ABSOLUTE INSANITY: A forbidden bond-Chapter 243: Accusations

Chapter 242

ROMEO POV

The corridor stayed empty long after they disappeared around the corner.

That was the first thing I noticed not the silence itself, but how it lingered, like the house was waiting for something that wasn’t coming back.

I didn’t move right away. I stood where I was, hands loose at my sides, posture neutral, the way I’d trained myself to stand when everything inside me was anything but.

Years of discipline didn’t vanish just because something had gone wrong. They just went quiet.

Nonna’s room.

Of all the places in this house, she’d chosen that one.

Not her own room. Not the garden. Not outside. Somewhere safe, yes but also somewhere away from me.

I told myself that meant nothing. Or rather, I told myself it meant exactly what it should: that Nonna was familiar, maternal, uncomplicated.

A place without sharp edges or expectations. A place that didn’t ask her to be strong. That explanation fit neatly.

Too neatly.

I exhaled, leaning on the wall, head lowering, not in defeat, but in thought. My gaze traced the corridor instinctively—doors, corners, the stretch of marble that connected rooms like a vein.

Everything looked the same as it always did. Polished. Controlled. Quiet enough to hear your own thoughts turn on you.

If someone had died—really died—there would’ve been noise. Movement. A ripple. Even the cleanest jobs left echoes.

This house didn’t swallow chaos that easily, not without me knowing. No blood. No raised voices. No sudden rush of footsteps or alarm crackling to life.

Which meant it wasn’t now. So why say it like that?

I didn’t kill her.

Not she’s dead. Not something happened.

A defense.

An accusation already made, whether aloud or carved into her memory so deeply it no longer needed words.

That narrowed it fast. Someone had said it to her. Or worse.....had made her believe it.

My jaw tightened as the thought settled in. Accusations didn’t need to be true to do damage.

They just needed to be believed long enough to rot something from the inside out.

And whoever had planted that thought in her head—whoever had put death in her mouth and pointed it at her conscience—had done it deliberately or with criminal carelessness.

Either way, it made my hands curl slowly at my sides. If someone had accused her of causing a death—spoken it, implied it, even joked about it—I didn’t care who they were to me, to Nonna, to this house.

They’d never make another sound again. I pushed off the wall and pulled out my phone, dialing James who answered on the second ring.

"Go to my office," I said without greeting. My voice came out level, controlled—the kind of calm that usually meant someone else was about to have a very bad day.

"Bring my tablet. It’s on my desk." A pause. Not confusion. Calculation. "On my way," he replied.

I ended the call before he could ask why. The phone slid back into my pocket as I stopped in front of the elevator.

The doors were closed, stainless steel reflecting a version of myself I barely registered—still, composed, eyes too sharp to be anything but focused.

I reached for my cigarettes.

The pack felt familiar in my palm, grounding in a way very few things were. I tapped one out, brought it to my lips, and lit it. The flame flared briefly, warm against my fingers, before I cupped it and drew in.

The first inhale burned. Good. It gave the restless energy somewhere to go. I exhaled slowly, smoke curling up toward the ceiling, and began to pace the small stretch of floor in front of the elevator.

One end to the other. Measured steps. Controlled turns. Waiting had always been easy for me. Waiting with intent was different. It sharpened thoughts, stripped them down to essentials.

James would bring the tablet. On it—cameras. Audio logs. Movement records. Time stamps precise down to the second.

If Katya had crossed paths with someone on this floor, I’d see it. If someone had spoken to her—even briefly—I’d know where, when, and for how long.

And if there was even a hint of an accusation, a confrontation, a careless comment dressed up as concern.....a tongue would fall.

The cigarette burned down between my fingers as the elevator chimed softly behind me, doors sliding open.

I didn’t turn yet. I took one last drag, crushed the cigarette out against the side metal ashtray, and straightened.

James stepped out of the elevator with my tablet tucked under his arm, his expression already shuttered the moment he clocked my face.

He didn’t ask questions. He never did when I looked like this. He handed it over.

I took it without a word and turned away, already unlocking the screen as I moved back toward the wall.

James stayed where he was, a silent presence near the elevator, eyes forward, guarding space rather than intruding on it.

The cameras loaded fast. I didn’t waste time scrolling. I knew the timestamp. I’d memorized it the second Katya’s breathing changed earlier matched it to the minute she’d left my office.

There. Hallway cam. Third floor

I watched her step out of the elevator with her arms wrapped around herself, shoulders tight, posture closed in a way that hadn’t been there an hour earlier.

She slowed before the kitchen door. Hesitated. That alone told me enough.

I leaned my shoulder into the wall and turned the sound up just enough to hear ambient noise. Not voices yet. Just the hum of the house. Routine. Normal.

She pushed the door open.

The camera angle inside the kitchen was wide. Fixed. It caught everything and explained nothing all at once.

The room froze. I saw it immediately—the way bodies stilled mid-motion, the way a hand hovered uselessly above a cutting board, the way conversation died without anyone needing to signal it.

Fear didn’t always look like panic. Sometimes it looked like obedience. Katya stopped just inside the doorway.

She didn’t speak. She didn’t step farther in. She just stood there, suddenly small in a room that had always swallowed noise and warmth whole.

My jaw tightened. I didn’t know their names. Most of them were just faces I’d seen in passing, staff who kept the house running smoothly enough that I never had to think about them.

Except one.

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Thanks for reading, this was supposed to be one Chapter but it was too long so I cut it in two.