PAIGE
The walk over to where my mother sat felt longer than the hallway back from Payton’s room. Each step was heavy. I could feel Reon’s gaze on my back, a steady, supportive pressure. I slid into the empty vinyl chair beside her, the plastic sighing under my weight.
Barbara lifted her head. She’d been staring at her hands, but now her eyes, red and weary, t mine. The usual cool calculation was gone, replaced by a naked worry I’d rarely seen.
"How is she?" she asked, her voice thin and frayed.
I took a breath, trying to be the calm one. "She’s fine. Resting. She... she told about the dream. The one she had when she woke up. About Father." I didn’t go into all the details about Denki or the confession of love. That was Payton’s to share. I just gave her the essence. "She understands what happened. What he is."
Barbara nodded slowly, absorbing it. Then, a heavy silence descended between us. It was thick and awkward, filled with all the things we’d never said.
We just sat there, two won in a brightly lit room, surrounded by the wreckage of our family. I could hear the hum of the vending machine down the hall. It felt louder than our breathing.
She let out a long, shaky sigh, as if she was deflating. "Paige," she began, her voice trembling. She wasn’t looking at anymore, but at so distant point on the wall. "I am... so sorry. For everything."
I stayed silent, letting the words land. I just listened.
"I am sorry for being a part of the machine that shoved you out of the Ristone family. For standing by and letting your father disinherit you. For... for inciting Payton on how to have you arrested." A fresh wave of sha seed to wash over her. "And for bruising your arm at the gala. For all of it. Every single, selfish part I played."
Her words kept coming, like a dam had finally broken. "I’m just... so tired, Isumi. I’m tired of the fake happy family facade. I’m tired of the power-driven legacy drama. It’s all just... poison." She finally risked a glance at , her eyes pleading for understanding. "I know I wasn’t the best mother. I know I didn’t train Payton right. I made her vain and petty. I never gave her the tools to be strong, like you. I failed you both."
I sighed, running a hand over my face. I felt overwheld. This was a tidal wave of regret I hadn’t been prepared for. A part of wanted to yell, to list every single way she had failed . But looking at her, so broken and small, the fight just wasn’t in anymore.
She saw my struggle and pressed on, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I’m not asking for your forgiveness. I know that’s... that’s too much to ask. It’s a lot. I know that. I just... I needed you to know that I am sorry. And that I am just... so very tired."
I looked at this woman, my mother, who had always been a statue of perfection and cold ambition. Now, she was just a tired, sorry woman in a hospital chair. The anger I’d held onto for so long felt like a heavy coat I could finally take off.
"It’s fine," I said, my own voice soft. I chose my words carefully. I wouldn’t lie to her. Not now. "I won’t lie to you and say I forgive you. Not right now. That... that might take ti. But we’re good now. Okay? We’re good."
It wasn’t a full peace treaty. It was a ceasefire. A promise not to be enemies anymore. It was the best I could give, and from the way her shoulders relaxed just a fraction, I think it was what she needed to hear. It was a start.
The silence between us wasn’t so heavy now. It was just quiet. My mother took another shaky breath, as if she had more poison to purge.
"He’s gone completely mad, Paige," she whispered, her voice laced with a fear I’d never heard from her before. "I need you to know... I was not a party to it. The assassination. When he contacted the Okubo Group to have Daki killed." She shook her head, her eyes wide with a horror that was still fresh. "I only found out when the call ca. When that man, Fukuzawa, said they were pulling out. I heard Shunsuke screaming at him through the study door. That’s when I knew. That’s when he... he spiraled. The gun was already in the house. It was only a matter of ti before he did sothing that would land him in prison for the rest of his life."
I watched her, the lines of stress etched deep around her mouth. And I knew, with a cold certainty, that she was telling the truth. My mother was many things—vain, socially ambitious, a master of cold calculation. But she was not a killer. The thought of bloodshed, of hired hitn, would revolt her on a fundantal level. Her battles were fought with gossip, financial pressure, and legal docunts, not bullets.
But a thought, cold and clear, cut through my mind. But did you know, Mother? Did you know about all the rest? The illegal transactions he funded for decades? The shell companies, the bribes, the shady deals he made to build that empire you were so proud to be a part of? She looked so shattered by this one, violent act, but the foundation of the Ristone fortune was built on a hundred other cris she’d happily ignored.
She seed to read the doubt on my face, or maybe she was just following her own train of thought to its logical, bleak conclusion. "When Payton is recovered," she said, her voice gaining a sliver of resolve, "I will take her back to Japan. It’s... it’s for the best. There’s nothing left for us here."
I just nodded. What was there to say? ’I’m sorry’ felt hollow. ’Good luck’ felt cruel. A jumble of half-ford words got stuck in my throat. "I... well... that’s..." I stuttered, feeling strangely young and helpless.
She forced a small, tight smile onto her face. It didn’t reach her eyes. "It’s fine, Isumi. It is." She seed to gather herself, straightening her spine just a little. It was a familiar gesture, the socialite preparing to make polite conversation, but now it seed so fragile. She looked at , really looked at , and her gaze softened in a new way. "How... how have you been? Truly. And how are things with... with Daki?"
"It’s fine," I said automatically, the simple, safe answer. But her eyes were too perceptive now. They weren’t judging; they were just... seeing.
Her gaze dropped for a second to my midsection, then flicked back to my face. "How many months have you been carrying?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
My eyes widened in shock. A jolt of pure panic shot through . How did she know? But of course she knew. She was my mother. She’d carried two children herself. She could probably see the subtle changes, the new softness, the way my hand sotis drifted to my stomach without thinking. The secret I’d been clutching so tightly felt suddenly exposed.
I took a breath, deciding to trust this new, fragile truce. "A month and a week," I answered, my own voice soft.
She nodded slowly, a myriad of emotions crossing her face—surprise, a flicker of what might have been joy, and then a deep, profound sadness, perhaps for all the monts she would miss. "Congratulations," she said, and the word sounded genuine, stripped of all its usual social artifice.
Emboldened by her reaction, I offered her one more piece of my new life. "I’m... engaged," I said. "To Reon."
This ti, her smile was real. It was small and tired, but it was real. "I am happy for you, Paige. Truly. I wish you all the best." She hesitated, her hand twitching in her lap as if she wanted to reach for mine, to offer so physical connection, so maternal blessing. But the chasm between us was still too wide, the history too painful.
So I did it. I reached out and took her hand.
Her fingers were cold and trembled slightly in mine. She didn’t squeeze back, not at first. She just let her hand rest in mine, a bridge made of skin and bone over years of silence and disappointnt. It wasn’t a dramatic reconciliation.
It wasn’t a tearful embrace. It was just a hand, held in a quiet hospital waiting room. But in that simple, awkward contact, I felt the first, faint stirrings of sothing that had been dead for a very long ti. It wasn’t forgiveness, not yet. But it was a start. A quiet, complicated, and fragile start.
– – –
REON
I watched her from across the room. My Black Cat. She’d sat down next to Barbara, and the two of them were talking. Actually talking. Not the sharp, barbed exchanges of our world, but sothing quieter. Softer.
And now... they were holding hands.
A part of , the part that rembers every slight against her, every tear she shed because of them, wanted to scoff. Wanted to march over there and pull her away from the woman who stood by while she was cast out. But a larger, more rational part of just watched. And calculated.
Maybe this was it. Maybe this fragile, awkward handhold was the only shot at salvation Barbara and Payton would ever get. Or maybe it was just the closest they’d ever co to it. It wasn’t forgiveness. It wasn’t absolution.
But it was a shot. A chance to not be enemies anymore. And for Paige’s sake, for the peace I could see settling on her shoulders even from here, I hoped they were smart enough not to waste it.
Then she stood up. She walked away from her mother and ca straight to . She didn’t stop until she walked right into my chest, burying her face against . My arms ca around her instantly, a reflex.
I held her tight, feeling the slight tremble in her fra, and pressed a kiss into her hair. She slled like hospital antiseptic and her own familiar scent, a mix I never wanted to associate again.
"You’re strong," I murmured into her hair, my voice low. I let a familiar, smug sarcasm lace my words, a shield for the fierce pride and relief I felt. "I’m proud of you. I was half-expecting waterworks, but you’re still standing. Not a single tear."
She pulled back just enough to roll her eyes spectacularly. But I saw the ghost of a smile on her lips. Good. My sarcasm was a language she understood, a return to our normal.
"Oh, I’m not the only one who should be making peace with the enemy today," she retorted, her own tone dry and pointed.
My brow rose. I knew exactly where this was going. My gaze instinctively flicked over her shoulder to the far end of the waiting room, where Denki sat, a slumped, miserable figure staring at the wall.
"No way," I said, the words flat and absolute. The idea was absurd. The betrayal was too fresh, the mory of his duplicity too sharp.
"Yes way," she purred, her voice dropping to that low, persuasive hum that went straight through . "And you’re fucking going."
I rolled my eyes toward the ceiling, letting out a short, exasperated breath. This woman. This impossible, brilliant, infuriating woman.
"He’s already here," she pressed, her logic annoyingly sound. "So why not do it now? Salvation is in the air, or haven’t you noticed?" She finally pulled away completely, giving a look that was all challenge and a hint of a wink.
I stared at her, at the absolute, unwavering certainty in her eyes. She was sending into the lion’s den, and she knew it. And she knew I would go, because she asked.
A slow, reluctant smirk touched my lips. I leaned in close, my voice a low growl ant only for her ears. "The hold you have on ..."
I let the sentence hang, the unspoken is absolute vibrating between us. She just smiled, a real, triumphant one this ti.
With a final, lingering look at her, I turned. I straightened the cuffs of my jacket, a pointless, habitual gesture of gathering my armor. And then I started walking.
Across the sterile, brightly lit room, past the empty chairs, toward the man who had been my best friend and then my greatest betrayer. Each step felt heavy, loaded with a history I had no desire to revisit. But I walked anyway. For her. Always for her.
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