Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
Anthea
Silas left to deal with his wound. I curled up on the bed, arms wrapped around my knees.
"You couldn't do it, Anthea. You care about me. You still love me."
His words kept echoing in my head.
He was right—I couldn't pull that trigger.
When Silas pressed my hand against his chest, the gun barrel digging into his skin, my finger locked on the trigger like something had nailed it in place.
I told myself I couldn't kill him because I was just a normal person.
I'd never imagined a day when I'd actually hold a gun to someone's heart. This was a human life.
And he was Olei's father. If I really killed him, what would happen to Olei? That kid had already spent six years without a mother—did he have to lose his father too? He was only six.
So at the last second, my wrist shifted. The bullet tore through his abdomen instead of his heart.
As for the other possibilities, I didn't want to think about them.
Another day or two passed. Maybe longer. I'd lost track.
Time blurred inside this gilded cage, day and night bleeding together.
My arm started itching. I pushed up my sleeve and saw the smooth skin now covered in scabbed-over scratches. Now my nails found them again, unconsciously adding new marks beside the old ones. Only when the sharp pain spread across my forearm did I stop, pulling my sleeve back down.
Strangely, I felt better.
A knock came at the door, then the sound of the handle turning. I didn't move. I closed my eyes.
Silas walked in, probably carrying food again. He'd been cooking and delivering every meal himself these past few days.
"Anthea." His voice came out careful, testing. "Time for breakfast."
I didn't respond.
"You haven't eaten in a long time." His voice gained an edge of frustration. "The doctor said if you keep this up, your body will—"
"I'm not eating." I cut him off.
If he gave a damn about my body, why wouldn't he just let me go?
"Anthea—" He stepped forward, his tone turning pleading.
"I said I'm not eating." I sat up sharply, my voice ice-cold.
He stood by the bed holding a tray of elegant food I didn't bother identifying. His face looked worse than a week ago, dark circles bruising the skin under his eyes. The wound in his abdomen made his movements slower than usual.
"Please." His voice dropped to almost nothing, his eyes showing a vulnerability I'd never seen before.
That look made me furious. What right did he have to look like that? He imprisoned me, watched me, violated me in my sleep, destroyed my life, and now he stood here playing the wounded man?
"You think this works?" I stared at him, my tone mocking. "You think bringing me a few meals makes up for everything? That I'll just stay in the manor and be your good little pet?"
His lips moved, but no words came out. The fire in my chest burned hotter, rage and despair incinerating my insides.
"Get out." My voice came out sharp and strange. "Take your shit and get out!"
He didn't move. Just looked at me, heartbroken.
I swept my hand across, knocking the tray over. The dishes shattered on the floor, food scattering everywhere.
Silas froze for a moment, then crouched down and started picking up the pieces.
"Don't get out of bed yet. You'll cut your feet." His voice was just tired.
He gathered the fragments quickly but carelessly. A shard sliced his finger, and blood welled up immediately. He frowned but didn't stop. He tossed that piece onto the tray and kept collecting the others.
I watched the cut on his finger, something unclear rising in my chest. Not concern, I told myself. Not that.
He kept his head down, cleaning. My eyes swept the floor. A sharp fragment lay in the shadow by the bed frame, right in his blind spot. My pulse hammered. Instinctively, I hooked it with my foot and kicked it under the bed.
He finished quickly, loading all the pieces onto the tray. Then he stood and moved toward me, like he wanted to check if I was hurt. His hand closed around my wrist, turning it over to examine it. Then his movements stopped.
"What's this?" His voice changed pitch as he stared at the scabs on my wrist.
Then he pushed up my sleeve, exposing the crisscrossing red marks—new and old—covering my forearm. His face went white.
"What happened?" His voice shook. "When did this start?"
I couldn't remember when I'd done it. Maybe some sleepless night. Maybe some endless afternoon. I only remembered that when my nails dragged across my skin, the stinging briefly filled the emptiness inside me.
"I'm getting the doctor." His words rushed out. "Wait here."
He turned and left with the tray, his steps faster than when he'd arrived. The door closed behind him, and the room fell silent again.
I looked down at the marks on my arm and suddenly felt ridiculous. How did I get to this point?
Soon, the door opened again. A maid came in with cleaning supplies and silently wiped up the remaining mess. While she worked, I quietly bent down, felt under the bed, found that shard, and hid it under my pillow.
The maid finished and left with her head down. Right after, Silas walked in with a middle-aged woman. She wore a white coat and black-framed glasses, her manner gentle and professional.
"Anthea, this is Dr. Reed," Silas said. "Let her take a look at you."
"I'm not sick." My voice came out flat.
Silas's brow furrowed. He wanted to say something, but the doctor had already spoken.
"Hello, Anthea." She sat in the chair by the bed, her tone soft. "May I call you that?"
I leaned against the headboard, staring out the window. Refusing to engage.
"I heard you're an elementary school teacher?"
Still silence.
"You must love children." She smiled. "Olei is such a sweet, well-behaved boy. I saw him in the living room just now. He was drawing."
At Olei's name, my gaze finally pulled away from the window.
"He said he's making a picture for his mommy." Dr. Reed continued, her tone casual, like she was making small talk. "He's working so hard on it. Spent forever on the coloring."
My fingers curled slightly.
"He's worried about you, you know." She looked at me, her eyes gentle but sharp. "Children are more perceptive than we think. He can feel that mommy's unhappy, even if he doesn't understand why."
My eyes started burning.
"Anthea," her voice turned serious, "I understand what you're going through. Being trapped somewhere you don't want to be, losing control of your life—it breaks people. But hurting yourself isn't the answer."
"Then what is?" I asked Dr. Reed but looked at Silas standing nearby. "Can you make him let me go?"
Silas's fists clenched. He dropped his head, unable to meet my eyes.
Dr. Reed paused before speaking. "I can't make decisions for other people. But I can help you find the strength to face this."
I gave a bitter laugh. "Strength? I don't have any left."
"You do." She said. "You have Olei."
Those words pierced the softest part of my heart.
Dr. Reed stood and turned to Silas. "Based on my observations, her current state is genuinely concerning. She's using pain to confirm she's still alive. It's a psychological defense mechanism, but without intervention, it will escalate."
"How do I make her better?" Silas's voice came out urgent. "What medication? What treatment?"
"I'll prescribe something to help stabilize her mood." Dr. Reed adjusted her glasses. "But medication is just support. The real change has to be psychological—she needs to feel respected. Like she has choices."
She gave Silas a pointed look.
Silas fell silent, his jaw tight.
"I'll have someone bring the ointment and pills." Dr. Reed said to me. "Use the ointment on the wounds on your arm. Take the pills on schedule. If you feel anything unusual, you can send for me anytime."
She walked to the door. Silas followed. They spoke quietly near the doorway. I couldn't hear what they were saying and didn't care to.
Finally, Dr. Reed left. Silas stood in the doorway, looking back at me.
"I'll come check on you later." His voice was low.
Then he left too. I leaned against the headboard, staring at the ceiling, Dr. Reed's words echoing in my head.
"You have Olei."
The sound of the door gently opening broke the silence.
"Mommy?" A small voice came from the doorway.
I turned my head and saw Olei standing there, clutching a piece of paper.
"Can I come in?" He asked softly, his eyes carefully watching me.
"...Come in," I spoke, adjusting my composure.
He tiptoed in and stopped by the bed.
He didn't climb up and throw himself into my arms like usual. These past days, I'd barely left this room. Not like when I'd first been imprisoned—I'd still play blocks with him in the living room, walk with him in the garden. Now I didn't even want to get out of bed.
"How're you feeling today, Mommy?" He asked, his voice carrying adult-like caution.
"I'm okay." I forced a smile.
He was quiet for a moment, then lifted the paper he was holding and held it out to me.
"This is for you, Mommy." He said.
I took it, looking at the brightly colored, crudely drawn picture. It showed a woman in a golden cape. She held a sword, her foot on a black monster, her blonde hair flying in the wind.
"This is..." My voice wavered.
"It's Mommy," Olei explained earnestly. "Mommy is brave and strong. You defeated the monster."
My nose stung. Olei was telling me in his own way that he believed I could beat the monsters in my life.
"I hope Mommy gets better soon." Olei's voice was muffled, like he was trying to hold something back. "I'll be really, really good. I won't cause trouble for Mommy."
Tears spilled from my eyes. I set the picture aside and pulled him into my arms, holding him tight.
"Mommy..." His small hands wrapped around my neck, his voice panicked. "Why are you crying?"
"It's nothing." My voice came out hoarse and unrecognizable. "Mommy's just so happy. It's beautiful, baby."
He shifted in my arms, leaning close to my ear. "Mommy, did Daddy bully you?"
I froze.