TWENTY-FOUR
The house was eerily quiet after the commotion of earlier. The men who had invaded were long gone, leaving Eleanor alone with Andreas and Giselle. Giselle's presence felt even heavier now, not just because Francesco had stopped trusting Andreas, but because she exuded an air of lethal intensity that clung to the room like the scent of fear. They'd managed to move Andreas into Eleanor's old guest bedroom. He sat slumped in a small accent chair, and though his face was battered and bruised, he remained silent, eyes fixed on the floor. The different stages of his injuries hinted at prolonged torment, yet he didn't utter a complaint. Giselle's presence wasn't making the atmosphere any better. If looks could kill, Andreas would be dead already, and Eleanor would be preparing to attend his fu
- Writer
