Page 41 of Twisted Devotion

I open the door as silently as possible, stepping into the dim hallway. My bare feet make no sound on the hardwood floors, and I tread lightly, cautious, my heartbeat picking up with each step.

The mansion feels different at night. The grandeur that seems so luxurious by day now feel cold, empty, almost ominous. The shadows stretch long across the walls, giving the space the vibe of a horror movie set.

I’m about to open one of the doors when a sound halts me in my tracks.

A thud. It’s coming from downstairs. I freeze, my pulse quickening as I drop my hand from the door.

Another thud.

What’s that?

The comparison to a horror movie makes me uneasy, a chill creeping up my arms as I hear the sound again.

I take a slow, steady breath and head toward the noise, my steps more deliberate now. As I descend the stairs, the sound grows clearer. Someone is struggling to speak, their voice broken, and I think I hear ‘Please… I’m sorry.’

My fingers grip the banister tightly as I reach the bottom of the stairs.

The sound is coming from behind a closed door at the far end of the hall.

I move closer, my heart thudding so loudly I swear it’s trying to escape my chest. The air here feels different, heavy, charged with tension.

I reach the door and pause, pressing my ear against it. The voices are clearer now. One of them is Nicolas’s.

My hand trembles as I grip the doorknob. I hesitate for a moment, then slowly turn it, easing the door open just enough to peek inside.

What I see steals my breath.

A man is kneeling on the floor, his hands bound behind him. His face is bruised, and blood drips from the corner of his mouth. He looks terrified, no, beyond terrified.

Nicolas stands off to the side, his expression unreadable. Another man, one of Nicolas’s, holds a gun, the barrel pressed against the kneeling man’s temple.

My body freezes, my mind struggling to comprehend the nightmare unfolding before me.

Then, without warning, the gun goes off. The sound is deafening, a violent crash that tears through the silence like a clap of thunder. A burst of warmth hits my face.

I glance down at the body on the floor, then touch the warm liquid on my cheek, bringing my fingers up to my face. It’s blood.

What the hell?

I don’t even realize I’ve screamed until the echo reverberates in the air around me.

My legs move on their own, carrying me away from the room, up the stairs. I don’t stop until I reach my bedroom, then the bathroom.

I slam the door behind me, my back pressed against it, my chest heaving as I gasp for air.

The kneeling man. The gun. The blood.

I stare at my reflection in the mirror, my eyes wide with shock. When I see the blood smeared across my face, streaked along my cheek, staining the edge of my robe, I shudder. My knees buckle, threatening to give way beneath me.

I stumble toward the sink, turning the tap on full blast. The cold water rushes out, and I scrub at my face, my hands moving frantically. The water turns pink as it washes away the blood, but it doesn’t feel like enough.

I claw at the robe, tearing it off and tossing it to the floor. Then I strip off the rest of my clothes and step into the shower, cranking the water up to its hottest setting. The spray hits my skin like needles, but I don’t care. I scrub at my body, my nails digging into my skin, desperate to wash away the feeling of the blood, the image of what I just witnessed.

Tears stream down my face, mixing with the water. My shoulders tremble, and sobs wrack through my body.

I can’t stop seeing it. The fear in the man’s eyes. The moment his body crumpled to the floor. The gunshot still echoes in my ears.

Then another sound jolts me out of my thoughts, and I whirl around, heart hammering in my chest.

---