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"Release her, feed her, clean her up, and let her go. I'll apologize and hope she forgives me. I found out that she never signed a prenup, so everything of his goes to her. It won't fix what I've done to her, but it's the least I can do."
As I stand there, the weight of the night's events pressing heavily on me, my mind begins to wander. Thoughts of my brother's betrayal swirl around, each revelation more stunning than the last. I can't help but wonder what exactly he was up to. What sinister plot he had been weaving behind my back.
Then I think of Isabella, sweet, innocent Isabella. The thought of her hating me twists my stomach into knots. I can't blame her, not after everything that's happened. I've done a terrible thing, a move I can't erase with a simple apology or a generous settlement. I can see her now, those wide innocent eyes filled with resentment, maybe even disgust.
As these thoughts consume me, I can't help but feel a sudden sense of isolation. The office, once a haven of control and order, feels cold and foreign. I’m left alone with my guilt and regret, a silent testament to the chaos of the night.
14
CHAPTER 14
Isabella
Sunlight pours through the cracked windows of the warehouse, bathing the cold concrete floor in a warm, golden glow. It rouses me from a disturbing sleep as all I could dream about was yesterday’s events. My body aches with a stiffness that's foreign, and the numbness creeps in from hours of hanging in the same position. I flex my fingers in an attempt to dispel the numbing sensation. The movement sends sharp, prickling sensations up my arms.
My shoulders throb from the strain, a dull pain that's grown familiar over the course of the night. I wince, trying to shift my weight to alleviate the discomfort, but it's a futile effort. Every inch of me screams in protest.
The crunch of approaching footsteps sends a wave of terror flooding through me. Each footfall is a rhythmic reminder of my grim reality, echoing ominously through the silent warehouse. Panic bubbles in my throat as the door creaks open. The sudden influx of daylight momentarily blinds me. As my eyes adjust, I see them. Two large silhouettes standing ominously in the doorway. They stride toward me with a purposeful gait that leaves no room for misinterpretation. My heart hammers in my chest, each beat a frantic plea for escape.
"Stay away from me," I croak out despite the dryness of my mouth, but they continue their approach, their cold, emotionless gazes telling me that my words carry little weight in this twisted game of survival.
The men pay no heed to my pleas. With a chilling indifference, they unlock the bindings that bite into my flesh. Their rough hands grab me unceremoniously. I can't hold back a groan as they jostle me around, and the abrupt movements send spikes of pain coursing through my body. They manhandle me into a car, my battered body sinking into the cold leather seats. As the car lurches forward, I am filled with a dreadful assumption. They're taking me somewhere to kill me.
I brace myself, each passing minute a countdown to my impending doom. The car slows down, and I am taken aback as I recognize the familiar structure of Damien's house. My heart flutters with an unplaceable emotion. Relief? Fear? I don't know. I just know that whatever comes next, I won't go down without a fight.
The car door opens, and I'm ushered inside with the grand entryway of Damien's house sprawling in front of me. A butler in a crisp uniform and a maid in a traditional black and white outfit greet me at the door.
"Good morning, Miss Isabella," the butler greets me, his voice filled with an uncanny warmth that doesn't quite reach his eyes.
"Morning," I reply hesitantly, barely above a whisper.
The butler looks at me contemplatively before he finally speaks again. "May I inquire what type of food you would prefer for your meal?"
His question catches me off guard, and I just stare at him in confusion for a moment. "I... uh... just a sandwich will be fine," I answer.
"Very well. I will get that prepared for you," he responds, nodding once before disappearing into the depths of the house.
The maid, who had been standing silently by my side, speaks up. "Miss Isabella, please follow me."
With a deep breath, I follow her through several grand corridors before finally ending up in front of a beautiful room. The room is surprisingly cheerful with its bright, airy atmosphere. Light streams in through the large windows, illuminating the cream-colored walls and casting long shadows on the polished wooden floor. A large, comfortable-looking bed sits in the middle of the room, its crisp white sheets contrasting with the rich burgundy throw blanket. Despite the circumstances, I can't help but marvel at the elegant simplicity of the room.
The maid motions towards an adjoining door, her voice polite but detached. "Miss Isabella, a bath has been drawn up for you," she says, pointing to what I can only presume to be a door leading to a bathroom. "There are clothes in there as well. Your food will be waiting for you when you finish," she adds in a tone devoid of any emotion.
The words hang in the air as she turns on her heel and leaves the room with the door clicking shut behind her. I'm left standing in the middle of the room with a chill running down my spine. A bath? New clothes? Food? The normalcy of it all hits me like a bucket of cold water. It's too calm, too...mundane. It doesn't make sense. It can't. Not after everything that's happened. Not after the heart-stopping fear and the gut-wrenching dread.
With a shaky sigh, I move towards the bathroom, half expecting to find another surprise awaiting me. All that greets me is a large bathtub filled with warm water, a fluffy towel laid out on a stool, and a set of clean clothes folded neatly on the counter. It's all so incredibly ordinary, so incredibly surreal.
I stand before the mirror, still in my bra and underwear, taking stock of the damage etched across my body. Multicolored bruises coat my skin, while the cuts, though painful, aren't as deep as I'd initially thought. My fingers move tentatively over them, the sensation more unnerving than agonizing. I flinch, not from the pain but from the realization that my tormentors hadn't used their full force.
Could it be that Damien only intended to inflict enough pain to extract the information he wanted? My mind whirls with questions I can't answer, but I never gave him what he wanted. Was that why he abandoned me in that godforsaken warehouse?
Shaking my head, I turn away from the mirror, forcing myself to push away the unnerving thoughts. I can't afford to lose myself in conjecture. Not now. Stepping into the tub, I’m greeted by the perfect temperature. As I sink in, my muscles relax, and the tension I hadn't realized I was holding onto gradually fades away. I close my eyes, basking in the feeling of calm that seems so alien in my current predicament. I don't know what's going on, and part of me is afraid to find out. One thing is certain. Once I've cleaned up and eaten, I'm out of here.
I make sure not to linger in the bath because the comfort it offers is a bittersweet illusion I can't afford to dwell in. As soon as the tension is eased from my body, I step out, and the air in the room chills my heated skin. The cuts on my skin are barely visible since the blood is washed away. Toweling off quickly, I slip into the clean clothes that had been laid out for me. It feels strange, almost wrong, to be treated with such common courtesy in a place where I'd encountered nothing but terror.
Exiting the bathroom, I find a sandwich waiting for me on the small table. My stomach growls a sudden reminder that it's been hours since I've had anything to eat. As I bite into the sandwich, I find my thoughts drifting back to the small town I'd made my home. It hasn't been long since I'd left. Maybe George would let me keep my job if I returned. I'm not certain, but it's a chance I'm willing to take. No sooner have I finished eating than there's a knock on the door.
"Come in," I call out hesitantly.
