It was somewhat successful

Harold drove him in silence. Dropped him at the rear gate like he promised. Didn’t say goodbye. Just waited until Diego slipped through, then the car pulled away without ceremony.

Getting inside the house had been easier than Diego expected. The staff were either gone or following Chase’s orders elsewhere. He moved through the halls like a ghost, heart slamming against his ribs, until he found Chase’s room.

The book was right there on the desk. Red leather. Cracked spine. Gold lettering on the front: “Do you want to learn hypnosis?”

Diego’s fingers shook as he opened it. He only managed to skim a few pages, skimming the headings, breathing patterns, eye contact, something about “anchoring suggestions”, before he heard footsteps.

The maid, Kendra, had appeared in the doorway. Still in that black-and-white uniform. She was stunned to see him in Chase’s room.

Diego bolted past, pushing her aside. He had to leave before things got out of hand.

She lunged after him. Faster than he thought possible. She caught his hoodie just as he reached close to the exit and yanked hard. They both went down in a tangle of limbs. She pinned him long enough to scream “MASTER CHASE!” at the top of her lungs.

Diego twisted free, tore three random pages out of the book as he scrambled up and ran. Out the front door. He didn’t stop running until he hit the main road and flagged down a cab.

Now he was home. Safe. For the moment.

He pulled the crumpled pages out of his pocket and spread them on the coffee table. They were creased, smudged in places, but still legible.

One page had a diagram of hand gestures labeled ‘Deepening the trance’.

Another listed ‘post-hypnotic triggers’ with examples.

The third was just a single paragraph titled ‘Subconscious manipulation’ with diagrams of circuit boards and other advanced looking stuff.

Diego stared at the words until they blurred.

He didn’t hear the bike pull up outside.

Didn’t register the door handle turning until the front door opened and Lucia stepped inside.

She looked exactly the way he remembered: neon-green tips, undercut, black leather jacket, ripped jeans, combat boots. Same silver hoop in her left nostril. The same tired, guarded expression she always wore around family.

She shut the door behind her, leaned against it and crossed her arms.

“Alright,” she said. “You look like shit. Start talking. And this better be good, because I ditched a full cart of groceries for you.”

Diego ran straight into her the second the door clicked shut behind Lucia.

He didn’t say anything, just slammed into her chest, arms wrapping around her waist like he was five years old again and she’d just come home from school. His face buried itself against her leather jacket, shoulders shaking hard enough that she felt the tremors through the thick material.

Lucia stood there stiff as a board for three full seconds, arms still half-raised like she’d been about to push him away on reflex. Then she felt the wet heat of his tears soaking through her shirt and something in her chest cracked open just enough to let her arms drop around him.

She didn’t hug back. Not really. But she didn’t shove him off either.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Diego,” she muttered into the top of his head. “What the hell is this?”

He didn’t answer. Just clung tighter, breath hitching in ugly little gasps.

She pried him off after another ten seconds and held him at arm’s length by the shoulders. His face was red, eyes swollen, snot running.

“Talk,” she said. “Now. Where’s Mom?”

Diego wiped his nose on his sleeve. “She’s…she’s at the Whitmore place. With Chase. She’s… she’s not herself anymore. She—”

Lucia’s grip tightened on his shoulders. “Slow down. Start from the beginning. And don’t leave shit out.”

He did. Halting, stumbling, voice cracking every few sentences. The bullying that never really stopped. Mom confronting the Whitmores. Chase getting the hypnosis book. Mom changing, first subtle, then terrifying. How she came home dressed like a whore and used her foot on him until he came against his will. The way she’d called herself “Valerie” and told him to ask for her again next time. The way she’d disappeared again after, drunk and wrecked, back wearing the same clothes but smelling like multiple men had done things to her.

Lucia listened without interrupting. Her face stayed blank the whole time. When he finished she just stared at him for a long beat.

Then he pulled out his phone, opened the photo Ethan had forwarded him from the mall and held it up.

Lucia stared at the screen with disbelief. Her mother, Valeria, laughing, midriff bare, skirt barely covering anything, arm slung around Chase like they were old friends. Makeup heavy. Hair wild. Body language loose and confident in a way Lucia had never seen on her.

Something hot and ugly twisted low in Lucia’s stomach.

Not just anger.

A pulse. A throb between her legs that she immediately hated herself for noticing.

“That prudish bitch,” she said quietly. “That stuck-up, judgmental cunt who told me I was going to hell for liking pussy… dressed like that. Laughing with the same little shit who ruined your life you say…”

Diego swallowed. “Lucia—”

“Shut up.” She turned away, paced three steps toward the kitchen, then spun back. “She did that to you? With her foot? Made you come like some fucking foot-fetish porn extra?”

He nodded, eyes on the floor.

Lucia dragged both hands down her face. “Jesus Christ.”