Pretenders
RONNY’S POV
The air in the hospital room thickened the second her father’s voice cut across the silence.
“Young man,” he snapped, his tone sharp enough to slice the sterile calm in half. “This is my daughter. What is wrong with you? I can’t visit my own child without you hovering over her like some… watchdog?”
His words were meant to rattle me, to shove me back a step. They didn’t.
I didn’t even blink.
Liliana’s fingers tightened faintly around mine, a small squeeze that grounded me. I could feel the pulse in her wrist—fragile, uneven—but steady enough to tell me she was still here, still fighting. And as long as she was fighting, I wasn’t moving.
Her father’s jaw flexed as he waited for me to flinch.
I stayed planted.
The stepmother moved first. She stepped forward, her heels clicking delicately against the tile, the faint perfume of something floral and expensive following her like a shadow. Her voice dripped honey, every syllable coated in a sweetness that didn’t reach her eyes.
“Oh, come on,” she said lightly, smiling the kind of smile that belonged on a magazine cover, not in a hospital room. “It’s not like we’re going to hurt her. We all know you’re her boyfriend, and that you care about her, but this…” she gestured vaguely at my stance, “this is a little too protective, don’t you think? What harm could we possibly do to our own Liliana?”
Her words were soft, but there was an edge beneath the sugar. I heard it. Liliana heard it. The machines in the room hummed, oblivious, but every nerve in my body went taut.
The stepsister—Lily—pouted in the corner. Her lower lip jutted out in practiced innocence, a look I’d seen her use before. “Yes,” she added, almost sing-song, her big eyes widening as if we were all supposed to melt. “You don’t have to be so mean. We’re just here because we love her.”
I ignored them all.
I turned my head slowly, deliberately, until my eyes locked with Liliana’s.
She was the only one who mattered.
Her father noticed. I saw the way his shoulders stiffened, the faint flicker of irritation in his gaze. He wanted control of this room, and I wasn’t giving it to him.
“Liliana,” he said finally, his voice dropping into something colder, heavier. “Tell him to leave. This isn’t his place.”
The words hung in the air like smoke.
Liliana didn’t look at him. Her eyes stayed on me, searching, questioning, a storm of emotions moving behind them—pain, confusion, fury, and something that felt a lot like resolve.
Then she turned, slow and deliberate, to face her father.
“Dad,” she said softly, but there was steel under the softness. “There’s nothing wrong with him being here. His presence… comforts me.”
The room went silent.
Her father’s jaw tightened until I thought his teeth might crack. The muscles in his face twitched, betraying the storm he was swallowing. He glanced at our joined hands, the steady grip I refused to release, and something dark flashed in his eyes.
He didn’t like losing.
Not in business.
Not in life.
And certainly not here.
But he said nothing.
Instead, he exhaled sharply and shifted his focus back to Liliana, like I wasn’t even there. “How are you feeling?” he asked, his tone clipped but measured, every word weighed before it left his mouth.
Liliana leaned back against the pillows. “Fine,” she said. Her voice was calm, but I heard the undertone. She was lying through her teeth, the same way I was when I said “fine” after a fight. She wasn’t fine. She was barely holding it together.
Her father either didn’t notice or didn’t care.
The stepmother took that as her cue to glide closer, the false warmth in her eyes almost blinding. “Oh, sweetheart,” she cooed, brushing a hand along the bedrail as if touching it could somehow transmit affection. “You’ve given us such a scare. We were so worried about you. When we heard about the accident, I just…” She pressed a manicured hand dramatically to her chest. “I nearly fainted.”
The performance was flawless—too flawless. Every move, every flutter of her lashes felt rehearsed.
Liliana’s lips tightened. Her eyes flicked toward me for the briefest second, a silent message I read loud and clear.
She was annoyed.
She wanted this woman out of her room.
But she stayed quiet.
Because that’s what Liliana did. She swallowed discomfort to keep the peace. She hid her claws until the last possible second.
I, on the other hand, had no such restraint.
I said nothing, but I didn’t bother to hide the way my eyes tracked every fake gesture, every forced smile. I let my suspicion bleed into the air between us, sharp enough to cut if they were paying attention.
The stepmother kept talking, filling the silence with carefully crafted concern. “Your father panicked. He rushed here as soon as he could, didn’t you, darling?”
Her father gave a curt nod, but his eyes never left Liliana’s face.
Something twisted in my gut.
It was too neat. Too perfect.
The call Liliana had mentioned—the one from her father the night of the crash—rang like an alarm in my head. He had known something was going on at home. He had called her. And yet here he was, pretending ignorance, pretending urgency.
The timelines didn’t match.
And I didn’t believe in coincidences.
Not anymore.
Not after what happened to Liliana’s mother.
My eyes flicked to the stepmother’s perfectly composed face, to Lily’s exaggerated pout, to the way her father’s gaze flicked between us with something unreadable beneath the surface.
Something just didn’t add up.
Liliana’s mother’s accident had been full of loopholes—strange inconsistencies, unanswered questions. I’d read the reports, dug through old articles. A late-night drive. A sudden brake failure. No witnesses. A company dispute brewing beneath the surface.
And now Liliana.
The same kind of “accident.”
The same suspicious silence.
The same family sitting at the center of it all, smiling like nothing was wrong.
It was too much. Too patterned. Too dangerous to ignore.
I could feel my pulse in my throat as I watched them—vultures dressed in silk and tailored suits, circling a woman who’d already lost too much.
Liliana’s father reached out suddenly, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead with a touch that was too careful, too calculated. “You scared us,” he said, his voice softer now, but still carrying the weight of something unsaid. “Don’t ever do that again.”
Liliana flinched almost imperceptibly.
I saw it.
He saw it.
We both pretended it didn’t happen.
My grip on her hand tightened, an unspoken promise that I wasn’t going anywhere.
They could glare.
They could posture.
They could feed her all the pretty lies they wanted.
But I wasn’t letting them near her without a fight.
Not until I knew the truth.
Not until every crack in their story was split wide open.
Because something was wrong here.
Very, very wrong.
I studied each of them carefully, memorizing every twitch, every glance, every too-smooth word. Waiting for the slip.
It would come.
People like them always slipped.
And when they did, I’d be ready.
I wasn’t just overprotective.
I was right.
Because this wasn’t just about a crash.
It was about power.
Money.
And a company where Liliana’s mother had held more shares than anyone else.
Shares that Liliana now owned.
Shares worth killing for.
My gut tightened, the truth sharpening in the back of my mind like a blade.
Something didn’t add up.
And I was going to get to the bottom of it.
Even if it meant tearing her family apart to find the rot.
I squeezed Liliana’s hand again, letting the silent vow pass between us like a current.
They thought I was just a boyfriend.
They had no idea I was already hunting them.
Not yet.
But soon.
Very soon.
And when the truth finally cracked open, none of them would be able to hide.
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