As Pillar found herself confined to the same chair where she once bound Theressa, she couldn’t shake off the feeling of déjà vu that enveloped her. Marcelo, with an air of authority, had orchestrated this scene, leaving Pillar with no option but to relive the torment she once inflicted upon another. The cold, unyielding ropes bit into her skin, mirroring the restraint she once imposed on Theressa.
Marcelo, his face contorted with rage, refused to meet Theressa’s eyes, for he knew the thousand reasons why such a confrontation would only deepen his turmoil. Instead, he unleashed his fury upon a man old enough to be his father. Clad in his customary black leather gloves, his fists rained down upon Mr. Bones, who lay helpless on the ground beneath him.
The mere thought of Mr. Bones laying a hand on Theressa ignited a fire within Marcelo, causing his blood to boil and his vision to blur with a crimson hue. The image of Theressa’s vulnerability, the memory of what Mr. Bones might have done had Marcelo not intervened, tormented his mind relentlessly. It was a haunting image that he couldn’t erase, a nightmare from which he couldn’t awaken.
Marcelo was consumed by a primal instinct to protect what belonged to him, to shield Theressa from any harm that dared to come her way. Every blow he landed upon Mr. Bones was fueled by an unyielding determination to avenge the violation of Theressa’s safety, to reclaim the sense of security that had been shattered by Mr. Bones’ despicable actions.
But amidst the chaos and violence, Marcelo couldn’t help but feel a gnawing sense of guilt clawing at his conscience. Had he been a moment too late, had fate not intervened on his behalf, the outcome might have been far graver. The thought of failing Theressa, of allowing her to endure even a moment of agony, was a burden too heavy to bear.
As Marcelo’s fists continued to rain down upon Mr. Bones, each blow echoed with a silent plea for redemption, for absolution from the sins of his past. He knew that no amount of retribution could erase the scars that had been inflicted upon Theressa’s psyche, but he vowed to spend every waking moment trying to ease her pain, to rebuild what had been broken.
In that moment of reckoning, as Marcelo grappled with the demons of his own making, Pillar watched on in silent contemplation. Bound to the chair that had once served as a symbol of her own cruelty, she couldn’t help but feel a pang of remorse for the role she had played in Theressa’s suffering. It was a bitter pill to swallow, a stark reminder of the consequences of her actions.
“Don’t you ever touch what is mine,” Marcelo warned as his clenched fist made another contact. There were no doubts that Mr. Bones would not emerge unscathed; he would either have a broken jaw or his whole face smashed in.
The game had turned, and Pillar was seated in the chair where Theressa had been tied up. She could only plead for Marcelo to have mercy, begging for her forgiveness.
However, his ears were blocked; he could not hear or listen to anyone, definitely not the faint and raspy sounds of pain from the man below him who had tried to do the unspeakable. Then, a soft voice called out to Marcelo, the only voice he could manage to listen to. Marcelo delivered one last punch to Bones before getting back to his feet. The old man had his eyes closed; he probably couldn’t stand up.
“You are willing to kill my father just because of your secretary?” Pillar yelled in disbelief, her face wet from shedding tears.
“My problem with you and your father is your stupidity and selfishness,” Marcelo proclaimed, his eyes fixed on Pillar.
“I thought selfishness was your strength. I thought your darkness could be a weapon, and we could fight side by side, but you are nothing but a piece of junk that is swayed by her feelings, controlled by her heart,” Marcelo continued as Kayden and Teddy completed their task behind him, obstructing Pillar’s view of what was about to happen.
“I won’t love you then; just please have me by your side,” Pillar pleaded.
The end of the room was covered with a blanket as she watched the two, their toxic relationship unfold.
“The problem is you already do, and I don’t need anyone to love me,” Marcelo muttered, his tone calm and soft.
“I can’t love you, but it’s okay if she does,” Pillar scolded as she tried to point at Theressa.
Marcelo scoffed. “We’ve had a lot of chatting,” Marcelo stated, and soon the deafening machine sound began, the sound of drilling so clear, it rang through everyone’s ears in the room.
Now, Pillar realized what was happening; his father was about to be decapitated right in front of her eyes, and she couldn’t do anything. His blood would spill on her, and she would be cursed.
“No!” she yelled as if her voice could stop the machine. Theressa’s eyes were so fixed on Pillar that she noticed everyone beginning to exit the room. She had sat there crying the same way before Anne was decapitated right in front of her. Fingers wrapped around her wrist as she was pulled outside the fourteenth room. She could only recognize they were Marcelo’s fingers when they got outside the mansion. She could finally take note of his dressing when they reached the car.
And just as they drove off, the sound hit them, a loud thudding sound. Their car was a distance away, but Theressa could see the flames from the castle; her eyes widened, her pupils a mirror to the burning flames and smoke that reached the sky. All she could think of was Anne. Anne’s body was still there, though it was in pieces, but it was still there.
It was all her fault; Theressa wouldn’t deny that. But Marcelo, why had he taken so long to come to her? Was he thinking of abandoning her there?