Chapter 4-Torture
1085 Words
Elora’s POV
Oh s**t.
“I'm so…so sorry. I was—”
Damien points a finger at me but says nothing. A few people snicker, and I feel like I'm a fool.
“Go to your room, woman,” he hisses. I immediately got up and turned around— apologizing all the way. I feel the burning stares on my back long after I'm gone.
How was I to win my husband's affection and bring honor to my family like this?
“So stupid! Stupid!” I face-palmed myself as I paused in the hallway. I open my eyes and I find myself in front of that strange man's painting.
Those eyes tease me again. What was it about them?
Why did he fluster me so much?
I look at the small engraved gold plaque beneath the painting. My hands reach out to trace the words.
“Salvatore Alejandro,” a low, purring voice says behind me and I pause.
Immediately, I whipped around, cursing myself for getting caught here.
The person behind me is identical to the one in the painting. “You…” I stutter.
His bony face is an unreadable mask. He offers his hand and I hesitate before taking it. I don't know what I expected him to do but it was certainly not to kiss it.
But that is exactly what he does.
He leans down and places his cold, thin lips on my hand— all the while keeping his dead eyes on me. I feel a shot of electricity go through me so I draw my hand back with force.
“Uh..uhm..uh—”
I look anywhere but him; however, his deep, rumbling chuckle draws my eyes back to him.
“You could start with your name, Señora.”
Oh..okay. I could do that.
“Elora Matheo, Senor.”
He raises an eyebrow and I blush immediately. “Uhm… E-Elora Alejandro.”
His eyes roam my body, going through every crevice: invasive. “Elora is a beautiful name. It's a pleasure to meet you— properly.”
Another blush covers my face. I find myself becoming more flustered in his presence.
“You too, Señores. I-I have to get back to my room now…”
Salvatore smirks, stares directly into my eyes.
Fuck.
“Because your husband said so?”
My smile disappears immediately. Salvatore shakes his head slightly. “Have a goodnight, Elora.”
I'm left there, watching his retreating figure stroll down the hallway until he disappears from sight.
What did he mean by that? The question leaves a sour taste in my mouth.
I walked to my room and climbed the bed in my dinner dress. That night, I dreamed of piercing green eyes and ice-cold lips.
**
The following morning was cold. I take a hot shower immediately and put on something warm.
Breakfast is not a mandatory event here, and I'm grateful for that. I head to the kitchen where I see Isabelle prepping toasts and sticks of butter.
She looks at me with a weird expression. I ignored her and headed for the fridge.
Last night, my food tasted like sand; I did not enjoy it one bit. In fact, it felt like I did not eat at all.
“Ma’am, is there something I can help you with?” Isabelle asks and I shake my head at her.
If she wanted to help, she could have yesterday.
I thank her politely and make myself stir-fried rice. When I'm done eating, I leave for my room.
Before I entered, I realized I actually only had this one routine. This was my house now, and I didn't know anywhere at all.
I don't want to get lost, though…
Excuses. If I did get lost, there were maids who could direct me back. I needed to leave this forsaken room.
So I began to move around, exploring different rooms I didn't even know existed. The Alejandros had a grand library that made me immediately excited. I loved to read a lot and this made me feel a little better about being here.
I passed by the music room, home theater, several other guest rooms, and so much more that I was truly lost at the end.
Finding my way back to the downstairs living room was becoming a challenge.
“Oh no…there are no maids here.”
That part of this house that I was walking through was very lonely. I had not seen any maids since I reached here.
I decided to keep moving until I spotted a narrow stairwell leading to a black, heavy iron door.
I wonder if this is the servants' passage. My family's mansion had a few.
I could take this back to the living room.
Something about this place does not feel right. I gulp and try to steady my breaths. It's just a door.
I walk down the stairs slowly, cautious of anything and everything.
The door was a little bit open, so I first peeked in to be sure I was actually heading the right way.
Immediately, I slap my hand over my mouth to hold the gasp that tries to come out.
Through this door is a room painted red— not that the paint was red. It was actually colored cream.
The red was blood. Actual, human blood.
My husband is holding the fingers of someone chained to an immobile iron chair.
“P-please! Please… I don't know what you're talking about! I'm begging you!” The person's voice sounds hoarse and crazed.
“If you have anything to say, then very well.” Damien does something I cannot see, but I hear a snap and the next thing that follows is the man's bloody screams.
“Arghhh!!! PLEASE!!”
Torture.
Someone else comes into my field of vision. His pale skin gives him away.
Salvatore.
“Don't cut it so quickly, Damien. Make sure to go slowly next time. Hurts even more…”
“Yes, stepbrother.”
I want to puke at this moment. I had always thought Damien was a demon, right from the moment I heard his name.
But Salvatore was…
Horrific. He was hell. Saying such a thing with such apathy.
Like he was not referring to a human being. My hands are shaking.
I try to move back; run back and pretend I never saw this.
However, I bumped into a bunch of chains by the door that I hadn't noticed before.
“Who's that?!” Damien calls.
- Writer
