I jolted awake, breath ragged and erratic, my eyes swollen and raw from tears shed in the dark. Sleep had not been a refuge but a torment; nightmares had swallowed me whole once more. Time and again, the same cruel vision haunted me: walls inching closer, closing in relentlessly, and on the other side of a glass barrier stood Noah, his smile a cruel beacon of all I’d lost. I reached out, desperate to shatter that invisible divide, but the walls pressed tighter until the dream dissolved into a scream — one that tore through the silence of the night.
Did Zach ever hear those screams? Did they stir anything in him? Since the doctor’s visit, we hadn’t exchanged a word. Our coexistence was a cold truce, facilitated by the vastness of the house that kept us apart: he lingered on the first floor, where his presence was a tempest; I hid on the upper level, seeking safety in solitude. Our lives intersected only through the staff — the quiet women who tidied my chambers and the butler who brought my meals. I hated being waited on, yet an invisible chain held me captive within my room. This house wasn’t mine; I was an intruder in a kingdom that refused my claim.
Shivering in my delicate silk nightgown, I wrapped the soft robe tighter around me, seeking warmth. My belongings had arrived that morning, delivered in pristine boxes, each item a relic of a life left behind. Clothes folded meticulously, shoes lined up in their boxes, books with dog-eared pages, old photographs capturing happier days — all remnants of a past that seemed a lifetime away. My laughter was bitter as I recalled the glaring absence: none of Noah’s gifts accompanied the shipment. The framed photograph, the teddy bears he’d given in quiet moments, the subtle pieces of jewelry — all wiped clean by my mother’s careful hand, no doubt believing that erasing reminders of the past would ease my transition. If only she understood that this new existence was purgatory itself. Perhaps then, she might have shown mercy and sent the fragments that tethered me to my only true happiness.
Drawn to the balcony adjoining my chamber, I stepped out into the dawn’s fragile embrace. It was barely six, a time when I’d usually rise, but the world beyond was swallowed by a thick mist, wrapping the grounds in a ghostly veil. The landscape was muted, its colors drained; trees loomed like specters and the mansion’s silhouette stood grim and unyielding against the pale sky. Every morning I hoped for a shift — a flicker of light that might coax me into accepting this place as home. But the Price estate was a fortress of stone and shadow, loyal only to its master, and I was nothing but a trespasser in its cold heart.
The abrupt screech of tires tore through the morning stillness, yanking me from my reverie. Glancing down, I spotted the familiar flash of a red Ferrari skidding through the gates. Had Zach been out all night? I waited, breath held, for him to emerge — but the first figure out wasn’t him. It was a woman, heels clicking sharply against the marble—a blonde stranger, clad in a dress so revealing it would make my sister blush.
My heart stuttered. Could it be Olivia returned? Had Zach found her after all? Was there a cruel twist of fate that might save me from this living nightmare? But no, hope dissolved instantly. Zach stepped out moments later, arms winding around the woman’s waist as he kissed the side of her neck with a reckless urgency. His movements were unsteady, betraying the intoxication clinging to his breath. I watched, detached yet burned by the scene, as their heated embrace unfolded right in the mansion’s grand foyer. I braced for the familiar stab of pain, but it didn’t come. I felt hollow, numb, as if my heart had been anesthetized. He could destroy himself however he wished — I no longer cared.
Turning away, I fled to the sanctuary of the bathroom and let the scalding water wash over me, hoping to scrub away the ache. Hours passed. Later, idly flipping through television channels, I was startled by the sharp crash of glass shattering from somewhere below. The house was quiet at this hour; the staff wouldn’t arrive until nine. Only two people could be the source of the chaos, and dread sank deep within me at the thought of encountering either.
The noise intensified — objects hurled with savage force, the violent snap of broken things scattering across the floor. Determined, I swallowed my fear and stepped beyond my door. What I found was devastation incarnate. The living room resembled a battlefield: lamps toppled and shattered, vases pulverized, priceless paintings torn from walls and tossed onto the floor, cushions ripped open, feathers spilling like snow. At the eye of the storm stood Zach, his chest heaving with rage, eyes wild and darkened by drink. Our gazes locked, and a flicker of fury, sharper than before, ignited in his expression.
Fear rooted me in place — his anger was a palpable force that chilled me to my core. I inched backward, hoping to escape unnoticed, but he was faster. His hand clamped around my arm with brutal strength, shoving me against the unforgiving wall. The stench of alcohol was overpowering, mingling with the raw heat of his breath as his steel-gray eyes bore into mine. I shrank under his grip, powerless beneath the weight of his fury.
"Zach," I whispered, voice trembling, desperate for a sliver of mercy.
"Shut up! Just shut the hell up," he barked, voice ragged. My lids fluttered closed as panic surged — would he strike me? Did he despise me enough to hurt me?
"You ruined everything," he snarled, fingers raking through his disheveled hair like a man unraveling.
I stared at him, hurt threatening to break through my fragile defenses. Tears pricked my eyes as I clung to the unbearable truth — he blamed me for the wreckage of his life. I longed to tell him how much this torment tore me apart too, how every breath felt like a battle for survival. But alcohol had clouded his judgment, and reason was lost beneath the storm.
"I couldn’t be with that girl I brought home," he spat venomously. "I couldn’t touch her without drowning in guilt. You did this. You did this to me." His words hung heavy between us, silencing me.
He shoveled himself away, swaying dangerously, and nearly collapsed. Reflexively, I caught him, his weight crushing me as I steadied him. His muttered curses were laced with venom aimed to wound, but I bit back the urge to retreat. I struggled to support him, every step a labor, until finally I managed to maneuver us back to my room — the closest sanctuary. Gently, I laid him on the bed, more roughly than I intended, and peeled off his shoes before tucking a blanket over his shuddering form.
Staring at Zach’s sleeping figure, raw and vulnerable beneath the harsh lines of his anger, I struggled to summon resentment. He was not the architect of this misery; he was another victim trapped in this cruel fate. Though his hatred was a constant, and love felt distant, something stirred inside me — a fragile urge to heal, to mend the fractures within his soul. Perhaps, in the ruins of our broken bond, a sliver of hope could yet take root.