Maya shoved him away, her hands rough.

Callahan staggered, fighting for balance. The movement tore at the wound on his back. He gasped as blood bloomed, hot and fast, through his jacket.

Maya didn't hesitate. She dialed 911. Her voice was terrifyingly calm as she relayed their location and the situation. Once finished, she glanced at the downed attacker—a look devoid of any emotion—and returned to Callahan.

He slid against the car door, sinking to the pavement. His vision blurred, swimming with the loss of blood, but he forced his eyes to stay on her.

"Maya..." He reached out, fingers clawing for the hem of her jacket, but his strength vanished. His hand dropped limp before he could reach her.

Maya stared down at him. Crimson pooled beneath him, staining the grey concrete. Her lips parted, but she said nothing.

The wail of sirens cut through the night, growing louder by the second.

As they loaded Callahan onto the stretcher, his eyes remained locked on hers. He watched her until the darkness finally pulled him under.

The red light above the surgery room glowed like a warning.

Maya sat on a hallway bench, her clothes tacky with Callahan’s drying blood. She stared at the stark white wall, her expression completely blank. Her eyes were hollow, unfocused.

Then, hurried footsteps echoed down the hall.

Peter and Martha Cole rushed into view. They looked frantic, disheveled—the picture of parents who had just seen their world collapse. Their gaze landed on Maya immediately.

"Maya!" Martha lunged forward, tears streaming down her face. "My girl! Are you alright? You scared us to death!"

She reached for a hug, but Maya stood up, stepping aside to avoid the contact.

Martha’s hands froze in mid-air. Her face twisted into a mask of pure shock.

Maya leveled a cold, detached gaze at them. Her voice didn't waver. "I’m fine. Callahan is the one in emergency surgery."

Peter looked at his daughter—at the chilling distance in her eyes—and his own eyes brimmed with tears. He stepped forward, his voice trembling. "Maya... Dad knows you were wronged. I was wrong. I shouldn't have treated you like that. Please, come home with us? We’ll make it up to you. We'll be better—"

Maya’s lips curled, though the smile lacked any warmth. "Mr. Cole, Mrs. Cole, if I recall correctly, my parents died the day I signed the legal papers severing our ties."

Peter and Martha flinched as if struck. Their faces drained of color.

Martha sank into a chair, burying her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking with jagged sobs. "Maya! Mom was wrong! I know it! I was blinded by selfishness! Please, just give us a chance to fix this!"

Maya looked down at her mother, who was reduced to a frantic, broken mess.

This was the woman who had once been too poised to even meet Maya’s eyes. Now, she was just hollowed out.

Maya felt nothing. No anger, no pity—just a cold, dead numbness.

"Mrs. Cole," Maya said, her voice steady. "Have some dignity."

Peter gripped the back of a chair, his knuckles white. He looked defeated, years older than he had moments ago. "Maya! I’m begging you. I’ve been a terrible father. I’m so sorry! Please, just give us a chance to prove we’ve changed!"

Maya stood abruptly, putting space between them.

She looked down at them, her gaze sharp, even mocking.

"What are you doing?" Her voice was soft, but it cut through the silence. "You used family obligations to hold me hostage before. Now, you’re using guilt to do the same?"

Peter and Martha stared at her, stunned.

"Five years ago, you brought me back to the Cole estate," Maya said, her tone clinical, as if recounting a stranger's life. "You said you owed me. You said you wanted to make it up to me."

"In those five years, what did you actually do?"

"Did you give me the room I’d lived in for less than a month? No, you gave it to Alexandria."

"Did you care when my fiancé abandoned me on my own birthday, leaving me to wait alone in a hotel?"

"Did you mourn when you forced me to terminate my pregnancy just so Alexandria wouldn’t be 'sad'?"

"Did you even notice when you locked me in a dark storage room with a fever, leaving me to die alone?"

"Did you blink when you forced me to take the fall for Alexandria’s crimes? You marched me to the police station yourself and handed me a criminal record."

"Or was it when you stood by and watched as strangers beat me? I lay in the hospital half-dead, and not one of you asked if I was still breathing."

With every word, Peter and Martha grew paler, their bodies trembling. The moments they had brushed off as trivial were laid bare. Each point was a jagged stone pinning them to their own guilt.

"You said I was your biological daughter." Maya laughed, and for the first time, tears rolled down her face. "But did you give me even a fraction of the love a daughter deserves?"

"No," she said, her voice sharp. "You were only performing the 'obligation' of reclaiming a lost child. Your love, your care, your protection—it all went to Alexandria."

"Now that you know she isn’t your blood—now that you know she played you—you regret it. But so what?"

She looked at them, tears still falling, her gaze ice-cold. "Does that mean I should be grateful? Should I forget the abuse, come home, and be the daughter you can summon when it's convenient and sacrifice when it's necessary?"

"It’s too late."

She wiped the tears from her face, though more followed.

"The moment you chose her over me, you forfeited the right to be my parents."

"That severance agreement wasn't a threat. It was the last bit of dignity I had."

She took a steadying breath, straightened her spine, and looked them in the eye. "I am Maya Cole. And I have nothing more to do with your family."

"Don't ever disturb my life again."