Chapter 107 Chaotic Memories
Caroline's footsteps slowed. She turned back, her gaze drifting toward the iron door.
"Kenna," she asked, almost without thinking, "what's down there?"
Even as she spoke, her feet carried her forward—two steps, then three.
The moment she got near, a faint smell hit her. Metallic. Sharp. Unmistakable.
Caroline's nose wrinkled. Her stomach twisted.
Blood.
She froze, instinct dragging her back half a step.
"What's going on in there?" Her voice came out tight. "Why does it smell like… blood? Is someone hurt?"
The basement went silent.
Every maid stopped moving. Their eyes snapped to her. Even Kenna's hand, resting lightly on Caroline's arm, went rigid.
That was where Alexander dealt with people—the ones who crossed him, the ones who did not deserve mercy.
She had been down there once before. She had killed someone. And then she had lost her memory.
The silence unnerved her. She took another step forward. "I… I should check—"
"Ma'am!" Kenna's grip tightened, yanking her back.
Caroline flinched. "What… what's wrong?"
Kenna's face smoothed over, forcing a stiff smile. "You forgot, didn't you? That's the cold storage. We keep frozen meat down there. Food supplies. It's been sitting for a while. That's all you're smelling. Not blood."
She did not wait for Caroline to respond. She steered her firmly toward the stairs, her tone brooking no argument. "It's freezing down there. The cold would be terrible for you right now. You need rest. Let's go back upstairs."
Caroline let herself be guided up two steps, but her mind kept circling back.
Cold storage? Alexander eating frozen meat?
With his standards? With the kind of house this was? Shouldn't everything be fresh, flown in daily?
Before she could dwell on it, dizziness slammed into her.
The world tilted. Her temples throbbed.
The poached pears—she had eaten too many. She had never handled alcohol well, and apparently even cooked wine had a kick.
The discomfort shoved her questions aside. She let Kenna help her upstairs.
Back in her room, the dizziness had not faded. If anything, it had worsened, mixing with days of exhaustion until her head felt stuffed with cotton.
A hot bath. That might help. It might clear her head, let her sleep.
Kenna ran the water for her, fussing over the temperature, warning her not to slip. Finally, with one last worried glance, she left, closing the door softly behind her.
Caroline stripped off her clothes and sank into the tub.
The warm water wrapped around her. For a moment, it felt good. Soothing.
Her eyes drifted shut.
But the relief did not last.
As the water rose higher, covering her shoulders and chest, something shifted inside her—a creeping unease, sourceless but undeniable.
Her skin prickled with unease. Goosebumps spread down her arms.
It felt like… like something terrible had happened in water before.
The thought made her restless. She shifted, trying to sit up, to end this bath that was starting to feel less like comfort and more like a trap.
But as she pushed herself up, her hand slipped on the wet porcelain. Her balance gave out.
She fell backward.
Her head cracked against the edge of the tub.
Pain exploded through her skull—white-hot and blinding.
And then, out of nowhere, a voice.
Cold. Cruel. Crawling up from some dark, buried place in her mind.
"Did he touch you here?"
"What about here?"
"Here… did he touch you here?"
Who was that?
Daniel? One of the men who had taken her?
She could not remember. She could not see a face.
But she understood now—the unease. The fear.
The assault. It had happened here. In a bathtub.
Caroline shook her head, trying to force the voice out, but it would not leave. And then the hallucination came.
She felt hands on her—rough, violent, shaking her.
She was shoved under the water. It rushed into her nose, her mouth, choking her.
Then she was yanked up by her throat, gasping, only to be slammed back down again.
Over and over. Drowning. Breathing. Drowning.
The cycle would not stop. Her nerves screamed.
"Ah!!!"
Caroline clutched her head, a scream tearing out of her. She lurched to the side, losing her balance completely.
She slipped beneath the surface.
Water closed over her face. She tried to push herself up, but the tub was slick, her limbs weak from the wine. She could not get a grip. Could not stand.
The water filled her lungs.
Her vision started to blur.
Then the bathroom door burst inward.
"What the hell are you doing?!"
A roar from above.
A hand plunged into the water, iron-strong, grabbing her flailing wrist and hauling her up.
Water sprayed everywhere.
Caroline collapsed against the edge of the tub, coughing violently. Tears, snot, and bathwater streamed down her face.
It took a long time before the choking eased. Before she could breathe again.
She lifted her head, blinking through the water in her eyes.
Alexander stood over her.
His face was dark. A vein pulsed at his temple. His eyes burned with fury—and something else. Fear. Just a flash of it, quickly buried.
"Are you trying to kill yourself?!"
Caroline flinched, shaking her head frantically. "No… no, I just… I slipped—"
Her words came out jumbled, panicked. But her gaze dropped to his leg.
"Why are you out of bed? Your leg… does it still hurt?"
She tried to climb out of the tub to check on him, but the moment her feet touched the floor, her knees buckled.
The alcohol. The near-drowning. Her body had nothing left.
She pitched forward.