“He hit him,” I whispered, then louder, “You HIT HIM!”
Matteo turned on me instantly. “This is your fault! If you didn’t escalate things, he wouldn’t have been there!”
“Don’t you blame me!” I yelled, stepping forward.
But before I could move again, he grabbed my hair.
Pain exploded across my scalp as he yanked me down and sideways. I gasped, losing my balance immediately.
“How dare you hurt my son,” he growled into my face, his grip tightening until my vision blurred.
“Matteo—stop—” I choked.
He shoved me hard.
I slammed into the table, ribs hitting first, pain shooting through my entire body. My face struck the wood as everything spun.
And just like that, they were gone.
The door shut.
Silence swallowed the house.
That night, I checked into a hotel under a false name. The city outside looked distant, unreal—lights flickering like something already fading away.
I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at my suitcase like it belonged to someone else.
My phone lit up.
Vincent.
I’m coming for you soon. We’ll leave it all behind.
I exGrantd shakily.
I made it out.
Or at least… I thought I did.
A knock came.
Sharp. Official.
Not his.
I frowned slightly. “Come in.”
The door opened.
Two police officers stepped inside.
“Mrs. Aria Grant?” one asked.
“Yes?” I answered slowly.
“You are under arrest for the attempted murder of Mason Grant.”
My body went cold.
“What?” I whispered.
The officer stepped forward. “Please cooperate, ma’am.”
The room tilted violently.
My knees gave out.
“No…” I breathed. “That’s not true…”
But it was already too late.
The cuffs locked around my wrists—cold, final, inescapable.
“It wasn’t me,” I repeated for what felt like the hundredth time, my voice breaking at the edges. “I never hurt him. I didn’t hurt anyone!”
The interrogation room felt colder under the harsh fluorescent lights buzzing above us, the sound drilling into my skull as if it was trying to wear me down. My wrists were still sore from the cuffs, and my throat felt raw from shouting the same truth over and over. Across the metal table, two officers watched me with the same blank, unreadable faces.
“Mrs. Grant,” one of them said in a measured tone, “multiple witnesses say you physically pushed the child. The findings we have—”
“I didn’t!” My voice cracked mid-sentence. “It wasn’t like that. It was an accident. Matteo—he was there—he saw it—”
The door suddenly opened.