Wang's Pov.
Ezra leans on the rail, cigarette burning between his fingers, eyes fixed on the quiet city below. "You think they'll ever forgive us?" he asks, voice low and heavy.
I take a deep breath, the air sharp and cool. "Forgiveness isn't the problem," I say. "It's trust. Once it's gone, it never really comes back. It just learns how to hide better."
He exhales a cloud of smoke, watching it fade. "Dre's not the kind to stay mad. But I saw something in his face last night. Something broke."
I nod slowly, my chest tightening. "Same with Zhan. I looked at him and saw everything I should've protected, everything I ruined because I couldn't control my jealousy."
Ezra chuckles dryly, but there's no humor in it. "We really are a mess."
"Yeah," I admit. "But maybe that's what makes us human again. The mess."
The sun creeps higher, painting the sky in gold and soft pink. For a moment, it's quiet—no revenge, no ghosts, no screams. Just two men who've done terrible things trying to remember how to breathe.
Ezra finally says, "What now?"
I look at him, then out at the horizon. "Now we live with it," I whisper. "And hope they'll want to live with us too."
"You should talk to Dre," I say quietly. "I'll talk to Zhan when I'm done with what I need to take care of."
Ezra nods, his face tight with guilt. "I will. I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to him," he sighs, crushing his cigarette against the rail before we head back inside.
The air inside feels heavy. Dre is asleep on the couch, his face soft but tired, while Zhan sits silently in the armchair, a drink dangling from his fingers, eyes fixed on nothing.
Ezra doesn't hesitate—he walks straight to Dre, gently scoops him up, and carries him to their room without a word.
I linger a moment longer, watching Zhan. "I need to sort some things back home," I say, my voice low. "But I promise, we'll talk when I get back. Please."
He doesn't look at me, just nods once. That small gesture hurts more than any argument could.
"Thank you," I murmur, standing.
When I walk into Ezra's room, he's already on the bed, Dre curled against his chest. For the first time in a long time, there's peace in their faces—and it makes me ache for what I've broken.
I carried my brother and Lusi into the car like they were dead weight and I had no right to feel anything for them. Part of me wanted to drop them on the curb and never look back; another part—smaller, meaner—tried to watch them wake and beg.
Zhan didn't say a word when I left. I sat in front, hands folded, eyes on the window. Cold and distant.
The private jet made it easy. No questions, no curious eyes, no customs to parse our excuses. Three hours in the air and another syringe—enough to keep them under for six more. I told myself it was mercy. The truth sounded fainter in my head every time I used it.
We got home at midnight. The city at that hour looked like someone had washed the sin off it; lights were softer, people smaller behind their curtains. I hauled them up the steps and into our room.
I set them down on the bed, looser than before but still heavy as guilt. Lusi's hair fell across her face in a way that made my hand pause for a second before I wiped it away. My brother—ash-gray in the jetlight—muttered something that might have been a prayer. I walked the perimeter of the room twice, checking the locks, checking the window latches like a man who's teaching himself to be careful after years of not being.
Then I went to my daughter's room at the end of the hall. It was absurd—cherry stickers on the lamp, a unicorn mug she refused to throw away—but it was clean, and the silence there was soft enough to hold me. I lay on the bed beside her and watched the ceiling until the weight of the night's choices pressed me into an exhausted kind of sleep.
Somewhere between dozing and the thin, early morning hours, I promised myself a plan: not mercy, not bitterness—accountability. Whatever I'd done on that yacht, whatever we'd called justice, I wasn't going to let this end with only iron and water. I would make sure the world saw them for what they were.
I fell asleep with that promise like a shard under my ribs.
When dawn came it would need its own courage. For now, I let the dark hold me, and in that quiet, between the soft and thinking of Zhan, I let myself be tired.
I was half-asleep when I heard the door creak open.
"Wang?" My mother's voice carried that familiar mix of surprise and disapproval that only mothers could master. "Why are you sleeping here?"
I blinked, trying to focus. The room still smelled faintly of my daughter's lotion and soft powder. "I came in late last night," I muttered, my voice rough with sleep. "Saw Brother and Lusi all cuddled up in our room, so I came here instead."
Her footsteps halted. "What do you mean?" she asked sharply, suspicion creeping into her tone.
I rolled over, pulling the blanket up to my chin. "See for yourself," I said flatly, too tired to explain, too drained to care.
She stood there for a moment, silent except for her quickened breath, then turned and walked out.
The faint sound of her slippers down the hallway faded into the house's quiet, and I let my eyes drift shut again. I didn't need to see her reaction. The storm would start soon enough.
About ten minutes later, the quiet morning shattered — voices rose, a crash echoed down the hall, and my mother's shout cut through everything.
My daughter stirred beside me, her eyes wide and frightened. "Dad?" she whispered, her voice barely a breath.
"Hey, baby," I said softly, pulling her close and rubbing her back. "It's okay."
She looked toward the door, anxious. "What's happening?"
"Nothing you need to worry about," I lied gently. "Why don't you go to the garden? I'll have someone bring your breakfast out there, okay?"
She hesitated. "I need to bathe and brush first," she said, her small voice steady but tired.
"Alright," I sighed, forcing a smile. "Go ahead."
As she padded toward the bathroom, I swung my legs off the bed and stood up, stretching the stiffness from my body. The shouts grew louder outside, and I could already guess where they were coming from.
By the time I reached the door, I was ready to face whatever waited beyond it.
"Wang?" Lusi hissed, clutching her head as she tried to sit up. "How did we get here?"
"How should he know?" my mom snapped, her voice sharp enough to slice glass.
I just shrugged, pretending not to care, and walked to the kitchen. The coffee machine hissed as I poured myself a cup, its warmth doing little to thaw the tension brewing in the house. I took a slow sip, then strolled back to the chaos unfolding like it was a morning show.
My dad's voice boomed, calm but furious. "Why are you two cuddled up in this house — and reeking of alcohol?"
My brother's jaw tightened. He turned toward me, his eyes blazing. "Why don't you ask Wang?" he hissed.
I took another sip of coffee, letting the silence stretch before answering. "Ask me what exactly?" I said, my tone smooth, detached — the kind that made him even angrier.
Then Lusi started talking — not just talking, spilling, like she'd been drugged with truth serum. Her words tumbled out too fast, too desperate to stop.
She confessed everything that happened on the yacht — the injections, the coffins, the money, everything. My parents just stood there frozen, like statues in disbelief.
And then she said it.
She and my brother had been dating.
My mom nearly choked on her own breath, clutching her chest. My dad's face turned red — veins bulging, jaw clenched, pacing like a lion trapped in its own cage.
I raised my hand defensively. "I have no idea what you're talking about. I was in Panama!"
He grabbed his phone, pulled up my records — flight logs, hospital reports — and every single one checked out clean.
My mom looked from him to me, confusion clouding her face. And I just stood there, sipping my coffee, watching the perfect family portrait burn quietly from the inside.
Lusi, still desperate to prove she wasn't losing her mind, grabbed her phone and dialed Meng and Wen.
They answered — laughing, joking, sounding perfectly fine. No hint of fear or pain in their voices.
My parents exchanged uneasy glances. Lusi's face twisted, confusion mixing with panic.
"You— you were dead!" she yelled into the phone. "You were dead!"
But all they heard was laughter on the other end.
That was the final straw. My dad called for a doctor; my mom insisted they both go for a test. The results came back a few hours later — positive for multiple controlled substances.
And just like that, everything flipped.
Their credibility? Gone.
My innocence? Intact.
Two days later, I signed the divorce papers. Freedom came with silence — no shouting, no tears, just the sound of my pen gliding across paper.
The DNA test came next.
The result hit me like a blade: she wasn't my daughter.
But when I looked at her — her sleepy eyes, her small hands holding mine — I realized blood didn't matter.
She would always be my girl.
My parents came to me quietly, shame heavy in their eyes.
"We're sorry, Wang," my mom said. "We should've trusted you."
I didn't say much. Just nodded, sipping the wine that had long gone hot. Because some apologies don't need words — just distance.