Suddenly, a door at the side of the house swung open, the hinges protesting.

Mrs. Saunders stepped out, her chest rising and falling quickly, one hand pressed lightly against it as if to steady her breath.

"What’s going on?" she demanded, her voice sharp, edged with confusion.

"He saw me!" Leo shouted, rushing past her, his footsteps hurried, uneven as he darted inside.

"Who?" Mrs. Saunders asked, her brows drawing together.

Her gaze shifted and landed on the phone first, the camera, and the small red light blinking. She froze. For a fraction of a second, something flickered across her face: fear, calculation, recognition maybe.

Then it hardened. She didn’t even need to see who it was, only one thing mattered, they had been caught.

She stepped back almost instinctively. Then, without another word, she slammed the door shut, and the lock clicked, loud and final.

Roman reached it a second too late. His chest pounded against his ribs as he hit the door with his palm, the sound echoing dully through the wood. The phone was still in his other hand, still streaming, still watching.

"Open the door!" he shouted, his voice rough with breath and adrenaline, the veins in his neck bulging. "You need to explain why you lied!"

He struck the door again, harder this time.

"Did someone make you do it?" he pushed, leaning closer as if his words could force their way through.

But all he got was nothing. No footsteps, no voices, just silence pressing back at him.

Roman’s breathing turned uneven, his chest heaving as he stepped back slightly, dragging in air that didn’t feel like enough. For a moment, his eyes dropped to the screen.

The comments were flooding in, fast, relentless, louder than the silence behind the door. He swallowed, forcing himself to focus, then lifted his gaze back to the camera.

"It’s confirmed," he said, pausing to catch his breath, his voice still tight. "Leo is alive and well."

He took another breath.

"He’s not in a coma," he continued, quieter but firmer. "This," he looked at the door, "this was all a lie. Nothing but an act."

The reactions surged.

Why would they do that?

Isn’t that a crime?

They lied to all of us?

We need to go there! All of us! Right now!

Roman’s eyes flickered across the words, his throat tightening as he looked back at the closed door.

Answers, he needed answers.

Something deeper was at play here, something bigger than just him.

—

Back at the Whitehall Estate, Vance moved quickly down the corridor, the soft thud of his shoes swallowed by the thick carpet beneath him. His grip on the tablet tightened as he approached Magnus’s bedroom door.

He stopped just outside, drawing in a steady breath before raising his hand to knock firmly on the door.

Silence answered at first, and then movement followed, muted, but there.

A moment later, the door opened, and Magnus stood there, his expression hard, irritation already set in his features.

"I’m trying to rest, Vance," he said, his voice low, edged. "This better be good."

Vance didn’t waste a second. He tapped the tablet, and the screen flared to life, casting a cold glow between them. He angled it toward Magnus.

"There is fire on the mountain, Sir," he said quietly, his tone laced with urgency.

Magnus’s eyes dropped to the screen, and his jaw tightened almost immediately.

"What is this about?" he asked, irritation sharpening his tone. "Why are you telling me what I already know?"

Vance exhaled, shaking his head once. "That," he paused, swallowing, "is from Roman," he said.

For a fraction of a second, the reaction slipped through.

The color drained from Magnus’s face. His gaze snapped from the screen to Vance, then back again, sharper now, more focused.

"How the hell did this happen?" he demanded. "Get it fixed. Immediately. No one must see this."

Vance’s shoulders dipped slightly. "Too late, Sir," he replied. "He went live with it. It’s already everywhere, causing a commotion online."

Silence stretched, heavy.

Magnus’s eyes dropped to the screen, scanning the flood of comments, the reactions stacking faster than they could be contained, and for the briefest moment, something flickered. Not anger, not surprise, recognition. Then it was gone.

His jaw tightened. "Take care of it," he said, his voice low, controlled. "There must not be any mention of me in any of this chaos."

A pause. Then—

"Implement the backup plan," he added.

Vance nodded, already shifting his weight, his mind moving ahead of the moment. "I’ll get to it now."

"One more thing," Magnus added, stopping him.

Vance paused as Magnus’s gaze lifted from the screen, settling on him, sharp, calculating.

"You need to move fast," he said. "And while you’re at it, we need to keep Roman busy. He’s getting closer to the truth than we want."

Vance inclined his head slightly, thinking. "He needs a distraction," he said. "Something bigger. Something that pulls his focus completely away from Leo, and makes him forget whatever he saw."

Magnus nodded once, slow and deliberate. "I know just the thing," he said. "But handle this first. And stay out of sight."

"Understood, Sir," Vance replied, his tone steady. "I won’t fail you." He turned to leave.

"Vance."

The call stopped him mid-step, and he glanced back.

Magnus stood still, his hands loosely at his sides, but there was nothing relaxed about him.

"Do whatever it takes to make sure the Saunders don’t speak," he said, his voice quieter now, but far more dangerous. "I’d rather not go to extremes just yet, but remind them who they’re dealing with."

A flicker of understanding passed through Vance’s eyes, and he nodded once.

Then he walked away, already lifting his phone to his ear as the call connected, his voice dropping into low, controlled urgency as he moved down the corridor.

—

Back at the Saunders’ home, Roman remained rooted outside the door, the cool air brushing against his skin as his chest rose and fell unevenly.

The live video was still running. Comments continued to pour in without pause, emojis, questions, accusations, blurring together in a restless stream of noise. The faint glow from his screen lit his face, reflecting in his eyes as he stared at it.

"You all saw it," he said, his voice steadier now, cutting through the noise. "Leo is not in a coma. So the question isn’t whether I’m guilty anymore." His jaw tightened slightly. "The question is, who decided to lie to all of you, and why?"

The words settled, heavy, but the reaction was immediate.

Yes! He has to!

He owes the world an explanation!

He owes you an apology!

Roman’s grip tightened slightly around the phone as more comments stacked on top of each other, faster now, louder.

But one comment stood out, it lingered in fact.

What was really the reason behind the lies? Is there someone more powerful behind this? Someone who sees Roman Whitehall as a threat?

Roman’s eyes locked on it.

For a second, everything else faded, the noise, the movement, even the tight rhythm of his breathing.

Even the comment section seemed to hesitate, as if the weight of that question had rippled outward, forcing a collective pause.

And in that brief stillness, something colder slipped into Roman’s chest.

Because that thought? It didn’t feel like a theory anymore.

It felt like the beginning of the truth.