C132 What You Do

Annabelle sat in the drawing room, sunlight pouring in through the tall windows.

The warm golden hues of the light couldn’t penetrate the chill that had settled in her chest.

She sipped her tea absentmindedly, her thoughts a whirl of chaos.

She hadn’t seen Dante in days, and the weight of his absence pressed down on her more than she cared to admit.

Antonia’s arrival broke the silence.

She entered with her usual poised elegance, her heels clicking softly against the marble floor. Today, she was dressed in a tailored navy pantsuit that accentuated her slim frame, her dark hair swept into an immaculate bun.

The hint of a smirk played on her lips, as though she carried a secret she wasn’t ready to share.

"Good afternoon, Annabelle," Antonia said smoothly, settling into the chair across from her. "You look... contemplative."

Annabelle forced a small smile. "Just thinking."

Antonia’s eyes narrowed slightly, her curiosity piqued.

She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the armrest. "About Dante, I assume?"

Annabelle’s heart gave a small jolt, and she looked away, embarrassed by how transparent she had become. "He’s been gone for a while," she admitted. "I hope he’s okay."

Antonia hummed softly, a noncommittal sound. "You’re quite taken with him, aren’t you?"

The directness of the question caught Annabelle off guard.

She felt her cheeks heat, but she didn’t deny it. "I care about him," she said cautiously.

Antonia’s smile widened, though it didn’t reach her eyes. "Of course you do. Dante has a way of making people feel... drawn to him. It’s his charisma, his power." She paused as if deliberating her next words. "But have you ever wondered if that power is a little too much? If it’s... controlling?"

Annabelle frowned, setting her cup down. "What do you mean?"

Antonia waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, nothing concrete. It’s just that Dante can be so... forceful in getting what he wants. And he always gets what he wants."

Annabelle’s discomfort grew. "He’s protective," she said defensively.

Antonia nodded. "Protective. Yes, that’s one word for it. But sometimes protection can become... something else, don’t you think?"

Annabelle didn’t respond, her stomach twisting uncomfortably.

Antonia leaned back, crossing her legs elegantly. "I probably shouldn’t say this, but... did you know you were pregnant when you first came to the mansion?"

The words hit Annabelle like a punch to the gut.

She stared at Antonia, her heart hammering. "What?"

Antonia tilted her head, her expression feigning sympathy. "Oh, you didn’t know? I wasn’t sure if you were aware. It was such a delicate situation."

Annabelle’s mind raced. "That’s not possible," she said shakily.

Antonia sighed, looking almost regretful. "I swore I wouldn’t say anything, but... Dante’s obsession with you was so intense. You reminded him of Isabella, you know. And when he found out you were pregnant... well, let’s just say he didn’t want anything…or anyone…else to have a claim on you."

Annabelle felt like the room was spinning. "What are you talking about?"

Antonia leaned closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "He asked Aguillar to give you an injection. Something to... take care of it. To make sure the baby wouldn’t be a complication."

Annabelle’s hands flew to her mouth, her breathing quickening. "No. No, that can’t be true."

Antonia’s eyes softened with mock pity. "You don’t have to believe me, Annabelle. But do you remember that day in the bathroom? The... thing that came out of you? That was your foetus."

Annabelle gasped, the memory slamming into her with horrifying clarity.

The warm, oddly shaped mass she had flushed away, thinking it was just a side effect of whatever medicine she’d been given.

Her chest constricted, and she clutched at the armrest, struggling to breathe.

"I…I can’t..." she stammered, her voice barely audible.

Antonia reached out as if to comfort her, though her touch lingered a little too long. "I didn’t mean to upset you," she said softly. "It’s just... you deserve to know what kind of man Dante is. He’s not cruel, not intentionally. He just... does what he thinks is necessary."

Annabelle’s vision blurred as tears welled up.

Her breathing grew shallow, panic clawing at her chest.

She was drowning in a sea of conflicting emotions.

Grief, betrayal and crushing confusion.

"I…I can’t breathe," she whispered, her voice shaking.

Antonia stood quickly, waving over Mary, who had appeared in the doorway. "She’s having a panic attack," Antonia said briskly. "Take care of her. I have... business to attend to for Dante. It really can’t wait"

Mary rushed to Annabelle’s side, helping her sit up and guiding her through deep, measured breaths.

Annabelle clung to her arm like a lifeline, her mind spiralling.

She faintly wondered how Antonia had known about what had come out of her.

“Of course, they must have discussed it behind her back.” came the response as she tried so hard not to black out.

As Antonia left the room, a small, satisfied smile played on her lips.

She smoothed her blouse and strode out with purpose, her heels clicking against the marble floor.

Annabelle didn’t notice her departure.

She was too consumed by the storm raging inside her, each wave threatening to pull her under.

*******

Annabelle lay in bed, staring at the intricate patterns on the ceiling.

Her mind clouded with a heavy fog of despair.

The once-vibrant sunlight streaming through the curtains now felt intrusive, a harsh reminder of a world that continued to spin outside her door.

Days had passed since her panic attack, but the emotional weight that had crushed her that day had not lifted.

If anything, it had burrowed deeper, wrapping its tendrils around her spirit and pulling her into an unshakable lethargy.

The only sound in her room was the occasional shuffle of Cathy’s footsteps outside her door. Annabelle had forbidden her sister from starting at the school Dante had arranged.

The kidnapping attempt had changed everything.

How could she send Cathy out into a world where shadows loomed around every corner?

She couldn’t risk her safety, not when Tad was still out there, a threat she couldn’t fully comprehend.

Who was going to protect her?

It wasn’t as if Annabelle could follow her to school, could she?

“As if you were able to save yourself,” her sunbconsciousness mocked her.

Cathy had been upset, of course.

Annabelle had seen the frustration in her sister’s bright eyes, the way her hands had fisted at her sides when Annabelle broke the news.

But she couldn’t bring herself to explain the truth.

They had stumbled into a dangerous world filled with people who were far from what they claimed to be.

So, she placated Cathy with the school’s online programme, assuring her it was only temporary.

Her sister had eventually accepted the compromise, diving into her virtual classes with an enthusiasm Annabelle envied.

Cathy’s laughter sometimes filtered through the thick walls.

The sound was both a comfort and a reminder of how much Annabelle had withdrawn from life.

She held her breath if Cathy had stepped outside to do anything and didn’t breathe easily again until she was sure her sister was back inside.

She knew inside was not a foolproof net of safety but she couldn’t get her mind to accept that.

Also apart from Cathy’s welfare, she couldn’t bring herself to care about anything else.

She barely ate, ignored the staff’s attempts to draw her out, and let the days blur together in a haze of self-imposed isolation.

She wanted to be left alone, with her grief and confusion as her only companions.

When a knock sounded on her door one afternoon, she barely acknowledged it.

“Annabelle?”

Mikhail’s voice was unmistakable, smooth but tinged with concern.

She closed her eyes, hoping he’d take the hint and leave.

He knocked again, firmer this time, before pushing the door open.

The scent of cologne and leather preceded him, a stark contrast to the stagnant air in her room.

“Annabelle,” he said, his tone more insistent now. “You can’t keep doing this. Cathy’s worried about you. Hell, I’m worried about you.”

Annabelle turned her head slightly, just enough to see him standing in the doorway.

He looked rougher than usual, his normally polished appearance marred by dark circles under his eyes and a slight dishevelment in his usually impeccable hair.

“What do you want, Mikhail?” she asked, her voice hoarse from days of disuse.

He stepped further into the room, his boots thudding softly against the rug. “I wanted to see how you’re holding up. You’ve been locked in here for days.”

“I’m fine,” she said flatly, turning her gaze back to the ceiling.

Mikhail didn’t move. “You don’t look fine. You look like you’ve been living in a nightmare.”

She gave a bitter laugh, the sound hollow. “Maybe I have been.”

He sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. “Annabelle, you need to get out of this room. Go for a walk. Breathe some fresh air. You’ll feel better.”

“I doubt it,” she muttered.

Mikhail moved closer, his presence looming over her. “I am sorry what happened happened. I am even more sorry that it was one of my men who did this to you, but that is over now.”

Annabelle was tempted to tell him that she doubted that anything was over.

She almost told him about the dead animal but something stopped her still.

With an exasperated sigh, Mikhail started talking again “You can’t just waste away in here. If you’re not going to do it for yourself, do it for Cathy. She needs you.”

That struck a chord.

Annabelle clenched her jaw, the mention of her sister stirring a flicker of guilt.

She sat up slightly, leaning against the headboard. “I’ll think about it,” she said, though her tone lacked conviction.

Mikhail nodded, though the furrow in his brow suggested he wasn’t satisfied.

He lingered for a moment longer before turning to leave.

Just as he reached the door, Annabelle called out, her voice barely above a whisper. “Wait.”

He paused, looking over his shoulder.

“I’ll take that walk,” she said.

A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips, a rare softness breaking through his usual nonchalance. “Good. I’ll wait for you downstairs.”

Annabelle swung her legs over the side of the bed, wincing as her bare feet met the cold floor.

Her body ached from days of inactivity, and she felt a pang of discomfort in her chest.

She dressed quickly, pulling on a simple sweater and jeans, her reflection in the mirror almost unrecognisable.

When she joined Mikhail outside, the estate grounds were bathed in the warm glow of the late afternoon sun.

The sprawling gardens stretched out before them, vibrant with life.

Birds chirped from the treetops, and a gentle breeze rustled the leaves.

Mikhail walked beside her, his hands tucked into his pockets.

For a while, they moved in silence, the gravel crunching softly beneath their feet.

“Feeling better?” he asked eventually.

Annabelle hesitated. “Not really. But I appreciate you dragging me out here.”

He chuckled, the sound light but genuine. “You’re welcome.”

As they continued walking, Annabelle couldn’t help but steal glances at him.

His rough appearance hadn’t escaped her notice, but she lacked the energy to ask about it.

Still, there was something comforting about his presence, even if she didn’t fully trust it.

“You know,” Mikhail began, “You’re stronger than you think.”

Annabelle gave him a sceptical look. “I don’t feel strong.”

He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter how you feel. Strength isn’t always about how you feel, it’s about what you do.”

His words lingered in the air.

And for the first time in days, Annabelle felt a small spark of determination.

Maybe she wasn’t as lost as she thought.