Darkness surrounds, so oppressive you can’t see your hand in front of your face. The air carries a faint scent of decay and dampness, with occasional soft dripping sounds from a hidden corner.
In the absence of any visual aid, other senses are amplified to the extreme.
Almost as soon as she was pushed inside, despite the abundant air, Ann Vaughn felt an indescribable suffocating sensation, like a hand clenching her throat, making breathing difficult.
Empty space surrounds her, only darkness is within reach.
Yet Ann Vaughn sensed an eerie presence, blended with a subtle scent of blood, as if it intended to devour her completely!
She squeezed her eyes shut and hugged her knees tightly, curling up in the corner, trying to dispel the terror and panic roiling in her mind.
"I’m not scared, not scared at all..."
Ann Vaughn whispered to herself softly, keeping her eyes tightly shut, afraid to open them, though unable to halt the cold sweat trailing from her forehead and body. Thᴇ link to the origɪn of this information rᴇsts ɪn NovᴇlFir(e).nᴇt
Within mere moments, her clothes were drenched.
The scenes she buried deeply, never meant to touch, spilled out like a flood gate opening.
"I don’t want you, the wild child from the countryside, to be my sister. They’re my mom and dad, remember that. You’re not my sister; you’re just unwanted trash, a freeloader, an ugly duckling!"
"Neither I nor mom and dad welcome you. Why don’t you just go back to the countryside? I hate you the most!"
"If you like my home so much, then you should stay here forever and never come out!"
Wearing a pink princess dress and a delicate little crown, Cynthia screeched at the fallen Annie in the warehouse, locked the door quickly, and left the place.
Annie endured the pain, got up to open the door, but found it wouldn’t budge. She started banging on it to draw attention.
Eventually, her little hands grew swollen and red, her voice hoarse from crying, the bright sky turned dark, yet no one came to her aid.
The warehouse had no windows, no light came through, and sometimes eerie rustles of rats could be heard.
An environment unbearably claustrophobic for an adult, let alone a child under the age of eight.
A full day and night later, the Vaughn Family realized Annie was missing and began searching everywhere, finally finding her in the warehouse.
"I always thought you were sensible and obedient, but even if you wanted to return to the countryside, playing pranks and worrying everyone is outrageous!"
"It’s unbelievable that Cynthia came crying to me—I couldn’t believe it. What could possibly dissatisfy you about our home that you’d even hit your sister? Don’t you know her health is fragile?!"
"We might as well send her back tomorrow. I initially said we shouldn’t agree to bring her over from Grandpa’s place! I really don’t know what he’s been teaching her, fostering such peculiar and extreme behavior!"
The harsh scolding sounded like knives, cruelly fixing these bad names onto Annie.
She forced herself to keep her eyes open, enduring the exhaustion and discomfort from a high fever, muttering softly, "I didn’t..."
"Still lying! We’ll send you back to the countryside tomorrow; such dishonest and lousy children are unwanted by mom and dad!"
Mom and dad don’t want you.
You’re a dishonest and lousy child.
These words were the final straw, turning into a prolonged nightmare throughout her later life.
Since then, she cautiously accommodated, tolerant to the extreme, trying to merge into that family, fearful of saying or doing anything that might get her rejected by her parents.
She desperately tried to forget the terrifying feeling of being locked in the warehouse, but couldn’t.
Only remembered trying so hard to get out because she had a date with Cyrus Hawthorne.
Yet she couldn’t keep that last appointment.
Coming out from the memory, Ann Vaughn felt dehydrated, drenched in sweat, her brain dizzy from lack of oxygen, and her breathing gradually weakening.
She opened her eyes, suddenly remembering something, and took out her phone, which was turned off due to a nearly dead battery, praying it had a little charge left.
Upon powering it on, a sliver of light appeared before her eyes.
Ann Vaughn, holding back the trembling sensation in her heart, clumsily tapped the screen, fumbling through several attempts before finally opening the contact list.
Her vision was beginning to blur, the sense of weightlessness from her brain growing stronger.
In a panicked rush, she opened Sutton Jennings’ name and with the last thread of consciousness, sent him a message.
As soon as the message was sent, the phone slipped from Ann Vaughn’s hand, hitting the floor with a "thud."
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Sutton Jennings finished buttoning the last button of his black shirt in front of the window reflecting the busy nightscape, the sleeves slightly rolled up, revealing part of his wrist.
He appeared composed and reserved, yet his upturned peach blossom eyes added a touch of allure.
The complex temperament ingrained in him felt seamlessly natural.
"Lord Shane, it’s about time." A voice came from outside the door.
"Alright, noted." Sutton Jennings replied casually and walked to the long table. He picked up his usual phone and glanced at it, seeing no messages.
He put the phone back in the drawer, pulled out another phone with important contacts, and turned to leave.
Yet, what he didn’t notice was the phone screen in the drawer lighting up just as he closed it.
Dusk falls, the sky darkens.
After applying medicine to Cynthia Vaughn’s face and soothing her until she fell asleep, Cyrus Hawthorne left her room and headed to the study.
Pale moonlight seeped through the window behind the desk, spilling into the room. Cyrus Hawthorne turned on the ceiling light, his narrow eyes froze on the dark scene outside the window.
The sky had turned black.
Cyrus Hawthorne’s brows knitted together, his pale lips pressed into a line as the memory of being trapped in the elevator with Ann Vaughn surfaced.
She seemed terrified of the dark.
But what of it? Teaching her a lesson is beneficial; otherwise, she’d grow arrogant and forget who she is altogether.
Cyrus Hawthorne lowered his gaze and walked to the desk, took a few sips of steaming coffee, and sank into his thoughts.
About half an hour later.
Outside the confinement room.
"Dragon, open the door." A cold, slender figure appeared outside, and a deep voice echoed softly.
Without hearing footsteps, the shut door swung open the next moment.
Cyrus Hawthorne stepped into the confinement room, his dark eyes that could see effortlessly in the dark quickly locked onto the curled-up figure in the corner.