Chapter 156
In the living room, time seemed to be stretched into a thick, sticky substance by fear and waiting, flowing slowly.
Annie sat on the sofa across from Vitale, her body rigid, hands clasped tightly on her knees, fingertips white from the pressure.
She didn't dare meet Vitale's gaze. Those blue eyes, though calm at the moment, were like two bottomless, icy pools. Even a second's glance felt like it could suck her in and destroy her.
She couldn't understand why, after she mentioned Harold's name, a flicker of near excitement had flashed in the eyes of these two intruders.
But that flicker vanished quickly, replaced by a heavier, more solid murderous intent.
Vitale now was quiet, yet even more unnerving.
All she could do was pray that Harold would hurry back and take this nightmare away.
Meanwhile, Harold sat in the car, replaying that phone call in his mind.
At the time, Harold had been chatting and campaigning with several important donors and supporters.
The election was in its most intense phase. Every vote, every donation, every strong endorsement was critical.
He needed to be fully focused, with no room for mistakes.
So, when his personal phone buzzed in his pocket and Annie's name appeared on the screen, Harold's brow furrowed in annoyance.
He stepped into a quieter corner of the private room and answered with an impatient growl, "Annie, I'm busy. How many times have I told you not to call at this hour? I'm in the middle of something important, something tied to my path to governor. What on earth do you—"
His words were cut off by Annie's frantic, tearful voice, filled with fear, "Harold, there are some guests at home. They want to talk to you about something, something important. You need to come back right now. It's about Elliot and some people you might know. They're here waiting. Please hurry. I can't handle this alone."
Harold's irritation instantly turned to shock and anger, "What? About Elliot? Damn it!"
His first thought wasn't concern for Annie's safety, but the devastating blow this sudden incident could deal to his campaign.
Kidnapping? A break-in? At his private residence?
This was practically a nuclear-level scandal handed straight to Elliot's camp.
"You're in a critical phase, I know, but you have to come back. They say it's something very important they need to discuss with you!" Annie's voice grew more desperate, "They mentioned a few enemies who got into our villa and disappeared. Harold, are they the friends you told me to let in earlier? Tell me the truth!"
On the other end of the line, Harold's heart sank. The buzz of alcohol cleared halfway in an instant.
He instinctively wanted to deny it, but his voice tightened with guilt, "Annie, don't talk nonsense. What friends? Who did I tell you to let in? Stop overthinking and don't say crazy things in front of strangers!"
"Listen, I'm coming back right now. But until I get there, keep them calm. Bring them inside. Don't let anyone see them."
"Especially the neighbors. Close all the curtains. And absolutely no calling the police, got it? This has to be handled privately!"
Harold paused, his tone carrying a subtle threat, "Annie, I trust you can manage this. You know, the food you eat, the clothes you wear, the house you live in, the decent life you maintain—it's all from my money. If you can't even handle something this small and let it blow up, affecting my campaign..."
"I might not be able to keep supporting your lifestyle. Do you get what I'm saying?"
On the other end, Annie went silent for a few seconds.
That silence was filled with unspoken sadness and resignation.
She had long grown used to Harold's way of putting profit over feelings. Their marriage was more like a deal where each got what they needed.
She provided a respectable family background and social companionship; he provided money and superficial status.
Love? That had long become a luxury.
"Alright, I understand," Annie's voice turned hollow and submissive, "I'll be good. I'll do as you say."
The call ended.
Harold put away his phone, a shadow of gloom and tension crossing his face.
He quickly adjusted his expression, returned to the table, and flashed an apologetic smile at the donors, "Everyone, I'm really sorry. There's an urgent personal matter at home I need to deal with right away. Tonight's bill is on me. Let's meet another day, and I'll make sure we have a great time!"
He said a quick goodbye and left the club.
Back in the villa's living room, after hanging up, Annie couldn't hold back her tears any longer. They slid down her cheeks.
She wiped them away messily with the back of her hand, but the sadness and humiliation couldn't be erased so easily.
She looked at Vitale, whose presence radiated deadly danger, and spoke with a hint of self-mockery and sorrow in her voice, "Sir, as you can see, I'm not exactly cherished. If he wasn't worried that a divorce would hurt his image and campaign, I'm pretty sure I'd have been kicked out of this house long ago, losing everything I have now."
Annie was stating a fact, perhaps with a subconscious hope for sympathy, though she knew the chances were slim to none.
Vitale only gave her a cold glance, his eyes showing no sympathy or interest, only pure impatience and iciness.
"That's none of my business. I don't care."
His goal was clear and singular: find Isabella and eliminate any obstacles.
Annie's family drama didn't stir even a ripple in Vitale's heart at that moment. It didn't compare to the tiny tremble of Isabella in a video, which could tug at his emotions far more.
Looking at the tear stains still on Annie's face, another woman's face unexpectedly flashed in Vitale's mind.
Doria. Not long ago, in another villa that was just as polished but had a completely different atmosphere, she had thrown herself into Elliot's arms, genuinely crying for her friend Isabella's safety. And while her husband Elliot was cautious and calculating, he hadn't spoken to her in such a cold, utilitarian tone.
Both were wives of political figures, yet their situations were worlds apart.
One might be used, but at least she was outwardly respected and comforted.
The other was like a disposable decoration, valuable only as long as she didn't cause trouble.
This thought lingered in Vitale's mind for just a moment before being replaced by a stronger, warmer resolve.
If Isabella ever married him in the future, he would never let her suffer even a hint of such grievance.
He would shield her under his wings, giving her respect, love, and absolute safety, even if it meant standing against the world.
Vitale and Victor didn't waste time on pleasantries. They quickly and efficiently began inspecting the first floor.
The study, the small lounge, the guest rooms, the staff quarters.
Their movements were professional and quiet, their eyes sharp like hawks, missing no corner where someone could hide or a clue could be found.
Victor even pulled out a small electronic device, seemingly checking for unusual signals.
Annie watched them in silence, her heart still pounding.
She didn't know if those people were still in the villa or what kind of terrible mess Harold had gotten himself into.
In the oppressive silence, perhaps unable to bear the suffocating pressure or hoping to buy herself a little leeway, Annie suddenly spoke. Her voice was soft but clear enough to reach Vitale and Victor's ears, "Sir, about those enemies you're looking for, I only did what Harold told me to do. I opened the back door for them when they came, let them in. But whether they stayed in this villa or went somewhere else after, I honestly don't know. Harold told me not to ask too much, and I didn't dare to."
Her words were like a stone dropped into a calm lake, instantly creating ripples.
Vitale and Victor stopped what they were doing almost at the same time, their sharp gazes snapping to Annie.