Heng, Sophea, and Marina sat in the room, the silence between them heavy. Finally, Heng broke it with a deep breath.
"Both of you should get some rest. We'll talk more tomorrow," he said.
Sophea shook her head. "I'll head home now."
"It's late," Heng replied. "Stay here and sleep with Marina."
"No, I can't. I've already called my nephew to come get me."
Heng hesitated before relenting. "You… fine. You can go."
"I'll go with Mom," Marina chimed in softly.
Heng offered no reply, only a small nod of acknowledgment as the quiet settled over them again.
***
Visak stood outside Monica's door and knocked, his knuckles brushing against the wood with quiet insistence. When there was no answer, he knocked again before cautiously pushing it open.
Inside, Monica sat on the sofa, her posture rigid, her face set in a sorrowful firmness that made her seem unreachable. Visak crossed the room without hesitation, stopping just in front of her.
Slowly, he knelt, his eyes searching hers as he reached out to gently touch her hand. She flinched, startled by the contact, her gaze flickering down to his fingers.
"Honey..." His voice was soft, almost a whisper.
She didn't reply, her silence heavy with unspoken pain.
"I've always said I trust you," he continued, his tone steady but tender. "No pretending. I meant every word. Do you remember that?"
Still, she said nothing.
His hand lingered on hers, the warmth of his touch a quiet reassurance.
"You must be hurting so much. I can see it. But can you try to let it go—what your parents and sister did to you? They feel terrible for the pain they caused, even if they didn't see it at first. They know now, Monica. They know, and it hurts them too."
Her eyes, brimming with unshed tears, remained still—silent streams that spoke of a heartbreak too deep for words.
"You love them so much," he said gently, his voice thick with understanding. "That's why it hurts so much, isn't it?"
Visak rose to his feet and wrapped her in a tight embrace, offering the solace she desperately needed. The midnight hour weighed heavily, and her exhaustion—both mental and physical—rendered her frail and fragile.
Without a word, he gently scooped her up, cradling her as he carried her to the bed, laying her down with utmost care.
"Rest now," he murmured softly. "You're not well. I'll help you freshen up and change."
She didn't protest, her silence a quiet surrender to her weariness.
True to his word, Visak found her nightclothes, carefully undressing and redressing her with tender hands. Then, with a damp cloth, he wiped her hands and feet, his touch soothing and deliberate.
Before he could finish, her body succumbed to sleep, lulled by his warmth and the overwhelming fatigue that had drained her.
***
That night, neither Heng nor Visak slept. In the dim light of the study, they sat, words hanging heavy between them. Heng broke the silence.
"As you know, Sophea and I divorced when Monic was just nine. She left with her mother, and little Marina, only four at the time. Too young to understand much. When Monic turned fourteen, she returned to me, saying she wanted to work. At first, it was just a family business. Dalin, childless then, cared for Monic like her own, but I…I trained my daughter like a soldier. In harsh conditions, under relentless pressure, she never fled. She always said she needed to make her mother proud."
Visak's eyes darkened. "Yes, I know. She always bears the weight in silence. But tonight... it's different. She couldn't carry it anymore. What happened? You've been quiet all evening."
Heng's voice faltered. "Monica found out about my plan to wrap up the case. Now, I don't know what to do. I can't even begin to imagine what will happen."
Visak's gaze sharpened. "We talked about this when I was abroad. I told you Monica was innocent, yet you still chose to think this way..."
"Someone saw her with Saroath that day," Heng explained.
"Did they see her kill the woman too?" Visak asked, voice steady.
"I can't say for certain…But I can't believe that Saroath took her own life as well."
"I'll take over the investigation. You should stop getting involved. I won't let Monica suffer like this again—it's enough."
"I've already spoken to someone about my plan. If my words are twisted, it could turn against me."
"Dad, you're great at business, but this isn't the same. You have to be careful, or it'll come back to haunt us."
"What should I do now?"
"Who did you talk to?"
"Sarith. Saroath's brother."
Visak took a deep breath, a complicated expression flickered across his features—one of frustration, concern, and a quiet resolve. What to do next?
***
Visak woke up in the same clothes he had worn the day before, sunlight streaming through the window of BunHeng's guest room. Without a moment's hesitation, he stepped out and headed straight to Monica's room.
Pushing the door open, he found the bed empty. The faint sound of water dripping from the bathroom caught his ear. He smiled to himself and casually perched on the edge of her bed, his eyes wandering over the organized chaos of her belongings scattered around the room.
Monica's phone rested on the charger, her locked book untouched on the desk. An seemed far more engrossed in the glowing laptop screen, where a spreadsheet of company work blinked back at him.
"Such a workaholic," he muttered to himself, pushing back his chair. Just as he moved toward the desk, the faint creak of the bathroom door broke the quiet.
"Oh my—!" Monica's startled voice filled the room. She stood there, wrapped snugly in a dark green bathrobe, her damp hair framing her flushed face.
Visak turned, a soft smile spreading across his lips. "You're looking better."
Monica blinked, still recovering from her surprise. "Have you been here since last night?"
"Yes," he said simply, closing the distance between them. He leaned down to plant a warm, fleeting kiss on her lips.
"I thought you'd gone home already," she murmured, her arms slipping around his waist.
He held her close, their embrace lingering as they stood there, wrapped in the soft glow of morning.
"Your dad never let you stay up late," he murmured, a teasing smile playing on his lips. "So, I moved her to your room, baby."
She smiled softly, her expression warm, and it eased something tight in his chest.
"I'm glad you're feeling better," he said, his voice tender. "You're the kind of person who never holds a grudge, someone who doesn't know resentment—a quick-witted one at that."
Nestled against him, she looked up into his face, her calm demeanor steadying him.
"Or maybe," he ventured, a playful edge in his voice, "it's just because you don't know how to hang onto the stressful stuff anymore?"
She shook her head with a small grin. "Maybe. Don't have time to prolong any drama…"
"You are," he insisted.
"Or," she countered, her tone teasing now, "because I saw you here."
Her words lit a spark in his chest, sending a flutter through his heart. He couldn't help but smile as he pressed a kiss to her hair.
She looped her arms around his neck, and he drew her closer, his hands circling her waist. For a moment, the world beyond them didn't matter.
He scooped her up effortlessly, carrying her to the couch where he settled down and let her rest on his lap. His hands moved gently along her back, soothing her as he said,
"Mom and Dad are already working on our wedding plans as we speak."
Her eyes widened. "Yes, and just make it simple!"
He smiled, his tone turning resolute. "As you wish, and don't worry about anything from now on. I'll help Dad sort out the issues, and the police are involved too. There's no way I'll let anything messy disrupt or delay our wedding. Got it?"
She nodded eagerly. "Yes!"
"Just 'yes'?" he teased, raising a brow. "What else?"
Her face flushed as she hesitated, but he leaned closer, his voice dipping.
"You know exactly what I'm waiting for—not just words. I need more… your expression, your body language. Show me how you feel. Make it sensual."
She bit her lip, letting out a nervous laugh. "Damn!"
"Say that again," he murmured, his lips brushing hers, "or I'll have to shut you up myself..."
As Monica turned to respond, a sudden knock at the door startled them. Visak froze, running a hand through his hair in a nervous gesture, while Monica moved to answer it.
Standing on the doorstep was Dalin.
"Why are you here, not coming in?" Monica asked, her tone sharp with curiosity.
"I knew Visak was with you," Dalin replied coolly.
"So, what's so urgent this early?"
Dalin hesitated, then said, "I think Dara's shared your dad's recording with Rith. Check the news—and stay calm." Without waiting for a reply, he turned and walked away, leaving Monica stunned.
"What's going on?" Visak asked, stepping closer, concerned in his voice.
Monica didn't answer. Instead, she hurried to grab her phone, her hands trembling. She whispered, "Like mother, like son."
"What is happening now?" he muttered under his breath. She opened the news app, her face paling as she read.
Monica glanced at her phone, her expression darkening. "Dara's spreading more news—this time about my dad!" she exclaimed.
Visak held his composure, his voice steady. "Stay out of it. I'll handle this."
She shook her head firmly. "This is a family matter, Visak. You need to stay away."
"I can't," he replied. "Let me see it."
Reluctantly, Monica handed over her phone. Visak scanned the screen, his jaw tightening as he read Vuthy's post—a video of Heng and Rith's conversation, discussing plans to close the Saroath case.