.

He looks less like a man and more like a fallen angel carved from cold marble.

Water drips from dark hair onto a pale forehead furrowed in intensity. Silver grey eyes frantically tracking every breath I take.

"Are you hurt?" he asks gently, thumb brushing a wet strand of hair from my cheek. The boldness of his touch sends a strange sensation up my spine.

“Tell me your name.”

Before I can answer, a scream pierces the air.

"Get away from her!" We both flinch just as my sister, Courtney, comes running up the bridge, face twisted in panic.

"Fab!" She shoves the stranger hard, forcing him back. "I saw you grab her! You sick—were you trying to hurt her? Take advantage of her?"

"Courtney, no—" I choke out, trying to sit up. "He didn't—"

"Stay back!" She shrieks, shielding me. "The neighbors said they saw a man mauling my sister here at Lake Street Bridge! If you touch her again, I swear to God—"

"I wasn't hurting her," He rises slowly. His voice has gone rough. He takes a step back, looking down at Courtney. "Just... take care of your sister. She needs you right now."

He hesitates, silver gray eyes lingering on me. Shame crawls up my neck. He was only trying to help.

Mercifully, He turns and disappears down the bridge. But his touch, his smell, is like a brand on my skin.

"Fabiola? Are you okay? Did he hurt you?"

"I'm fine, Court," I whisper, lungs tight. "He didn't do anything."

"I was so scared," she rushes out, checking my arms for bruises. "I went to the gravesite looking for you... But you weren't there. Then the neighbors called and said they saw someone on the bridge and..."

“…and” she trails off. Hands freezing on my shoulders as she no doubt sees the precarious slope of bricks I’d cracked from my near fall.

The realization hits her like a blow.

Suddenly, the sharp crack of her palm against my cheek echoes over the rain, stinging over the cold.

My little sister just slapped me.

“How could you?!” Her voice breaks.

“You’re the only family i’ve got left how could you!? Is it because of Alex? You want to kill yourself because of him?”

The pain in my chest is raw and bleeding all over again “I miss him, Court.” My voice caves in. “I don’t know how to exist without him… and knowing I couldn’t fulfill his wish….”

“What about me? You didn’t think I would need you? That i need you?” She shouts.

I back away. I just want peace and silence.

At my expression, she stands up, trembling violently as fresh tears spill down her cheeks.“Let’s go home. You’re freezing.” Her voice is detached, faraway.

I let her drag me away, not before picking the silver chain lying on the wet concrete. Slipping it into my pocket before Courtney sees.

The trek home is an unbearable silence of wet sobs, and sniffles.

For two weeks, Courtney doesn’t leave my sight. She’s everything and everywhere at once. Cooking, cleaning, striking conversations. Trying to distract me from that bridge. I wish she’ll stop. It’s exhausting.

Even now, she’s in the kitchen, aggressively making dinner. Her hands shake so violently that the kettle rattles against the stove.

I sit at the small, peeling table in the living room, staring at my reflection.

I look like a corpse. Hollow cheeks, dead green eyes. The stranger was right.

I am pathetic. I couldn't even kill myself correctly.

The thought of the stranger sends a fresh wave of embarrassment over me. But it’s alright—I’ll never see him again anyway.

"It’s because of me, isn’t it?" Courtney’s voice snaps me out of the fog. "Paul threatened you with Violet’s death and you thought... you thought leaving me was the only way to protect me."

I say nothing. I can't.

“You need to eat something atleast," she says, her voice cracking. "You're a walking bag of bones, Fabiola."

"I'm not hungry."

"I don't care! You have to try for my sake!”

“I never asked for your help!”

She spins, a hurt look on her face. It breaks my heart. But if i have to annoy her to get her off my orbit, then so be it.

“What did you say to me?”

“You heard me clearly! I don’t want your help. You think you’re preventing me from harming myself?” I laugh then, a jagged sound. “I could take a knife from that kitchen without your knowledge and end it all. Easy.”

There’s silence. “What has gotten into you Fabiola?” She’s crying now.

Alright. That’s my cue to leave.

I stand and move past her but she pulls me back.

The move knocks her oversized purse off the counter.

Spilling the contents across the floor. Lipstick, keys, loose change... and a thick manila folder marked with a corporate seal.

Courtney freezes. "Don't look at that."

She dives for the folder.

But I’m already moving. Something about her reaction, isn’t right. I snatch the folder before she can reach it.

"Give it back, Fab. It’s nothing."

I open it. The logo at the top of the page makes my blood run cold.

The Alfred jet empire.

"Why do you have this?"

Courtney slumps against the counter, defeated. "I was going to throw it away. I found it at the temp agency. It’s a job listing."

I scan the paper.

Role: Household staff.

Employer: The Estate of Maximus Alfred.

Requirements: discretion, no criminal record, European background preferred.

"Maximus Alfred." I read the name out loud, it tastes like bile. "The patriarch. The man Alex died trying to expose."

"That's why I hid it!" Courtney cries. "I don’t want us getting involved with them Fabiola!”

I look up at my sister, the wheels turning in my head. I look back down at the file.

Getting a job in the Alfred’s company is as hard as finding water on mars. I wouldn’t say I hadn’t tried to infiltrate them many times out of desperation for evidence. It was always futile.

Attached to the back of the file is a fake passport and a resume for a woman named Ava Vance—a certified governess from Europe who died in a car crash three months ago.

"Courtney," I ask slowly. "Where did you get the fake ID?”

"I... I had a guy make it. Just in case… I was brave enough," she sobs. "I wanted to avenge Alex. But I was too scared. I didn't want to leave you."

I stand up, clutching the file to my chest. Maybe The stranger on the bridge was right. I have been holding on for dear life. I've been holding on for this moment.

The despair evaporates, replaced by something hotter. Something darker.

"You were right to be scared," I say, walking to the window. "It's not your duty to avenge my husband.”

"Fabiola-"

I turn back to her, a genuine smile touching my lips for the first time in four years. "I'll take the job."

She’s up on her feet, hot with protest. "You think you can just barge into these people’s mansions like some f*****g spy?! You’re out of your mind Fabiola I won't let you!"

“You can’t stop me. I made a promise to Alex. A promise I must fulfill. Fabiola Mendoza died on that bridge,” I whisper, my fingers tracing the edge of the fake passport.

“But Ava Vance? She’s going to burn their empire to the ground.”