A Pact Of Tainted Hearts

HOUSE FULL OF SHADOWS

Happiness screamed through Victor’s chest as he guided the car into the familiar parking space. His heart thrummed with a reckless rhythm, and a grin….wide, boyish, and completely unrestrained….spread across his face. He must have looked like a madman to anyone watching, but he didn’t care. The joy was too fierce to bottle up; it burst out of him in an almost childlike excitement. For the first time in weeks, it felt as if every nerve in his body was awake and alive.

He cut the engine and sat there for a second, savoring the electric buzz inside him. Then, humming a tune he couldn’t quite place, Victor pushed open the car door and stepped into the cool evening air. The faint scent of rain lingered from an earlier shower, and the concrete still glistened under the muted glow of the streetlight. He strolled toward the apartment building, the keys dangling from his fingers, the grin never leaving his face.

He reached the door of the apartment and slid the key toward the lock…..only to pause. The door was already ajar.

Victor’s brow furrowed. That wasn’t right.

“How careless can you be?” he muttered under his breath, the happy glow dimming as he pushed the door open.

Inside, the living room greeted him with an eerie stillness. The television was on, its blue screen casting a pale light, but no sound came from it…..only the silent flicker of images like ghosts dancing on the wall. The curtains were only half-drawn, allowing a sliver of fading daylight to spill through. Shadows pooled in the corners like spilled ink.

“Vivian?” Victor called softly. His voice disappeared into the quiet like a pebble dropped into deep water. Nothing answered……no footsteps, no rustle. Only the faint, deliberate clicking of his shoes against the wooden floor broke the silence.

He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. “Vivian,” he called again, louder this time, the edge of restlessness sharpening his voice.

Still nothing.

A cold ripple of unease crawled down his spine. The apartment, normally warm and lively, felt strange…foreign. His instincts prickled, whispering that something was wrong. A thousand tiny alarms rang inside his head. He hesitated, torn between retreating and investigating, his pulse quickening with each heartbeat.

Maybe someone else is in here.

His feet froze. For a brief second, the thought of bolting back outside almost won. He could feel the urge to run tugging at his muscles. Then………

“Victor.”

The voice came from behind him, soft and low.

Victor spun around so quickly it felt as if the room itself had tilted. Panic rushed through him like a sudden storm; it shook his body like a violent shiver. His chest tightened as fear gripped him, hot and heavy. His blood seemed to boil in his veins.

⸻

Across town, another storm was quietly brewing.

“Your heart rate is slightly below normal and your blood pressure is rising,” Dr. Phil said, his voice calm yet firm as he flipped through the chart. “As I’ve told you before, you need more rest and, above all, you must stop worrying. Take your medications in the right proportions and at the right times. No skipping, no guessing.”

Mr. Dary merely nodded, his eyes distant, as if the doctor’s words were filtering through a thick fog. He shifted slightly in the armchair, the grand but dimly lit drawing room of the mansion wrapping around him in silent luxury.

Dr. Phil gathered his papers and stood. “I’ll take my leave now,” he said, motioning for his assistant to follow. The click of the door closing behind them seemed to echo longer than it should.

“What’s your problem now, Dary?” came the gruff but familiar voice of Sylvester, Dary’s oldest friend. Sylvester moved closer, his face a mix of irritation and concern. “What are you brooding about this time……your daughter again? For heaven’s sake, bring her back. Accept her.”

He lowered himself onto the couch opposite and leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “She’s your child. You can’t carry this grudge forever.”

But the words seemed to slide off Dary like rain on stone. His expression hardened, a slow transformation that darkened his face into something sharp and almost unrecognizable. Hatred flickered in his eyes.

“I will never do such a thing!” Dary’s voice came out rough, rising with every syllable. “If she cannot comply with my demands, she can leave. She chose a man over me……over her inheritance and everything I’ve built! Let her go ahead and live with the consequences.”

He broke into a sudden fit of coughing, clutching his chest as though the anger itself had turned against him.

“Holy crap,” Sylvester exclaimed, leaping up to grab a glass of water. He pressed it into Dary’s trembling hand. “Easy. Breathe.”

Dary took a sip, his breathing slowly evening out. But the tension in the room clung to the air like smoke.

Sylvester watched him carefully. “Anyway,” he said at last, attempting to lighten the moment, “where’s your wife? I haven’t seen her since I arrived.”

The question seemed to strike a hidden nerve. Dary froze, the glass halfway to the table. His brow creased.

“Now that you mention it…” He set the glass down and gave a low cough. “I’ve noticed she’s been acting strange lately. She doesn’t come home early anymore. And when I ask where she’s been…” He waved his hand in frustration. “She gives me ridiculous excuses.”

“You think she’s cheating?” Sylvester asked, his voice lowering.

“Oh, no…” Dary shook his head slowly. “I don’t know. But I don’t think so. She’s not the type to….”

“Don’t be so sure,” Sylvester interrupted, his tone turning dark. “Have you forgotten Graham? His wife cheated and ran off with half his wealth. Don’t trust women completely, my friend. For your own sanity.”

The words hung in the room, heavy and sharp. Silence settled like a curtain.

⸻

Victor stood frozen in the dim apartment.

Vivian sat on the floor, surrounded by scattered belongings as if a small storm had passed through. She hadn’t changed her clothes since the day he left two days ago. Her hair clung in messy strands around her pale face, and the dark circles beneath her eyes told stories of sleepless nights. She looked… fragile. Empty.

He rushed to her side, dropping to his knees until he was level with her. “Vivian,” he whispered, alarm threading through his voice. “What’s wrong with you? What’s happened?”

Her eyes lifted slowly to meet his. They looked hollow, like windows to a place of quiet despair. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely a whisper.

“Victor… where have you been?”

The tears welled again, shimmering in the faint light.

“Vivian…” He brushed a stray lock of hair from her face, heart twisting at the sight of her. “What are you doing to yourself?”

He lifted her gently onto the bed, his concern growing like a weight in his chest. “Did something happen? Did someone hurt you?”

She shook her head, and a faint, almost fragile smile appeared. “No, Victor. Nothing bad happened.” Her lips trembled, but her next words came out with quiet certainty. “In fact… you’re going to be a dad.”

Victor’s limbs went cold, the world tilting slightly as the words sank in. His mind instantly leapt to Bianca. Did Vivian somehow know about Bianca’s pregnancy? His thoughts raced, panic clawing at the edges of his calm.

Before he could gather a response, Vivian reached for his hands and gently placed them on her belly. “Yes, Victor. You’re going to be a dad. I’m pregnant.” This time her smile was a little brighter, tinged with hope.

Victor jerked back as though stung. He stood abruptly, clutching his head as he began to pace the room. A dozen thoughts collided inside him, a chaotic storm of fear and guilt.

“I know you’re excited and….” Vivian began, her voice soft.

“Who is excited?” He cut her off sharply, his words like a slap. “I’m not ready to be a dad! I can’t father a child.”

Vivian blinked, stunned. “What do you mean you can’t father a child? You must be joking.”

“Damn it,” Victor cursed under his breath, the name of Bianca flashing in his mind like a warning light. He could already imagine the disaster if she ever found out.

After a long, tense silence, he turned back to her, his jaw tight. “You have to… you have to get rid of the baby.”

The chill that ran through Vivian was like ice water down her spine. Her heart thudded painfully. “What is your problem, Victor? You want to kill your own child? But why?” Her voice trembled, each word laced with disbelief. “How could you even say that?”

“Understand me, Vivian,” he pleaded, though his voice held more desperation than reason. “You have….”

“You can’t be serious,” she cut in, her eyes flashing with a sudden, fierce resolve. “We have to get married, Victor. To cover this shame. When my parents find out I’m pregnant, they’ll have no choice but to accept us. And when that happens…” Her voice softened with a strange mix of hope and triumph. “I will get everything back.”

Victor stopped pacing. Her last words echoed in his head like a bell. I will get everything back.

Slowly, he turned toward her. Something shifted in his eyes. Then, with a grin that didn’t quite reach his face, he let out an exaggerated laugh.

“Is a prankkkkkkk!” he exclaimed, stretching the word as he burst into hysterical laughter.

Vivian gasped and clutched a pillow, the tension melting from her shoulders. “Ahhh, you scared me,” she said, half-laughing now, and tossed the pillow at him.

Victor caught it with ease, still laughing…but deep inside, the storm in his chest raged on, darker than ever.