Capítulo 1303: Chapter 632: In the End, Everyone Has to Pay for Their Mistakes, Don’t They?
“He never considered you as the third person; he regarded you as a brother, as the future of the nation.”
Casare’s voice was not loud, yet it struck Cuauhtémoc’s heart like a heavy hammer.
The living room was deathly silent, with only the ticking of the clock on the wall.
Casare’s gaze fell on Cuauhtémoc’s face with the precision of a scalpel. He gently withdrew his arm that had been grasped, his movement was small but carried an undeniable decisiveness.
“I’ve brought the Supreme Leader’s message. Don’t make it hard for me.” Casare lowered his voice further, ensuring every word was heard solely by Cuauhtémoc, “Now, please let Tatiana come down. The Supreme Leader has final words that need to be conveyed to her alone.”
“Alone? Final?!!!”
Cuauhtémoc’s voice trembled, the last glimmer of hopeful light in his eyes completely extinguished.
His body swayed, almost unable to stand steady.
Cuauhtémoc closed his eyes, painfully inhaling as if trying to breathe in all the despair in the room, “Is it… is there not even a shred…”
“Cuauhtémoc!!!”
Casare suddenly raised his voice, “You must know what you’re doing!!”
Footsteps echoed in the empty stairwell, slow and heavy.
Tatiana held onto the handrail, step by step descending, her face as pale as paper, her lips devoid of any color,
she dared not meet her husband’s gaze.
Looking at Casare, she tried to appear calm, “What does Mr. Victor need you to tell me?”
Casare gestured towards a small lounge in the corner of the living room.
Tatiana walked over stiffly like a marionette.
Casare followed closely, shutting the door.
Cuauhtémoc wanted to follow but was blocked by the secretary who came with Casare, “Sir, give yourself some dignity.”
He listened to the faint voice of Casare’s cold and monotonous speech beyond the door, the words unclear yet each syllable stabbed into his heart like an ice pick.
Cuauhtémoc even wished, in his heart, for time to stop at this moment.
The passage felt excruciating, but only about seven or eight minutes passed.
The door opened.
Casare walked out, his face still unchanged, nodded towards Cuauhtémoc, and left the villa with the secretary.
Not a word was spoken.
The living room was left suffocatingly silent.
Tatiana came out from the lounge, her steps still unsteady but her face oddly carried a very strained, nearly twisted smile.
She walked towards her husband, stopped in front of him, reaching out as if wanting to touch his face, but paused midway.
“Don’t be like this.” Her voice was extraordinarily calm, frighteningly calm, “Mr. Victor… is very reasonable. He just asked me to be more compliant in the future, not to cause you trouble.” She even made an effort to bend her lips into a smile, “He said, for your sake, this time… it’s over.”
Cuauhtémoc suddenly lifted his head, his bloodshot eyes urgently searching her face for any flaw, any hint of fear or despair, but that false calm was like a layer of hard ice.
“Over?” His voice was hoarse like sandpaper scraping, “Tatiana… what exactly did Casare say?”
“Just that.” Tatiana avoided his gaze, her tone deliberately light, even a bit weary, “I’m tired, really tired. I want to go upstairs and rest.”
Before he could speak again, she had turned and quickly headed for the stairs. Her steps were no longer unsteady but carried a decisive, fleeing urgency.
“Tatiana!” Cuauhtémoc’s heart sounded an alarm, instinctively taking a step after her.
Tatiana had already rushed up the stairs, shouting without turning back, “Don’t follow me! Let me be alone quietly! I’m fine! Really!”
She dashed into the second-floor bedroom, shutting the door with a resounding “bang”! Then came the chilling, clear sound of the lock being secured from the inside, “clack”!
This sound was like an ice pick, instantly piercing Cuauhtémoc’s last thread of hope!
He felt an ominous intuition surge within.
Like a beast that had lost its cub, he charged furiously towards the staircase, taking two steps at a time up to the second floor, using all his strength to ram into the closed bedroom door!
Boom! Boom! Boom!!
“Tatiana!”
“Tatiana! I beg you, open the door, open the door!”
The sturdy wooden door groaned painfully under his blows, the frame vibrated, but the latch held stubborn.
“Open the door! Tatiana! Open it!!” He roared, pounding the door madly with his fists, skin splitting and bleeding profusely, yet he was oblivious.
Eyes wide, shouting from his mouth.
No response, dead silence within.
This silence was more despairing than any screams.
Cuauhtémoc let out a howl, not knowing where the strength came from, stepped back, then thrust his shoulder, his whole body weight, with suicidal madness against the door lock!
Crunch!
A tooth-grating snap sounded!
The lock shattered, and the door swung open with great force inward!
Cuauhtémoc stumbled into the room.
The bedroom was empty, the chair in front of the vanity table had fallen to the floor, the door leading to the ensuite bathroom was ajar.
He staggered towards that ajar door, pushed it open forcefully!
The scene before him made his eyes instantly widen!
Tatiana sat slumped against the cold tile floor, back against the bathtub.
Her head tilted slightly to one side, face contorted with agony, eyes wide open, a transparent, thick plastic bag tightly sealed around her head, the edges tucked meticulously and lifelessly at her neck, shutting out all breath of life, while her wrist bore a deep slash from a blade, blood flowing profusely.
Inside the bag, a thin layer of mist had formed from her final breath, now slowly fading away with the final cessation of her life, revealing her closed eyes and pale face, the plastic bag like a grotesque blister encasing her once vibrant life.
“Ah… ah…” Cuauhtémoc let out incoherent noises from his throat, as if being choked, trembling all over, every bit of strength, every pillar of support drained in an instant.
His knees buckled, collapsing heavily onto the cold tile, the pain of the impact was nothing compared to the wrenching agony in his heart, he trembled, crawling his way to his wife’s side.
“No… Tatiana… no…” He finally found his voice, broken and hoarse, blood-tinged with desperation squeezed from the depths of his chest like the cry of a mortally wounded beast, hot tears finally broke free, surging out, mixing with the blood from his forehead’s impact, streaming down his twisted face of agony, looking utterly wretched.
This was the third person in Mexico!
The leader who cared for the nation of millions on television, now crying like a child.
But in his arms was the wife who had been with him for nearly twenty years.
They weathered together from the days of drug trafficking, why did it have to end like this at the moment of enjoying the fruits?
Why, why must it be this way?
He pressed his forehead forcefully against his wife’s cold, stiff shoulder, his body uncontrollably convulsing and trembling, his suppressed sobs finally turning into heart-wrenching cries.
The sound echoed from the villa.
Standing outside, Casare’s body shuddered, also bothered, he had a good relationship with Cuauhtémoc and his wife, couldn’t believe how fast everything changed!
People…
Sometimes, people’s ambition grows beyond themselves.
Who can know why?
Even God doesn’t know.
His voice was rather hoarse, “Let’s go.”
As for Cuauhtémoc, Victor would rearrange his work.
Consider it dignity.
…