Tristan’s footsteps faltered at that moment, but Cassie collapsed into his arms, feigning disorientation. “Tristan… My head hurts…” He quickly averted his gaze back to Cassie and ignored the sound he thought he had heard. Worried, he tightened his arm around her and said, “I’ll take you to the hospital now.” Tristan strode into the distance without looking back. A series of wry, bitter chuckles choked out of Annabel’s throat as she watched his retreating figure. Slowly, tears began to roll down her cheeks and mingle with the blood on her face. If only he would just turn around, he would know the person he had mercilessly tortured was once the apple of his eye. But he didn’t. All his attention was focused on Cassie. By the time Annabel regained her consciousness, she found herself lying on the villa floor. She was soaked, and her bones felt crushed into powder. She used all her might to get on her feet, yet every move she made only tore the wounds on her back even more. Her fingers were swollen like sausages, and a greenish-purple bruise lingered across her fractured bone. Suddenly, her phone buzzed. She fished it out, albeit with difficulty, and saw two text messages. The first one came from Tristan. “I’m sorry I lashed out at you, honey. I just didn’t want you to make any mistakes. Anyway, I’ll be taking care of Cassie at the hospital for the next few days. I won’t be home until she’s recovered.” Annabel stared at her screen, laughing. Her eyes glistened with tears as she began to find the whole ordeal painfully ironic. He had just tortured her half to her death, yet he could casually call her “honey” like nothing had happened. What was worse, he didn’t even notice she was missing. The second text message was a notification. “Ms. Norton, your identity cancellation and name change request have been approved and are now in effect.” Annabel gripped her phone so tightly that her knuckles turned white. Finally, she could leave! She forced herself to stand, changed into clean clothes, and grabbed the suitcase she had packed long ago. Everything that belonged to her in this house, she was taking with her, except for two things. The first was the necklace Tristan gave her when he turned 18. There was a tiny hidden camera inside the pendant. When he gave it to her, he said, “I want to know what you’re doing at all times, Anna.” The more she found it sweet back then, the more she felt sardonic now. She bet he hadn’t reviewed the footage in a long time. If he had, he would’ve seen how he had pushed her off the platform and into the deep, cold water; how he bashed her 99 times with an iron rod; how he broke her finger with his polished black shoe… The second item was a stack of love letters he wrote when he was pursuing her. The pages were thick and slightly yellowed, still carrying traces of his handwriting from when they were young. “Dear Anna, I saw you in your white dress today. You were so beautiful that my heart couldn’t stop pounding.” “Dear Anna, let’s get married when we graduate. I don’t think I can wait another day without marrying you.” “Dear Anna, you’re the only one I’ll ever love in this lifetime. I love you.” Annabel gently ran her fingers over the faded words and suddenly remembered that night when they were 18. His eyes were tinged red, his voice trembling as he pressed her against the wall and said, “I can’t live without you, Anna.” Back then, those words kept her up all night, heart pounding with emotion. Now, they just sounded ridiculous. She placed the necklace and the stack of letters on the coffee table, then turned and walked away without a second thought. Right before stepping out, she tossed her phone into the trash, burying it along with everything from the past. From that moment on, the woman who used to cry over Tristan Morse would no longer exist.
Was It Love, or Just a Dream?
Status: Ongoing
