Chapter 4 Chapter 4
I stared at the high ceiling of the guest room—or should I say prison cell?—I was now forced to live in. The luxurious bedding did nothing to comfort me, nor did the plush pillows or the warm glow of the bedside lamp. None of it felt like mine. Nothing in this mansion did.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Anna’s tear-streaked face. Was she happy now? Was she settling into her new life? Did she have anyone to talk to?
And then the haunting thought hit me: Was she scared?
Alaric’s rules were clear—no contact with the outside world. I couldn’t call her, text her, or even write her a letter. I had no idea how she was doing, and that thought alone tore me apart. My hands balled into fists beneath the soft blanket, my nails digging into my palms as tears burned the back of my eyes.
I was her sister. Her protector. And now I couldn’t even do that.
The faintest sound outside my door startled me—a footstep, maybe. The guards were always there, always stationed outside like statues, reminding me I had no freedom. My every movement was controlled, dictated by one man. Alaric Moretti.
I hated him.
I hated the way his cold gray eyes had looked at me with nothing but indifference. I hated the way he had separated me from my family, from everything I cared about. And most of all, I hated the way he made me feel powerless.
But hating him didn’t change anything.
The morning came too soon. I hadn’t slept, but the sunlight creeping through the curtains reminded me that time didn’t stop just because I wanted it to.
The knock on the door was sharp, purposeful.
"It’s time," a voice said from the other side.
I sat up, my body aching from the tension of a restless night. A maid entered, avoiding eye contact as she handed me a simple set of clothes—plain black pants and a loose shirt.
"Where am I going?" I asked, my voice hoarse from disuse.
She hesitated. "The hospital."
The ride to the hospital was silent. The black SUV that had dragged us here days ago now felt like a hearse. I sat stiffly, clutching my hands in my lap to stop them from shaking.
I didn’t see Alaric. He didn’t escort me, didn’t bother with any reassurances or explanations. Not that I expected him to. The man didn’t have a drop of humanity in him.
When we arrived, the sterile smell of disinfectant hit me instantly, making my stomach churn. I’d never been in a hospital for myself before. Sure, I’d been in and out of them countless times with my dad, watching the nurses hook him up to IVs and administer treatments we couldn’t afford.
But this time, it was me.
A nurse approached, her voice soft but professional. "Vanessa… this way, please."
I followed her down the white corridors, my legs feeling heavier with each step. Fear clawed at my throat, but I bit it back. There was no room for weakness here.
"Have you had surgery before?" she asked as she guided me into a preparation room.
I shook my head.
Her eyes softened, but she didn’t say anything more. Instead, she handed me a hospital gown and instructed me to change.
The moments before the surgery felt like an eternity.
The nurse strapped monitors to my chest and arms, explaining the procedure in detail. Her voice was calm, soothing even, but none of it registered. My mind was spinning, my chest tightening with the weight of what I was about to do.
For Emma.
For Alaric’s dying fiancée.
The thought made me want to scream. I was giving up a part of myself for a woman I didn’t even know—a woman who had the luxury of being loved by the man who was destroying my life.
"Vanessa," the nurse said, pulling me from my thoughts. "Are you okay?"
I blinked up at her, my throat dry. "I’m scared," I admitted, the words slipping out before I could stop them.
Her face softened. "That’s normal. But you’ll be okay. We’ll take good care of you."
I didn’t believe her, but I nodded anyway.
When I woke up, the world was dark. My body felt like it had been run over by a truck. Pain radiated through my chest with every breath, sharp and unrelenting.
It took me a moment to realize I was back in the recovery room. Machines beeped softly around me, and the faint hum of voices came from outside the door.
I tried to sit up, but a wave of dizziness hit me, forcing me to lie back down. My head throbbed, and my mouth was dry, but all I could think about was the pain in my chest.
The door opened, and two voices drifted in.
"She needs time to recover," one of them said. It was a man—calm, measured, but firm.
"And I’m telling you, she doesn’t have time," came another voice.
I froze. That voice.
Alaric.
"She just came out of surgery, Mr. Moretti. Her body needs to heal before we can draw blood."
"I pay enough money for this hospital to keep standing do it...now," Alaric replied coldly.
My chest tightened at his words, not from fear, but from anger. Was I nothing more than a tool to him? A resource he could use and discard as he pleased?
The voices faded as they left the room, but the weight of Alaric’s words lingered.
They didn’t even wait a day.
That evening, they brought me into another room, this one cold and sterile like the others. My body screamed in protest as they drew vial after vial of blood, the sharp sting of the needle a cruel reminder of my new reality.
I passed out halfway through.
When I woke up, I was back in the black SUV, being driven back to the mansion. My head was pounding, my body weak and sore from the surgery and the blood loss.
The mansion loomed in the distance, its grand facade a cruel reminder of the man who owned me now.
When we arrived, the guards helped me out of the car, but I barely had the strength to stand. I stumbled as I stepped onto the gravel driveway, my legs threatening to give out beneath me.
That’s when I saw him.
Alaric was standing by one of the sleek black cars parked in the driveway, his sharp features illuminated by the glow of the mansion’s lights. He was dressed in another tailored suit, the fabric hugging his powerful frame like a second skin.
He glanced at me as I approached, his expression unreadable.
I wanted to say something, to yell at him, to tell him what a monster he was. But I couldn’t find the words. My body was too weak, my mind too foggy.
His eyes flicked over me briefly before he turned and got into his car without a word.
I stood there, trembling with anger and exhaustion as the car sped off, leaving me alone in the darkness.
I collapsed onto the bed when I finally made it to my room, every muscle in my body screaming in protest.
This was my life now.
A life of pain and sacrifice, of being used and discarded like I was nothing.
I closed my eyes, tears streaming down my face as I let the darkness pull me under.
And for the first time in my life, I wished I could disappear.