Chapter 75
Chapter 75
Rebeka's POV
I lounged in the garden, surrounded by the vibrant colors of blooming flowers and the soft chirping of birds. The warm sun cast a golden glow on my skin, and for a moment, I felt at peace. My gaze drifted to the help standing beside me, her eyes fixed on me with an admiring glint.
"Get me fruit, veggies, and a bottle of liquor," I instructed, my voice low and husky. "Blend the fruits and add liquor to it. And don't skimp on the liquor."
The help's eyes sparkled as she nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. "Yes, ma'am."
As she turned to leave, her gaze lingered on me, and I felt a flicker of discomfort. "Ma'am, Rebekah, you look stunning in this new dress of yours," she said, her voice filled with genuine admiration.
I felt a surge of shame. How did she know it was new? I hadn't been to the mall in ages, and Lyra's departure had left a void in my life. I'd ordered the dress online, hoping to fill the emptiness. I raised my gaze, a smile spreading across my face.
"Thank you," I said, my voice laced with a hint of seriousness. "Now, get the drink before you admire something else."
As the lady scurried away, I let out a sigh of relief, my eyes never leaving the pages of the magazine. The words blurred together, my mind racing with the news of Marcello's return. My heart thudded against my ribcage like a drumbeat in a tribal ritual, each pulse echoing the dread that pooled in my stomach. I knew that look, that stride, that anger. It was all too familiar.
The juice, a mix of sweet and tangy, slid down my throat, the liquor warming my chest. I savored the taste, letting it distract me for a fleeting moment from the impending storm. But the reprieve was short-lived. My mind began to spin scenarios, each one more terrifying than the last. Marcello's anger was a palpable thing, a living, breathing entity that seemed to seep into every pore of my skin.
I tossed the magazine aside, the pages fluttering to the ground like a wounded bird. My hands trembled as I set the glass down, the ice clinking against the sides. The sound seemed amplified, a stark reminder of the silence that surrounded me. The garden, once a sanctuary, now felt like a trap, a gilded cage waiting to be sprung shut.
Panic clawed at my chest as I rose from the chair, my movements swift and jerky. The dress, a flowing concoction of silk and lace, rustled around my legs as I made my way to the slave quarters. The fabric felt suffocating, a constraint that threatened to choke the life out of me. I hiked it up, bunching the material in my fists as I quickened my pace.
The sun beat down on me, its warmth mocking my chill. Sweat broke out on my brow, a cold sheen that seemed to seep into my bones. I could feel Marcello's eyes on me, his gaze like a branding iron searing into my skin. My breath came in short gasps, each inhalation a desperate attempt to calm the storm raging within me.
As I reached the slave quarters, I darted inside, the door creaking shut behind me. I leaned against it, my ear pressed to the wood, listening for the sound of footsteps. The silence was oppressive, a heavy blanket that threatened to suffocate me. My heart pounded in my chest, each beat a countdown to the inevitable confrontation.
I spun around, my eyes scanning the cramped space. The quarters were a labyrinth of narrow corridors and dingy rooms, each one a potential hiding spot. I knew them intimately, every nook and cranny, every hiding place. But I also knew Marcello. He would find me.
A faint rustling sound came from the corner, a soft whisper of fabric against skin. I spun around, my eyes locking onto a figure huddled in the shadows. A maid, Elara, emerged from the darkness, her eyes wide with fear.
"Ma'am Rebekah, what's happening?" she whispered, her voice trembling.
I didn't answer. Instead, I grabbed her arm, pulling her deeper into the quarters. "Hide with me, after that you get back to duties," I whispered back, my voice barely audible.
I pulled Elara deeper into the quarters, the dim light casting long shadows on the walls. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and despair. I knew every nook and cranny, every hidden corner and every escape route. But I also knew Marcello's reach was long, and his anger would not be easily placated.
As we hid, Elara's eyes locked onto mine, filled with a mix of fear and curiosity. She didn't ask questions, didn't dare to. Instead, she nodded, her lips pressed into a thin line. I released her arm, and she melted into the shadows, her movements silent.
I watched her go, my gaze lingering on the spot where she disappeared. Then, I turned to survey the slave quarters. The sight that greeted me was one of utter despair. The once tidy quarters now lay in disarray, the slaves shuffling about with downtrodden eyes. My heart ached as I took in the scene. I knew who was responsible for this. Marcello's cruelty knew no bounds.
My eyes landed on a little child, no more than five years old, sitting alone on the floor. The child's eyes were vacant, their small frame trembling with each sob. Something inside me broke. I knelt beside the child, my hand reaching out to stroke their soft hair.
The child looked up at me, their eyes welling up with tears. I pulled him into a hug, holding him close as I whispered soft words of comfort. For a moment, I forgot about Marcello, forgot about the danger that lurked outside these walls. All that mattered was this small, fragile life.
As I held the child, a wave of anger washed over me.