---- Chapter 11 Brandon Carlson POV: My own words hung in the air, a stunning, horrifying revelation. She remembered. The amnesia was a lie. Caryl' s face paled. She had slipped. She knew it. | didn't give her a chance to recover. | turned and strode into the adjoining bathroom, turning the shower on full blast, the icy water a shock to my system. | stood under the spray, fully clothed, letting the cold wash away the drug-induced heat, letting it clear my head. Behind me, in the study, Caryl' s fear quickly curdled into rage. He had chosen a cold shower over her. He had rejected her. Her, who had orchestrated everything for his sake. She had clawed her way up from a squalid orphanage, adopted into a life of luxury she had no intention of ever giving up. Brandon was the key to it all. He was supposed to be her prize, her protector, her king. And he was supposed to love her. She was certain he did, deep down. He just needed to be freed from Farah's influence. | emerged from the bathroom moments later, dripping water onto the expensive rug, my suit ruined. But my mind was sharp, cold, and clear. ---- "Get dressed," | said, my voice leaving no room for argument. "Meet me in the living room. Now." She hesitated, then scurried away. | found her downstairs, wrapped in a plush robe, her face a mask of tear-streaked innocence. "When?" | asked, my voice flat. "When did you get your memory back?" "l never lied to you, Brandon!" she cried, her performance flawless. "| was just so scared! | remembered everything after the accident, but | saw how guilty you felt. | was afraid if | told you the truth, you would push me away! | couldn't bear to lose you.' Her words, her tears, they were a familiar poison. For years, | had been conditioned to respond to her fragility, her perceived weakness. A part of me, the part that had protected her since we were children, softened. | sighed, running a hand through my wet hair. "| will always take care of you, Caryl. You know that. But you will not lie to me again. Do you understand?" "Yes, brother," she whispered, her eyes downcast. | walked over to the desk and picked up the divorce papers my lawyer had sent over. | placed them on the coffee table in front of her, along with a pen. ---- "Sign it." She stared at the papers, her eyes widening in disbelief. "No! | won't!" "Our marriage was a means to an end," | said, my voice cold. "It was part of your treatment. You're recovered now. It's over." "But why?" she pleaded, her voice breaking. "Why can't we be married for real? | love you, Brandon! I've always loved you!" Her confession hit me like a physical blow. | stared at her, stunned. | had seen her as a sister, a responsibility. | had never, not for one moment, considered that her feelings were anything else. "That's impossible," | said, my voice hardening. "You are my sister." "It's because of her, isn't it?" she shrieked, her control finally snapping. "It's because of Farah! You're doing all of this for that worthless bitch!" "Do not speak her name!" | roared, my own control shattering. "She is in a mental institution, paying for her crimes! That is what she deserves "Then why won't you let her go?" Caryl shot back. "Why keep her alive at all?" "Sign the papers, Caryl," | said again, my voice a deadly command. ---- She hesitated, her jaw clenched, her mind racing. She couldn't lose this. She couldn't lose him. Just then, my phone rang. It was the director of the psychiatric hospital. "Mr. Carlson," he said, his voice strained. "Has she confessed yet?" | asked, my voice sharp. "Has she admitted to pushing my grandfather?" "Sir... there's been an incident," the director stammered. "A fire broke out in the west wing. It spread too quickly. We couldn't get to everyone in time." A cold dread washed over me. "What are you saying?" "Farah Moore's room... it was at the center of the blaze," he said, his voice heavy with grim finality. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Carlson. She's gone." The phone slipped from my hand and crashed to the floor. Gone. The word echoed in the silent room, a death knell for a future | hadn't even realized | was counting on. Farah was dead.