The crack of Ridge’s hand against Eric’s cheek tore through the Forrester mansion like a shockwave—sharp, sudden, and carrying the weight of years of buried resentment. Ridge hadn’t intended to strike his father. At least that’s what he told himself in the stunned aftermath. But anger has a way of dragging long-hidden truths into the open, and their escalating clashes had been building toward something disastrous for months. Father and son, each fueled by ego, fear, and fierce love for the same legacy, finally reached a breaking point.

Eric, already weakened by illness, couldn’t withstand the blow. He stumbled backward, losing balance, and his head collided with the marble table in a sickening thud that shattered the room’s tension into absolute silence. Ridge froze. His heartbeat thundered in his ears as he knelt beside his father’s limp form. A thin line of blood slid down Eric’s temple. His breath was shallow, barely there.

“Dad…” Ridge whispered, but the air felt too heavy to carry the word.

Brooke arrived moments later, the sound of her heels echoing through the hallway. When she saw the scene—Ridge crouched over Eric, blood staining his hand—she nearly collapsed. Ridge stammered that it was an accident, that Eric fell, but Brooke’s eyes drifted to the redness on his palm, and her expression hardened with fear. They both knew what the truth looked like.

Desperation overtook reason. Ridge begged her not to call for help immediately, terrified the authorities would see what had really happened—a son’s loss of control ending with a father’s broken body. Brooke tried to insist they report it, but he pleaded with her, emotionally unraveling until she gave in. Together, they rewrote the scene: spilled wine, a broken glass, an overturned chair. A tragic fall, nothing more.

When Donna arrived after Ridge’s shaky phone call, paramedics were already lifting Eric onto a stretcher. She was frantic, demanding answers, but Ridge delivered his rehearsed lie with measured calm. Brooke echoed his words, though her voice shook.

In the days that followed, Eric remained alive but unresponsive. The doctors spoke in careful tones about swelling, trauma, and uncertain recovery. Ridge visited daily, murmuring apologies into the sterile atmosphere, while Brooke’s guilt grew heavier with every suspicious glance Donna sent her way. Donna sensed something was wrong—the details never fully aligned, and Ridge’s explanations felt too practiced, too neat.

Soon, small inconsistencies began to surface: blood cleaned too thoroughly, glass positioned unnaturally, gaps in the timeline. Donna’s doubt solidified into suspicion. Even Ridge’s trembling hands betrayed him when the police report was mentioned.

Then came the moment everything unraveled.

Eric stirred.

Barely conscious, but awake enough to speak a single word—Ridge’s name. Donna heard it and felt ice settle in her veins. Why would he say that? What was he trying to communicate?

Determined to find answers, she searched Eric’s belongings, his rooms, anything that might explain his fear. One night, she discovered a hidden USB drive. On it, a frail Eric spoke directly to the camera, warning Donna that Ridge had lost his moral compass, that anger consumed him, and that the company—and perhaps Eric himself—were no longer safe.

Donna’s grief sharpened into resolve.

She called a press conference under the guise of showcasing Forester Creations’ new direction. Ridge stood behind her, unsuspecting. Cameras flashed. The room buzzed. Donna’s voice was steady as she honored Eric’s genius, but then her tone shifted. She revealed the video. Eric’s recorded plea filled the room, each word striking like a verdict. Ridge paled. Brooke whispered desperately for Donna to stop. But it was too late—the truth was now public.

In the aftermath, Ridge lost everything: his credibility, his power, and the lingering trust of the family. Donna, newly appointed by Eric’s final will as the custodian of Forester Creations, stepped into leadership—not out of desire for authority, but to protect the legacy of the man she loved.

Yet victory tasted bitter. Donna sat alone in Eric’s chair that night, the company lights reflecting around her like ghosts of the past. She had honored Eric’s last request, but nothing could restore what was lost.

Outside, Ridge stood beneath the rain, seething with rage and humiliation. The dynasty that once held them together was fractured beyond repair. And as thunder rolled across Los Angeles, Ridge made a silent vow: Donna might have struck the first blow, but he would be the one to finish the war.

Because in the Forrester world, love and power were always intertwined—and revenge was the final language spoken when both were shattered.