In the doctor's office.
"It's psychorexia—a drug that causes hallucinations, brain stress, and panic attacks inside a person's mind," said a man in a black suit. He had ginger hair, round eyes, plush lips, a flat nose, and a medium build. Dark-shaded spectacles covered his gaze.
Across from him, on the other side of the desk, sat Isaac and Davis, worry etched across their faces.
The air was already thick with tension, and this news made it heavier—more suffocating.
"Sometimes its effects are moderate," continued the man. "And sometimes… they can be severe." He paused, letting the words hang ominously.
"Severe to what extent, Doctor Miles?" Isaac asked.
Doctor Miles drew a deep breath. "Severe enough to cause brain paralysis. Which eventually leaves the person brain-dead… and then, they die."
Bam!
Isaac slammed his fist against the table.
"Those bloody bastards! I'll kill them! I swear I'm going to kill them!" Isaac roared.
"Isaac, calm down!" Davis urged, gripping his arm gently. "Let the doctor finish speaking. Please."
Isaac glared at him, rage shimmering beneath the surface, ready to explode. But he forced himself to calm down and turned back to the doctor. "I'm sorry, Doctor Miles. Please continue."
Doctor Miles exhaled softly. "Don't worry, Mr. Phillips. Ms. Milton is going to be fine. Luckily, the horse detected the danger quickly and released her from harm's way just in time. Unfortunately, the drug affected the horse severely, causing it to go berserk and ultimately fall to its demise.
"I believe the attackers intended to harm both Ms. Milton and the horse. They knew exactly when and where the drug would activate. Their plan was for both of them to tumble down that hill—that's why they even placed a friction bomb on the saddle. It was meant to kill them both. But the horse acted heroically, saving Ms. Milton by swinging her off the saddle and taking the fall itself. It sacrificed its life to protect hers."
"That's why it kept its distance when Patricia tried to calm it," Isaac murmured. "The drug was already spreading around it. It didn't want her to inhale it. Wow… what a brave horse."
"Indeed," Davis whispered beside him. "A true hero."
"Yes," Doctor Miles agreed. "Because of that, Ms. Milton didn't inhale much of the psychorexia drug. It affected her only moderately, causing her three-day unconsciousness. She will feel some lingering pain as an aftereffect, but it will be manageable with painkillers. With enough rest over the next few days, she'll recover fully—and even be strong enough to race again. So don't worry. She's going to be fine."
Isaac exhaled. "Thank you, Doctor. Thank you so much for helping us with this. But please—don't tell anyone else. We'd like to inform Patricia and her family ourselves. Keep this discreet."
Doctor Miles nodded. "It's alright, Mr. Phillips. I'll keep this information confidential—with my life."
"Thank you, Doctor. Now, if you'll excuse us. Have a good day," Isaac said as he and Davis rose to leave.
Doctor Miles stood and shook their hands. "It was my pleasure. Have a good day as well."
After exchanging handshakes, the duo walked toward the door.
Behind his dark spectacles, Doctor Miles's eyes narrowed, and a small, sinister smile curled across his lips as they exited the office and stepped into the hallway.
....
"Don't worry, Isaac. We're going to uncover who was behind this—one way or another," Davis said, resting a comforting hand on Isaac's shoulder. "But… are you sure it wasn't the Bulldog?"
Isaac hummed thoughtfully. "Mmm… that man wasn't Donnel McCoy. The footage didn't show him removing his mask, but his shirt was slightly unbuttoned—and he didn't have the Bulldog tattoo on his chest. It was someone else. And we need to find out who. And if he's the one responsible for the attack."
"Alright. I'll get Tess to investigate. Hopefully we'll have answers soon," Davis replied.
Just then, Davis's phone buzzed with a message. He read it, his face darkening into a frown before he sighed.
"What's wrong?" Isaac asked.
"It's a text from Nicole. Someone just delivered Liberty's ashes to Patricia. We have to go…" Davis said grimly.
Isaac exhaled and nodded. "Come on."
The two men strode down the hallway, heading back toward Patricia's hospital room.
...
Later, in Patricia's room.
The air was thick with sorrow and grief as Patricia wailed uncontrollably, clutching the urn that held Liberty's ashes.
She had been crying for over twenty minutes, ever since Isaac told her that Liberty had saved her life from the psychorexia drug—throwing her clear of danger and taking the fall alone.
Nicole and Alisha rubbed her back, trying to comfort her.
"Why… why did you have to go? And in such a horrible way?" Patricia sobbed. "You saved my life… my good boy. But why? Why is life so cruel to me? Why?"
"Patricia, please… it's okay. Don't beat yourself down like this," Nicole said gently. "Liberty saved your life, but that doesn't mean you should punish yourself. We promise we'll get revenge for him, okay? Whoever is responsible will pay. So calm down… everything is going to be alright."
"Yes, Sis," Zach added from across the room. "Everything will be fine. We'll make those bastards pay for trying to harm you—and for what they did to Liberty. Don't worry. Justice will be served. Trust us."
Patricia nodded vigorously, wiping away her tears. "Yes… yes, you're right." She paused, taking a deep breath. "Justice must be served. Those people need to pay tenfold—for trying to harm me, and for what they did to Liberty. They have to pay. And I'm going to make them pay. We're going to make them pay."
Everyone nodded in agreement.
"Thank you, all of you. Thank you so much for being here with me. I don't know what I would've done without you. I love you guys," Patricia whispered.
"Ooh… and we love you too. Very much," Alisha said, as she and Nicole wrapped her in a hug. "We'll always be here for you. Don't ever forget that."
"Thank you," Patricia murmured, disengaging from the hug.
Patricia gently placed the urn on the bedside table. "We'll scatter Liberty's ashes in the fields back at the ranch—especially in the daisy flower meadow. Liberty loved that place. After long days of training, he always rested there. It was his favorite spot."
"Yes. We'll do just that," Alisha agreed. "We'll even hold a small funeral ceremony for him—to honor our brave hero horse."
"Thank you," Patricia whispered.
"Well, now that's settled," Alisha said, her tone shifting. "Can someone explain how the hell an old, beaten-down horse suddenly showed up on the track and raced like a young stallion discovering its strength and passion? And how did it even get here from Luz? Last I checked, no one booked a plane ticket for it."
"Indeed," Isaac murmured. "Even I can't wrap my head around it. Where did it come from?"
Everyone began murmuring, trying to make sense of Lightningbolt's sudden appearance—and how it had raced with the agility and stamina of a stallion in its prime.
Then, a single word cut through the whispers.
"Chronalis…"
Everyone stopped murmuring, their eyes snapping toward Patricia as she whispered the name.
"What?" Isaac asked, startled.
"What do you mean?" Alisha pressed.
"Yeah, Patricia… why do you think that dreadful thing is behind this?" Nicole asked, her voice trembling.
Patricia drew a deep breath. "I don't think it was behind it. I know it was behind it."
Confusion rippled through the room.
"Wait… so you mean it wasn't Lightningbolt you raced, but… Chronalis?" Zach asked, bewildered.
"Oh, it was Lightningbolt on that track," Patricia replied firmly. "But Lightningbolt… from twelve years ago."
The room fell into stunned silence.
The silence was so heavy you could hear a pin drop.
The revelation was too shocking—everyone was left speechless.
And one question echoed in their minds.
How?
....
Meanwhile
Crash! Crash!
The sound of things shattering echoed through the house.
"I'm not crazy! I'm not crazy! I didn't do it! I didn't do it!"
The shouts reverberated off the walls.
Near the corner, a figure stood huddled, watching with tear-filled eyes, hiding a bloodied hand inside a morning gown.
"Don…! Please, calm down! I'm begging you—come to your senses!" Steven shouted.
"No! No! I didn't do it! I didn't do it!" Don screamed.
He looked like a wild animal—his hair disheveled, his eyes black and void of pupils. Scars covered his body, and his clothes hung torn and ragged.
Steven could hardly believe his eyes.
Just days ago, Don had been fine. But now… he was acting like a possessed madman. And worse—he had attacked him.
Don roared again, then huddled on the floor, whimpering the same words over and over.
Steven knew that getting close would put him in danger, so he didn't dare. He stayed rooted in place, watching Don whimper and repeat his frantic denials.
His heart ached at Don's horrible state. He wanted to share the good news—news that could end their search for the Black Tulip—but he couldn't. Not while Don was like this.
Steven glanced down at his injured hand, knowing it needed treatment. But any movement might trigger the beast before him, sending Don into a berserk attack—something Steven couldn't risk.
Adrenaline pumped through his veins as he searched desperately for a way to escape.
Finally, he spotted a way out and moved slightly. But to his dismay, he forgot about the vase beside him.
It toppled to the floor and shattered.
As if the sound were a switch that detonated a bomb, Don immediately turned toward it and rushed forward, intent on destroying.
"Get away from me! Get away!" he shouted, launching himself at Steven in his delirious state.
Steven gasped, curling his arms around his belly as he ducked to the floor, closing his eyes and bracing for the inevitable.
However…
Seconds passed.
Nothing came.
"Are you so afraid of your lover that you can't have a little faith he might never harm you?"
A voice echoed through the space.
Steven slowly opened his eyes.
He saw Don lying on the floor as if asleep. And standing just beside him was a man in a navy-blue suit. His golden hair was neatly combed, his nose sharp and narrow, his lips plush and pink. But it was his eyes—ethereal, slightly glowing blue—that froze Steven in place.
"T… Tap…?" he murmured in disbelief.
The man broke into a broad smile, revealing perfectly aligned white teeth.
The smile was eerie, making Steven's skin crawl.
Suddenly, a sharp pain tore through his abdomen.
"Aaah!" he cried out. "Ahhh!"
Tap stepped closer, standing directly beside him.
Steven writhed in pain, slowly lifting his eyes to meet Tap's—now glowing an even deeper blue.
"Tsk, tsk… I really thought you'd be different this time, Steven," Tap murmured. "But I guess old flames die hard, don't they? And this time…" His gaze dropped to Steven's stomach. "You even had the audacity to have an offspring. Too bad. I would've enjoyed squeezing the life out of you. But now that you carry my blood… I suppose you can be spared. For now."
Steven gasped, struggling to breathe through the agony.
"Wha… what the hell are you?" he wheezed.
Tap's smile widened, his teeth gleaming as he leaned in, locking eyes with Steven.
"Your worst nightmare." His eyes flared, glowing brighter.
Steven felt his strength draining, consciousness slipping away.
"Don't worry…" Tap's voice echoed in his drowsiness. "I'm sparing you—for now. But rest assured… we will have our fun."
Steven's world went dark as he lost consciousness.
Until…
"Steven…"
"Steven…"
He slowly opened his eyes—only to widen them in shock as he saw Don towering over him, looking worried.
"Don…" he murmured groggily.
"Don!" he exclaimed, memories of Don's beastly rampage flooding back. He bolted upright, ready to flee, but Don held him down.
"Hey, hey… where are you going? Calm down. It's not good for the baby if you're freaking out like this," Don said gently.
Steven froze.
"Baby…?" he whispered, glancing around the room. It looked neat, untouched—nothing like the horror he had just lived through. Don himself looked sane, clean, nothing like the beast he had been before. Steven wondered if he was dreaming.
"Yes… our baby," Don said softly. "Our little escape from this world. Our ticket to eternal life, and freedom from chasing the Black Tulip. I'm disappointed you didn't tell me sooner. But don't worry—Doctor Charles here will take care of you back home in Luz. You'll be safe."
"Doctor… Charles?" Steven asked faintly.
Just then, a man in a white coat entered the room. He had ginger hair, round eyes, plush lips, a flat nose, and a medium build. Dark spectacles covered his gaze.
"Good morning, Mr. Wilby. I'm Doctor Charles Miles. I'll be your doctor from now on. Don't worry—I'll take good care of you," he said smoothly.
Then, lowering his spectacles, he revealed eyes glowing an unnatural blue… and broke into a sinister smile.