“MURDERED! HE KILLED PARIS!” The words tore through the quiet room like a scream ripped straight out of a nightmare, and in that instant Douglas Forrester ceased to be a frightened child and became the bearer of a truth so horrifying that it froze Hope Logan’s blood solid, her body going rigid as if the air itself had turned to ice around her, because the look in Douglas’s eyes told her immediately that this was not imagination, not confusion, not one of those half-formed fears adults liked to dismiss when children spoke too quickly, this was terror sharpened into certainty, and as his small hands trembled and his voice cracked, Douglas repeated it again, louder, more desperate, insisting that Paris was dead, murdered, and that the man responsible was someone Hope had trusted, someone she had defended, someone she had convinced herself was safe. The revelation detonated like a bomb inside Hope’s mind, memories flashing in jagged fragments, strange silences, unexplained absences, Paris’s sudden disappearance that had been brushed off as travel, opportunity, or a need for space, all those convenient explanations now collapsing into something darker and far more sinister, while Douglas clutched his head and described sounds he couldn’t forget, raised voices behind closed doors, a crash, a scream cut short, and then the terrible stillness that followed, the kind of stillness that even a child understands means something has gone terribly wrong. Hope tried to ground herself, tried to be the calm, protective presence Douglas needed, but fear crept into her voice as she asked who, who could possibly have done such a thing, and when Douglas finally whispered the name, barely audible, Hope felt the room spin, nausea rising as reality cracked open beneath her feet, because the accusation pointed directly at the heart of her fractured family, entangling love, loyalty, and betrayal in a way that felt impossible to escape. Her hands shook as she pulled Douglas into her arms, realizing with sickening clarity that if what he was saying was true, then Paris had not just vanished, she had been erased, and someone had worked very hard to make sure no one went looking too closely. The horror deepened as Douglas revealed that he had been scared to speak, warned not to tell, convinced that if he did something bad would happen to Hope too, a confession that sent a cold, protective fury surging through her veins as she understood the full scope of manipulation and control at play. Around them, the walls of the house seemed to close in, every familiar object suddenly suspect, every shadow heavy with menace, because this was no longer about secrets or emotional damage, this was about life and death, and Hope knew that once a line like this was crossed, there was no going back to the way things were. As the truth began to settle, Hope’s mind raced ahead, calculating risks, realizing that accusing someone powerful and deeply embedded in the Forrester orbit would trigger a chain reaction capable of destroying reputations, families, and possibly putting Douglas directly in danger, yet doing nothing was no longer an option, not when a woman might be dead and a child was living with the weight of that knowledge alone. Panic warred with resolve as Hope understood she had to act carefully, quietly, because whoever was capable of murder was certainly capable of covering it up, and the sudden realization that Paris’s voice had been permanently silenced made Hope’s chest ache with guilt for every moment she had assumed Paris would eventually call, text, or walk back into their lives. Outside, the world went on oblivious, but inside that room, everything had changed, because Douglas’s confession rewrote the past and poisoned the present, turning every previous argument, every strange behavior, every uneasy feeling Hope had ignored into warning signs she could no longer deny. Fear sharpened into determination as Hope promised Douglas she would protect him, no matter what, even as she knew the road ahead would be brutal, filled with disbelief, denial, and possibly violent resistance, because powerful people do not surrender their secrets easily. The name Douglas had spoken echoed relentlessly in her head, each repetition tightening the knot in her stomach, as she imagined the fallout, police involvement, media frenzy, the scandal that would explode once the truth surfaced, and the horrifying possibility that the killer was still walking free, still smiling, still pretending to be part of their family. Tears slipped down Hope’s face, not just for Paris, whose life may have been stolen in silence, but for Douglas, whose innocence had been shattered by witnessing something no child ever should, and for herself, because she knew that from this moment on, she could never unknow what she had just heard. The bombshell Douglas dropped did more than expose a crime, it ripped the mask off a monster hiding in plain sight, and as Hope held him close, heart pounding with fear and fury, she understood with devastating clarity that survival now depended on one thing alone, bringing the truth into the light before it was buried forever alongside Paris, because if she failed, the horror would not end with one murder, and the cost of silence would be paid in blood.