Rain had started again by the time Anna found him.
The clinic's rooftop terrace overlooked dark mountains and distant city lights blurred by mist. Wind moved hard across the concrete, carrying the sharp scent of rain and metal.
Oliver stood at the edge of the terrace without a coat, hands braced on the railing, shoulders rigid.
He didn't turn when she approached.
"I assumed you'd break three walls first," Anna said.
"Tempting."
"Still time."
Nothing.
She stopped beside him.
Below them, helicopters moved like distant insects through the night.
"You left quickly."
"I preferred leaving to saying something unforgivable."
She studied his profile.
"That's growth."
"It's restraint."
"Same family."
A bitter laugh escaped him.
Then silence returned.
Anna waited.
Eventually, he spoke.
"When I was seventeen, they told me he died during treatment abroad."
His voice was flat, too controlled.
"I flew home alone. Signed documents alone. Buried him alone."
The last word landed hardest.
She said nothing.
He continued.
"I built everything after that because there was no one left to rely on."
Rain dotted the railing.
"And all that time," he said quietly, "he was alive."
Anna stepped closer.
"Hidden."
"He chose hidden."
She didn't defend the father.
Didn't soften it.
That was why he let her stay.
Oliver's jaw tightened.
"Do you know what's worse than losing someone?"
She looked at him.
"Learning they watched you grieve and allowed it."
The anger in him was cold now, which was always more dangerous than heat.
Anna rested her elbows on the railing beside him.
"You don't have to forgive him tonight."
"I may never."
"You don't have to decide that tonight either."
He finally turned to look at her.
"You always sound reasonable after disasters."
"I practice."
A pause.
Then more quietly—
"You're shaking."
He glanced down as if surprised to find it true.
Not fear.
Rage.
Shock.
Old pain waking up.
Anna took his hand without asking.
His fingers were cold.
"You don't have to be the strongest person in every room," she said.
"I usually do."
"Annoying trait."
"It wins often."
"It loses sometimes."
His gaze held hers.
"Is that what this is?"
"No," she said softly. "This is the bill arriving."
That hit.
Because he understood costs better than comfort.
Behind them, the terrace door opened.
A security officer stopped several feet away.
"Sir."
Oliver's expression hardened instantly.
"What."
"Adrian is requesting a deal."
Of course he was.
"What deal?"
"He says he'll transfer every hidden trust and account… in exchange for private conversation with you. Alone."
Anna muttered, "He really commits to being unbearable."
The officer wisely pretended not to hear.
Oliver looked back at the rain.
"Decline it."
The officer hesitated.
"He also says… if you refuse, your father dies within forty-eight hours."
Silence.
Anna felt Oliver's hand tighten around hers.
The officer continued carefully.
"We found medication records. Adrian controlled specialized treatment access."
Manipulation layered inside manipulation.
Oliver became unreadable.
"Secure Adrian. Double medical staff. No one enters his room without my approval."
"Yes, sir."
The officer left.
Anna exhaled slowly.
"He made your father dependent."
"Yes."
"And now he wants one last negotiation."
"Yes."
She looked at him.
"You're going to meet him."
"Yes."
"Alone?"
His eyes met hers.
"No."
Something shifted in her chest.
"Good answer."
He stepped closer, rain dampening his hair, control rebuilt but altered now.
"You were right."
She blinked.
"That's suspiciously broad."
"About protection."
The wind moved between them.
"I became him in smaller ways than I admitted."
Anna's breath caught.
Oliver rarely offered truths without being dragged to them.
He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed her knuckles once.
"I'm trying to stop."
She looked at him for a long moment.
"Keep trying."
Then she straightened.
"So. We destroy your uncle before breakfast?"
A shadow of a smile touched his mouth.
"There she is."
"No more rooftop brooding," she said. "It wrinkles suits."
He actually laughed—brief, real, needed.
Then the terrace doors opened again.
This time it was Veronica, arm bandaged, expression sharp as ever.
"You'll want to hear this," she said.
Neither of them trusted the sentence.
She smiled thinly.
"Adrian isn't your biggest problem."
Oliver's gaze cooled.
"Choose your next words carefully."
Veronica tilted her head.
"Your father asked to see Anna. Alone."
The storm had just changed direction.