Harry walked into the quiet garden behind the estate, the night air cool against his skin. His footsteps were slow, hesitant, as he headed toward the old swing where Ana often sat, lost in thought. He had hoped to find some solace there, perhaps a fragment of her lingering presence. But as he stepped into the clearing, he paused.
There was someone already there.
A tall figure stood with his back turned, shoulders tense. As the man turned slowly, moonlight illuminating his face, Harry's expression shifted.
It was Adonis Lyle.
The easygoing façade Adonis usually wore had been shed completely. His jaw clenched, eyes burning with fury.
"Adonis," Harry muttered, caught off guard by the raw anger emanating from the man.
"You bastard," Adonis snarled, lunging toward Harry with a clenched fist.
The blow landed hard against Harry's cheek, sending him stumbling back. But Harry didn't fall. He straightened immediately, his own fury igniting. He fought back, throwing a punch of his own.
The garden that once echoed with Ana's soft laughter now rang with the sound of fists meeting flesh.
"You took advantage of my sister's weakness!" Adonis shouted in between blows. "You brought her here to be eaten alive by wolves! Do you really think you and your twisted clan are untouchable?"
Harry grappled with him, their bodies slamming against a tree. He gritted his teeth. "You think I wanted this to happen to her? You think I'm not out of my mind trying to find her?"
Adonis shoved him back, breathing heavily. "Only God knows what I went through when I heard she was taken. I've been working non-stop tracking down the bastards who did this."
Harry's chest heaved with exertion and frustration. He met Adonis's glare with a steady gaze. "I'll find her no matter what," he said firmly. "I won't let anything happen to her. I'll protect her."
Adonis sneered. "Protect her? From who? Your wife? Your grandmother? Or your uncle?"
Harry froze. His eyes flashed with a cold glint. "What do you know about my uncle?"
Adonis didn't answer. He simply turned, brushing off his shirt. "If anything happens to Ana… I won't let you off. I swear it."
He walked away, leaving Harry standing alone in the darkened garden, fists clenched, blood trickling from his lip.
It wasn't just the physical blows that stung
It was the truth behind Adonis's words. The Fairchild family influence was vast, far-reaching, and ruthless. Most wouldn't dare to speak against them, let alone threaten a Fairchild.
Yet Adonis Lyle had done just that.
Harry's eyes narrowed.
He knows about my uncle. But how? That man's existence is barely acknowledged in our inner circles... Who exactly is Adonis Lyle?
He pulled out his phone, dialing a secure number. When the line picked up, his voice was sharp and cold.
"Find out everything about Adonis Lyle. I want to know who he is, where he came from, what he eats for breakfast. Everything."
City Hospital
The sterile white walls hummed faintly under the dim glow of the ceiling light. Sasha slowly opened her eyes, her lashes fluttering weakly. Pain shot through her body as she shifted.
She was in a hospital. A VIP room. Tubes ran from her arms, and a dull throb echoed in her head.
On the nearby sofa, a woman stirred, Malia. She rushed over instantly when she noticed Sasha awake.
"Oh thank God you're finally awake!" Malia gasped, gripping her hand. "You scared me to death. I'll get the doctor."
"No," Sasha rasped, grabbing Malia's wrist with surprising strength. "Don't leave. Water… I need water."
Malia nodded and quickly fetched a glass. Sasha sipped slowly, her voice hoarse, but her eyes gleamed with eerie calm.
After she drank, Malia sat beside her, still visibly shaken. "Sasha… what happened? How did this...?"
Sasha cut her off with a faint, unsettling smile. Her voice was soft, almost dreamy. "I did it to myself."
Malia blinked. "What…?"
"That way, no one will suspect me. No one will link me to what happened," Sasha whispered. Her lips curled in satisfaction. "That slut Ana is finally gone. She's out of my life forever. Harry is mine again."
Malia's eyes widened in horror. She shook her head, unable to believe what she was hearing. "Y-You... You orchestrated the attack?"
"Of course I did," Sasha said calmly. "Everything went according to plan. The pain, the blood… it was worth it. She's gone. I don't care where. As long as she's not here."
"Are you crazy?" Malia snapped, panic rising. "If your husband finds out what you've done, you'll be finished! Sasha, this...this is criminal! This is insanity! What do we do now?"
Sasha laughed lightly, almost childishly. "Do I look afraid to you?"
Malia's voice trembled. "You should be."
"No one will find out. Because I left no trace. And besides… it was God's will. That bitch was born unlucky. I just helped fate along." Her tone turned chillingly serene. "I am only God's humble servant."
"You're delusional," Malia muttered, taking a step back.
Sasha's eyes followed her with an eerie calm. "Don't forget, Malia you helped me. You were part of this. If I go down, so do you."
Malia gasped. "You...You wouldn't dare..."
"Try me," Sasha hissed, her smile gone. "Now call the doctor. I need to rest."
Shaken to her core, Malia stumbled out of the room. Sasha lay back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling.
Ana was gone. Or so she believed.
And now, she just had to wait for the rest of the pieces to fall into place.
Lake House
The air was still, the silence deafening except for the sound of Harry's quiet footsteps as he entered. His eyes, hollow yet burning with longing, moved across the room slowly, as though searching for pieces of her essence hidden in every corner.
He paused by the bookshelf, fingers grazing the spine of a novel Ana had once read to him. He moved to the dresser, his knuckles brushing lightly against her jewelry box. Finally, his gaze landed on the bed.
Crossing the room, he sat down heavily, his posture slouched with defeat. Clutched in his hand was her soft, floral nightie-its scent still faintly sweet, intoxicatingly hers. He pulled it to his face and closed his eyes, inhaling deeply as the ache in his chest deepened.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice cracking. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
The words came again and again, falling from his lips in a chant like a desperate prayer, like penance. He curled up in a fetal position on the bed, holding the nightie to his chest like a child clinging to a lifeline, tears silently soaking into the pillow as he succumbed to sleep, haunted by guilt and longing.