Sanchez paced his office the next morning, his mind racing with thoughts of Susan. Her words from the night before were like daggers, each one piercing the fragile hope he'd been clinging to. She was right—he couldn't fix the past. But maybe he could show her the truth behind his actions.
His assistant knocked on the door and entered, holding a manila envelope. "Sir, the final report you requested."
Sanchez took it with a nod. Inside were the last pieces of evidence he needed to confront the shadows that had haunted him for years. With a deep breath, he made a decision. It was time to share everything.
---
Susan was sitting in her office at the Hopkins estate, sipping her morning coffee, when her assistant knocked.
"Miss Hopkins, Mr. Oliver Twist is here to see you."
Susan's brow furrowed. "Tell him I'm busy."
Before the assistant could leave, Sanchez's voice came from the doorway. "I won't take much of your time, Susan. But you need to see this."
She looked up, irritation flashing across her face. "Sanchez, I told you—"
He stepped forward, holding the envelope out to her. "Just five minutes. After that, if you want me to leave, I will."
Reluctantly, she took the envelope and opened it. Inside were detailed reports, financial documents, and photographs. As she sifted through them, her expression shifted from confusion to shock.
"What is this?" she demanded.
"It's the truth," Sanchez said, his tone grave. "After the accident, there was more than just grief. Someone wanted to destroy my family's legacy. They orchestrated lawsuits, planted false evidence, and sent threats. I became their target. If I stayed, you would have been a target too."
Susan's hands trembled as she examined the evidence. The names on the documents were familiar—business rivals, powerful figures who had a lot to gain from the downfall of Cruz Oil.
"I had no idea," she murmured, her voice barely audible.
"I didn't want you to know," Sanchez said, his voice softening. "I thought if I distanced myself, I could keep you safe. But I see now that I only hurt you in the process."
Susan leaned back in her chair, the weight of the revelation sinking in. "Why didn't you tell me this sooner?"
"I was scared," he admitted. "Scared of dragging you into something dangerous. Scared of losing you even more than I already had."
For a moment, the room was silent except for the faint ticking of the clock on the wall. Susan's emotions were a whirlwind—anger, sadness, and something else she couldn't quite define.
Finally, she looked up at him. "You should have trusted me, Sanchez. I would have stood by you."
"I know," he said, his voice heavy with regret. "But all I can do now is ask for another chance. Let me prove that I can be the person you needed back then."
Susan studied him, her walls beginning to crack. She wanted to believe him, but the scars of the past still lingered.
"I don't know if I can forgive you," she said honestly.
"I don't need forgiveness," Sanchez replied. "I just need you to let me try."
For the first time in years, Susan saw vulnerability in his eyes—a glimpse of the boy she had once loved. And though her heart was cautious, a small part of her wondered if there was still a chance for them to rewrite their story.
"Try," she said softly. "But don't expect this to be easy."
Sanchez nodded, determination flickering in his gaze. "I wouldn't expect anything less."
As he left, Susan sat alone with the documents, the weight of the past mingling with the fragile hope of what might come next. For the first time, she allowed herself to wonder if love, though battered and bruised, could still find a way to heal.