TRAPPED BY DESIRE

SHARDS

***[Flashback]***

Heavy rain lashed relentlessly against the tall glass windows, while thunder crashed overhead like a chorus of furious roars.

Alana flinched with every thunderclap, her heavy silver spoon slipping from her trembling grasp and clattering loudly against her ceramic plate for what felt like the fifth time that evening.

Her mother glanced up from the ribeye steak she was meticulously cutting into perfect squares, chewing her food in absolute silence.

Across the white tablecloth, her stepfather remained equally motionless, though the sudden, tight clench of his jaw betrayed his growing irritation with the noise.

Only the three of them occupied the long dining table. Her stepsister was still confined to a hospital bed recovering from an emergency appendectomy.

Another deafening clap of thunder rattled the foundation of the house. Startled once again, Alana's fingers lost their grip, and the spoon slipped from her palm.

"Is it really that difficult for you to hold a piece of cutlery?" her mother, Stephanie, asked coldly, sharp irritation lacing every syllable as she set her fork down.

"I'm not doing it on purpose, Mom," Alana whispered, her eyes glued to the table.

Stephanie scoffed loudly before taking a slow, calculated sip of her red wine.

"I don't care," she replied flatly, her gaze icy. "It is deeply irritating, so stop doing it."

She set the crystal wine glass back onto the wood with a sharp click.

"Anyway, your father and I have officially called off your legal engagement to Troy."

Alana's head snapped up so quickly that a sharp pain shot through her neck.

"You've done what?" she asked, her voice rising in complete disbelief.

"It is entirely for your own good," Stephanie snapped, her features hardening. "For once in your worthless life, you should show some gratitude."

A humorless, bitter chuckle escaped Alana as she abruptly pushed back her chair. The heavy wooden legs scraped loudly across the polished marble floorboards.

"My own good?" she shot back, glaring fiercely at both her mother and stepfather. "The only thing you two have ever cared about is finding new ways to make me suffer."

Her words dripped with pure venom.

Stephanie gasped in sudden outrage, her face turning crimson. Before Alana could even react to the shift in the room, her mother stormed around the table and slapped her hard across the face.

The unexpected force sent Alana crashing sideways onto the hard floorboards.

Her stepfather calmly set down his silver cutlery before rising from his seat. The rhythmic sound of his polished leather shoes slowly approaching made every single muscle in Alana's body tense into knots.

He crouched on the floor in front of her, letting out an almost gentle sigh. His fingers brushed the stray hair away from her burning face, carefully tucking the strands behind her ear.

"Your mother has grown far too soft on you over the years," he remarked, his voice smooth and conversational.

"She—" Stephanie began to interject from across the room.

"Hush."

He silenced his wife with a single raised finger without ever looking back at her.

"I have also severely neglected disciplining you the way I should have."

His hand suddenly tightened violently around Alana's brown hair. A painful whimper escaped her lips as his grip forced her face upward until she was looking directly into his cold, unblinking eyes.

"But don't worry," he murmured, his breath brushing her skin. "I will start teaching you how to behave very soon."

His gaze lingered on her reddened cheek for a lingering second before drifting down to the tiny bruise forming on her lower lip. Without another word, he released his grip on her hair, stood up, and calmly walked completely out of the dining room.

***[Flashback Ends]***

"Miss Gates."

Alana was pulled from her dark thoughts by the sound of someone calling her name, followed by a gentle, cautious tap on her shoulder.

She turned around quickly to find Roman's personal driver standing directly behind her on the pavement.

"Mr. Ashford specifically asked me to take you home after your classes conclude, Miss," the man said politely as he held the rear door of the luxury vehicle open for her.

Alana had been so deeply lost in the memory that she hadn't even noticed when the sleek car had pulled up to the curb. She gave a small, weary nod before stepping into the leather interior. The driver closed the door, walked around to the front seat, and started the engine.

******

Seated behind his massive desk, Roman was reviewing a complex project proposal the research team had just submitted when another sharp wave of a headache struck him. He shut his eyes tightly and massaged his temples.

Erin, who was seated across from him sorting through several corporate files, frowned the exact moment he noticed the deep discomfort etched across Roman's face.

"When was the last time you actually had a proper night's sleep?" Erin asked, tossing his pen onto the documents.

"Two days ago," Roman replied, his brows knitting together as the throbbing pain behind his eyes intensified.

"Go home and get some actual rest," Erin ordered, gathering the paperwork into a neat stack. "I will finish everything here."

Roman shook his head, refusing to budge.

"It's still too early in the afternoon. I wouldn't be able to sleep even if I tried."

"Then take your prescribed sleeping pills," Erin suggested, leaning forward. "That should help clear the fog."

"I took the last one three days ago."

Erin slowly lowered the folder in his hands, his expression shifting into a deep scowl.

"And you didn't think it was important to mention that detail to me?"

Roman raised a dark eyebrow, his tone turning defensive.

"Stop treating me like a child, Erin. Do you honestly believe I have the extra time to remember something that insignificant?"

Erin let out a sigh, already entirely accustomed to Roman's complete disregard for his own physical health.

Despite always appearing perfectly calm, composed, and in total control of the company, Roman had struggled with severe, chronic insomnia for years.

The truth regarding his condition was known to only a handful of people: Erin, Ryan, Roman himself, and Mr. Beaufort.

Erin wasn't about to give up the argument so easily.

After another several minutes of relentless persuading, and enduring a few increasingly annoyed glares from Roman, he finally managed to convince the man to call it a day. Roman reluctantly agreed, grabbing his coat.

After making sure Roman's driver arrived to take him back to the estate, Erin stopped by the private hospital to collect the new prescription sleeping pills Roman's doctor had recently renewed.

Only after delivering the medication to Roman's residence did Erin return to the high-rise office to finish the mountain of work Roman had left behind.

Roman pushed open his heavy bedroom door, another dull ache pounding behind his eyes before gradually easing in the dimmer light. His gaze drifted toward the adjacent bathroom.

Without giving the action much thought, he walked over and reached for the silver doorknob to wash his face.

The door began to swing inward under his touch, but his hand suddenly froze on the metal handle.