The Heart Still Beats
809 Words
The next five days passed in a haze of misery. Camila barely moved from the bed, cocooned under the heavy blankets that muffled her sobs. Food trays came and went, but she didn’t care. She couldn’t muster the strength to eat, much less fight the man who had stolen her life.
Her world had shrunk to this room, this bed, this constant, suffocating grief. She was a ghost of herself, trapped in a spiral of pain. The betrayal of her father, the loss of her family, the helplessness of her captivity—it was all too much.
She whispered to herself in the dead of night, clinging to memories that now felt like fragments of a different life. ‘I’m all alone. There’s no one left. No one.’
But the sixth day shattered her stillness.
A sharp sound pierced the quiet—a gunshot. Camila bolted upright, her heart hammering in her chest. She sat frozen for a moment, listening, her breath caught in her throat.
Another shot. Then yelling.
Her instincts kicked in. She threw the blanket off and grabbed her gown, slipping it over her shoulders as she moved toward the door. Her legs felt unsteady, but she forced herself forward, her ears straining for any clue about what was happening.
Just as she reached the hallway, a small figure came barreling toward her.
“Save me!”
The boy’s voice was shrill with terror, his tiny hands clutching at her gown. He couldn’t have been more than six or seven, his face streaked with tears, his body trembling.
Camila dropped to her knees and wrapped her arms around him, her maternal instincts taking over. “Shh,” she whispered, her voice steady despite the chaos around her. “I’m here. Nothing will happen to you. I promise.”
The boy buried his face in her shoulder, his small hands clutching at her like a lifeline. Camila held him tighter, her own fear melting into a fierce determination to protect him.
The sound of footsteps made her look up. Three men emerged from a nearby room, their expressions grim. They froze when they saw her, their gazes darting to the boy in her arms.
“Where’s Zachary?” Camila demanded, her voice sharp.
The men exchanged uneasy glances before one of them spoke. “Boss is in the conference room.”
The boy whimpered, clutching her gown even tighter.
“What’s going on?” she snapped, her anger flaring. “Who are you, and why is this child terrified?”
The men stiffened under her glare. “Mrs. Sullivan, we’re sorry,” one of them said quickly. “His father… he shot himself. We weren’t harming him, we swear.”
Camila’s jaw clenched as she processed his words. Her eyes narrowed, and she pulled the boy closer, shielding him with her body.
“Get out of my sight,” she said coldly.
The men hesitated, but her fierce expression sent them retreating down the hallway.
Camila took a deep breath and looked down at the boy, who was still trembling in her arms. “It’s okay,” she murmured, brushing a hand through his hair. “I’m going to take care of this. You’re safe now.”
She stood, keeping the child close as she made her way to the conference room. The mansion felt even colder than usual, the tension in the air palpable.
When she reached the double doors, she didn’t knock. She pushed them open with a force that made them slam against the walls.
“Zachary Xavier Sullivan,” she said, her voice cutting through the room like a blade. “I need to talk to you. Now.”
Zachary looked up from the table where he was seated, his expression unreadable. His men stood around him, their postures tense.
His gaze shifted to the boy in her arms, then back to her. “What is it?” he asked calmly, though there was an edge to his tone.
Camila stepped forward, her eyes blazing with anger. “You let this happen under your roof?” she demanded, her voice rising. “A child, terrified and alone, running for his life? Is this what you stand for?”
Zachary’s eyes darkened, and the room seemed to grow colder. “I don’t have time for this,” he said, his tone low and dangerous.
“You’ll make time,” Camila shot back, her voice unwavering.
The boy clung to her as she stared Zachary down, refusing to back down. For the first time in days, she felt a spark of strength returning—a flicker of the fire that had once defined her.
This wasn’t just about her anymore. This was about the boy in her arms, and whatever darkness had brought him here.
And she wasn’t going to let Zachary brush it aside.
- Writer
