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CHRISTINE
Rage shrouded me like an unrelenting cloak of despair as I was tossed into the car, barely noticing the cold leather seat as it welcomed my numb body. The driver peeled out of there, and I sank helplessly. I couldn’t fight them. Not without risking the baby.
The red blotches that stained my clothing seemed to mock me with the last vestiges of Atticus, as though they were a cruel reminder of how death had claimed him. No words could offer any comfort, no amount of reassurance or explanation could take away the ache in my broken heart. I looked out at the world through eyes blurred with tears, not knowing which direction I was heading. All I wanted was to escape, to find a place hidden away from the chaotic sorrow that had consumed my life.
The men who captured me didn’t speak. They were on edge, worried about what would await them when we arrived at the castle.
“You weren’t supposed to kill DuPont,” one of them murmured softly.
“We’ll blame someone else,” the other said back.
He was dead.
Atticus was dead.
I didn’t even know about Leo and August, but I feared the worst.
It was a long drive. Exhaustion and fatigue finally hit me, and I fell asleep somewhere between the safe house in the castle, but was woken up by a gruff voice when the car stopped.
I opened my eyes in confusion, momentarily forgetting my dire circumstances as I took in my surroundings. The castle walls were tall and imposing, with no hint of warmth or welcome emanating from inside.
My captors dragged me out of the car, pushing me forward toward the entrance. Fear and grief rose up within me like a tsunami of emotion, threatening to sweep me away in its powerful tides. But I held fast, determined not to break down here in front of them.
We stepped into the coldness of the castle’s hallways, and every dark corner seemed to taunt me with its eerie presence. My captors quickly deposited me in an empty room and shut the door behind them. The frigid atmosphere penetrated my clothing and settled into my bones like a heavy blanket of misery. Tears surged up in my eyes as grief overwhelmed me with a crushing force. Everything within me screamed out in agony—the confusion, sadness and despair had taken on a living form, consuming me in its depths.
The ache for Atticus clawed at my heart, silencing any protests from my lips as the tides of sorrow rolled over me until all that remained were muffled cries into the emptiness surrounding me. My raw emotion echoed off the walls until eventually it faded away, leaving only stillness behind.
I stayed on that cold floor for what felt like eternity, alone with my thoughts, exposed and vulnerable until finally exhaustion hit me once more, beckoning for sleep’s embrace.
And so I lay there on the hard ground, allowing myself to drift away in numbed peace, knowing that however uncertain tomorrow may be, today belonged only to grief.
“It’s all your fault!” a maniacal voice shrieked, breaking through my sleep. I jolted up and saw Theodore DuPont leering at me, his blade glinting in the moonlight. “I knew you’d be the death of him.” His clothes were disheveled and covered in blood. His icy eyes had turned to a deep malevolence as his face contorted with a crazed intensity.
I desperately scrambled to my feet as my eyes frantically searched for an escape route.
“Did you hear me?” he roared. “My son is dead because of you! You killed Atticus!”
The words felt like a vise crushing my heart as guilt and rage burned inside me.
I tried to contain my fear, using it instead to bolster my courage. “You murdered him,” I said grimly, my voice shaking as I warily glanced around the room. “You wanted to punish us for some twisted plan of yours.”
He stepped back, adjusting his collar as he was clearly taken aback by my words. “He never would have been there if it weren’t for you.”
“You killed him,” I said with more force, as bile rose in my throat and my pulse raced with terror. “You let your ambition consume you, and it cost Atticus his life.”
He shook his head, his movements jerky and frantic. “No. No. This is your fault.”
I sobbed. “I loved him!” I wrapped my arms around myself. “I loved him.”
“You didn’t love him. Women like you are incapable of love. It’s why Isabelle didn’t choose me. It’s why you wouldn’t choose him.”
I felt my chest cave in as I looked at him in wonderment. “Is that what you tell yourself?” I shrieked. “You had Lord Nathan kill Isabelle. Do you blame him for her death, too?” I took a step closer to him and tipped my chin up. “You killed them both. And for what? You’re a married man with a beautiful, selfless wife. You had everything and you threw it away. Not me.”
I was shaking with fury as I held his gaze, and I saw a flicker of doubt cross his face. I knew he couldn’t bear to admit that I was right, but it didn’t matter.
“Are you going to spend your life blaming everyone for your failures?” I asked with an icy calm.
“Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!” he screamed while holding his ears.
