Fallen For Revenge

Chapter 4: The Breaking Point.

Chapter 4: The Breaking Point

The mansion was eerily quiet after Vincent’s departure, leaving Anna with nothing but her thoughts and the soft hum of the rain beginning to fall outside.

She had spent the day trapped in her own room, the weight of everything that had happened pressing down on her like a vice. The events of what happened to her parents replayed in her mind—a twisted mix of violence, pain, and utter powerlessness.

She sat by the window, staring out at the sheets of rain that blurred the world beyond the glass. With each breath, the cold, sterile room seemed to close in on her. She didn't know how long she could endure anymore.

Her fingers trembled as she reached for the bottle of wine on the table. She poured another glass—her third or fourth of the day. She had lost count. The sharp sting of alcohol burned her throat, numbing her senses, numbing the pain. It was the only escape she had left.

With each sip, the room began to spin, and the edges of her thoughts softened. The fear, the anger, the despair—all of it faded into a distant hum.

Hours passed in a drunken haze. She barely noticed when the door to her room creaked open. At first, she thought it was a dream—a figure stepping through the threshold, cloaked in shadows. But as the figure drew closer, she realized it wasn’t a figment of her imagination.

It was Carlo.

He stood in the doorway, watching her with an intensity that made her breath catch in her throat. His eyes, dark green and calculating, roamed over her figure, taking in the disheveled state she was in. She sat on the edge of the bed, her dress clinging to her body, the wine glass dangling loosely from her fingers.

“Drinking alone?” Carlo’s voice was low, smooth, almost mocking.

Anna didn’t respond. She couldn’t. Her head was spinning, and her tongue felt thick in her mouth. She blinked slowly, trying to focus on him, but the alcohol clouded her vision.

Carlo stepped closer, his presence filling the room like a demon on a mission. There was something dangerous in his gaze, something that sent a shiver down Anna’s spine.

He wasn’t like Vincent. Not exactly. But there was a shared darkness between the two brothers—a hunger for power, control, and dominance.

“You look… lost,” Carlo said, his voice barely a whisper as he knelt down in front of her, his eyes locking onto hers. “You don’t belong here, Anna. Not with him.”

Anna tried to respond, but her words slurred together, incoherent. She felt a rush of warmth as Carlo’s hand brushed against her cheek, his touch gentle at first, then more deliberate. Her heart raced in her chest, a mix of fear, confusion, and something else she couldn’t name.

“You deserve better,” Carlo murmured, his lips dangerously close to hers. “I can give you that. I can give you more than Vincent ever could.”

Anna’s mind was a blur. Was this real? Was she dreaming? Her body felt heavy, weighed down by the alcohol coursing through her veins, but there was a part of her—deep, buried—that craved escape.

Carlo’s hand slid to the back of her neck, pulling her closer, and before she could fully comprehend what was happening, his lips were on hers.

The kiss was rough, hungry, filled with a desperation that matched the chaos inside her. She tried to push him away, tried to resist, but her body betrayed her, responding to the warmth of his touch.

Right from the beginning she knew she was attracted to him. From when she first saw him, her body had already responded to his charm, and now here she was, trying desperately to fight back her own body.

It wasn’t long before the situation escalated. Carlo’s hands moved over her body with a possessiveness that mirrored his brother’s cruelty.

He pushed her down onto the bed, his weight pressing her into the mattress as he claimed her with a fierceness that left no room for protest. Anna’s head swam, the lines between right and wrong blurring until they no longer existed.

In that moment, she felt like nothing—just another pawn in a game she couldn’t win.

But as they became tangled in the sheets, lost in the heat of the moment, the door to the room slammed open with a deafening crash.

Vincent stood in the doorway, his face twisted in rage, his eyes wild with fury. In his hand was a gun, gleaming under the dim light, aimed directly at Carlo and Anna.

For a moment time seemed to stop. The air was thick with tension, a ticking bomb ready to explode.

“You f*****g traitor,” Vincent growled, his voice low and venomous. “I should have known. I should have f*****g known.”

Carlo sprang up from the bed, his body tense, but he didn’t flinch. His eyes met Vincent’s with a cold defiance, but there was an edge of fear there—a recognition that he was in serious danger.

“Vincent,” Carlo started, raising his hands in a gesture of peace. “This isn’t what you think.”

“Shut up!” Vincent roared, stepping forward with the gun still trained on them. His hand trembled, the fury radiating off him in waves. “You think you can touch what’s mine? You think you can betray me in my own house?”

“Vincent, listen—” Carlo tried again, but Vincent’s patience was gone.

In a blur of motion, Vincent lunged forward, grabbing Carlo by the collar and slamming him against the wall. The gun pressed against his brother’s temple, Vincent’s eyes burning with murderous intent.

“I’ll kill you,” Vincent hissed through gritted teeth. “I’ll kill you both.”

Anna, still dazed and half-drunk, watched in horror as the scene unfolded. She could barely comprehend what was happening, her mind still fogged by the alcohol, but the reality of the situation slowly began to sink in.

This was it. Vincent was going to kill them.

But Carlo was quicker than he looked. With a sudden, sharp movement, he twisted out of Vincent’s grip, slamming his elbow into his brother’s side and knocking him off balance. The gun clattered to the floor, spinning out of reach as the two brothers grappled with each other, their fists flying in a chaotic blur of violence.

Carlo managed to break free from Vincent's clutch. For a second, he glared between Vincent and Anna with his jaw clenched.

He knew better than to stick around in this state. Vincent's men would soon come running with their guns, and he needed no genie to tell him what order Vincent would give. With lightening speed, he bolted out of the room, escaping with his life.

Anna stumbled off the bed, her legs shaky as she tried to get away. Her heart pounded in her chest, her pulse roaring in her ears. She had to escape. She had to get out of there before Vincent turned his rage on her.

“And you,” Vincent snarled, his voice dripping with venom. “I should have killed you with your parents.”

He moved toward her with terrifying speed, grabbing her by the arm and dragging her toward the door. Anna cried out, struggling against him but he was too strong.

“You’re nothing but a w***e,” Vincent spat as he yanked her through the hallway. “You think you can betray me? You think you can humiliate me like this?”

The rain outside had intensified, a torrential downpour that echoed Vincent’s fury. He didn’t stop until they were outside, the cold rain drenching them both within seconds.

With a final, vicious shove, Vincent threw Anna into the mud, her body hitting the ground with a sickening thud. She gasped, the wind knocked out of her as she lay there, trembling in the rain, her skin freezing against the wet earth.

“You’re nothing to me,” Vincent said coldly, his voice barely audible over the storm. “You don’t deserve to be in my house. You don’t deserve to live.”

Anna looked up at him, her body shaking, her breath coming in ragged gasps. But there was no mercy in Vincent’s eyes. He turned his back on her, walking back toward the mansion without another word, leaving her there in the cold and the dark.

Somewhere deep within her, a fire began to burn—a small, flickering flame of defiance. Vincent had taken everything from her, but he made a mistake of releasing her when he hadn’t destroyed her completely.

She would survive. And one day, she would make them all pay.