Chapter 5 Unfamiliar Environment
ANNA'S POV
God, my head hurts.
A sharp, throbbing ache pulsed behind my eyes, forcing a groan out of me. I blinked several times, my lashes fluttering weakly as the blinding light from the window streamed across my face. My temples thudded like drums, and each breath I took made the pain worse.
I turned my head slightly, trying to shield my eyes from the brightness. The light was too strong, too clean, nothing like the dim, cracked blinds I was used to at home.
Wait a minute.
Windows?
My heart skipped. My place never had floor-to-ceiling windows. The most I had was a small square one with a half-broken latch and dust caked on the edges. I sat up a little, confusion flooding me as I took in my surroundings.
This wasn’t my room. Not even close.
The bed beneath me was far too soft, covered in smooth white sheets that felt like silk under my fingertips. The air smelled faintly of lavender and something expensive, something floral I couldn’t name. My gaze swept around the space, catching the tall drapes, the polished marble floors, and the soft hum of air conditioning from somewhere above.
What the hell?
I pushed myself upright, ignoring the spinning in my head. My hand went instinctively to my waist, the same spot where pain had flared yesterday, where everything had gone wrong.
Yesterday…
My breath caught. What happened last night? My mind scrambled through fragments — shadows, a strange woman, the feeling of collapsing.
My head whipped from left to right, scanning the room again. I wasn’t home. I wasn’t even in any place I’d ever seen before. Everything here was foreign the smell, the quiet hum, even the way the sunlight filtered in.
This was the first time I’d been here. But how did I get here?
My pulse quickened.
I hope it’s really not what I’m thinking.
As I lowered my gaze, the smoothness of my dress caught my attention. I froze. The fabric brushing my skin wasn’t what I’d worn last night. It was too fine, too soft. My heart sank.
Someone had changed my clothes while I was unconscious.
My entire body went cold.
Someone… saw everything.
The thought alone sent a sharp wave of anger through me. I clenched my fists, the fury replacing my confusion. Who gave them the right?
I swung my legs off the bed, standing up in one sharp motion. My bare feet hit the cold marble floor as I stormed toward the large double doors at the front of the room. I wasn’t just going to sit here and wait around like some helpless victim. Whoever brought me here, whatever they wanted, they weren’t getting it from me.
I had to get out.
I yanked open the doors, and the sight that greeted me froze me mid-step.
The hallway stretched wide and elegant, lined with golden lights and filled with paintings hung neatly along both sides. Each frame gleamed under the soft glow — landscapes, portraits, all beautiful, all expensive-looking.
But it wasn’t just that.
The woman in one of the paintings caught my eye.
It was her.
The same woman from last night. The one who brought me here.
My chest tightened.
So it was true.
I took slow steps through the hall, my eyes scanning every detail. There was a faint echo beneath my feet, the kind you only hear in large, silent houses. My hand brushed along the side of a shelf, and that’s when I noticed a small photo frame resting there.
Something about it pulled me closer.
I reached for it slowly, and the moment my eyes focused on the image, my breath hitched. There was a little girl in the photos and I was almost sure that the little girl resembled me.
Could this be me when I was younger? And if so, why would it be in this house?
This blue dress, I can recognize it anywhere because my mom never liked me wearing it. But it wasn’t just me alone in the picture there was someone else.
The same woman.
She stood beside me, holding my hand, her smile soft and warm. I frowned, staring harder. I’d never seen her before in my life. Who was she? And how did this woman, whoever brought me here get this photo?
I rubbed my thumb against the old wooden frame, confusion and unease battling inside me. This picture shouldn’t exist. Not like this.
A sound from downstairs broke my thoughts. Voices.
I quickly set the frame back on the shelf and moved forward, my steps cautious. My eyes found a massive spiral staircase ahead, gleaming under the sunlight. As I descended, I couldn’t help but glance at the interior below.
The living room was breathtaking — high ceilings, polished floors, chandeliers that sparkled like ice. Everything screamed wealth.
But I didn’t have time to be amazed. I needed to leave.
My focus shifted to the front door, where two men in black suits stood like statues. Their hands were clasped in front of them, their faces expressionless behind dark glasses.
My pace slowed.
Were they going to stop me?
I kept walking, trying to appear confident even though my pulse was hammering.
One of them noticed me approaching. He straightened immediately and stepped in front of the door, blocking my path.
“Good morning, ma’am. How are you feeling?” he asked politely.
Ma’am?
Was that what they called their victims?
I didn’t answer. I just tried to sidestep him, but he moved again, firmly placing himself between me and the door.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but you’re not allowed to leave.”
My eyes narrowed. “You can’t stop me,” I snapped, hoping my voice didn’t betray the panic rising inside me.
I tried again, moving to the left, but he mirrored my step perfectly, his head giving a small shake of warning.
My jaw tightened.
Fine. If words didn’t work—
I darted forward suddenly, attempting to run past him, but before I knew it, my feet were off the ground. The man had grabbed me effortlessly, lifting me like I weighed nothing.
“Put me down!” I shouted, my voice echoing through the hall. “Help! Someone help me!”
I kicked and twisted, but his grip was unyielding, his arms like steel. I screamed again, though deep down, I knew no one outside could hear me.
“I’m sorry about this,” he said calmly, “but you’re in no condition to leave.”
No condition? What was that supposed to mean?
He carried me back to the room I woke up in, ignoring my protests. When he finally set me down on the bed, I stumbled, catching my breath after all the struggling.
“Please calm yourself, ma’am,” he said gently, though his tone was still firm.
I didn’t listen. My legs tensed, ready to bolt again. But before I could move, I heard footsteps from behind him.
The sound of heels.
My eyes darted toward the door just as she appeared.
The woman from last night.
She stood there gracefully, her posture straight, her eyes steady and calm. She gave the bodyguard a small nod, and without a word, he stepped aside and left the room, closing the doors behind him.
Now it was just the two of us.
“Who are you?” I demanded, my voice sharp. “And where am I?”
She didn’t flinch. Instead, she took a slow step forward. “Relax and have a seat,” she said evenly. “I’ll answer all the questions you want.”
I hesitated, but eventually sat down on the edge of the bed, my heart still pounding.
The silence stretched for a moment before she finally spoke.
“First of all,” she said softly, her eyes meeting mine, “my name is Margaret Quinn. And…”
She paused, her voice steady but heavy.
“I’m your mother.”