LOGINLorsqu'Annabelle Delcourt obtient une prestigieuse bourse qui lui offre un appartement dans une résidence de luxe, elle croit enfin que la chance lui sourit. Mais très vite, des événements inexplicables bouleversent son quotidien. Des messages anonymes apparaissent. Des cadeaux sont déposés sans expéditeur. Quelqu'un semble connaître chacun de ses faits et gestes. Et puis il y a Olivier Beaumont. Son mystérieux voisin est toujours là au bon moment. Trop calme. Trop prévenant. Comme s'il savait ce qui allait arriver avant tout le monde. Alors que les secrets s'accumulent et que le danger se rapproche, Annabelle n'a plus qu'une seule certitude : dans cette résidence, personne n'est là par hasard. Mais la plus grande question demeure... Pourquoi Olivier Beaumont semble-t-il la connaître mieux qu'elle ne se connaît elle-même ?
View MoreI rushed down the stairs to meet my parents in the living room. I hadn't expected to see them pacing back and forth, and the tense, distressed look on their faces immediately set off alarms in my mind.
"Mom? Dad?" I called out. They both jolted and spun around. It was obvious they hadn't noticed my presence until that exact moment. "What's going on, Dad?" I asked, cutting off my own question as the low rumble of engines echoed from outside. Stepping toward the window, I peeked through the blinds and saw numerous cars parked outside in our driveway. "Who are they? Did you guys happen to get the money to order all these cars?" I asked, completely confused. Deep down, I knew better; given our current financial situation, we couldn't afford anything expensive. I searched for answers on their faces, but Dad turned away, his expression twisted in pain. Mom, on the other hand, had gone completely pale. She walked slowly toward me, took my hands in hers, and squeezed them gently. "Melissa dear, no matter what happens..." Mom began, her eyes burning into mine. From the trembling tone of her voice, I could tell something was profoundly wrong. Mom never sounded like that. "What’s happening, Mom? You’re scaring me!" "I know, baby, but please remember that we will always be there for you, whenever you need us," she said. "Even though we are not rich anymore, we are happy to have you in our lives. Your dad and I love each other very much, and you are the absolute heart of that love." As confused as I was by what was terrifying them so deeply, I wanted answers. "Dad, will you not say anything?" I looked up at him, but before he could open his mouth to say a word, the front door burst open. A group of hefty, heavily tattooed men trooped straight into our living room. They held firearms, and their collective aura was suffocatingly intimidating. Mom instinctively shoved me behind her back, shielding me from view. Are they here to kill us? What did we do? Frantically, my eyes subconsciously trying to count them. I quickly lost track because they were so many. They completely surrounded us , positioning themselves in a perfect but deadly formation. The heavy sound of footsteps echoed towards the door, and a final figure made his appearance at the door. He was exceptionally tall, with dark, curly hair falling across the left side of his face. His sleeves were rolled up tightly, and the top buttons of his shirt were left undone, revealing his lightly haired chest. He wore sleek, sparkling black leather pants, and a cigarette hung from his lips as he puffed out clouds of thick smoke. Who the hell is this guy? I muttered to myself, fuming. Gosh, I hate the smell of cigarettes! I lifted my right hand and tightly covered my nostrils. The other men were intimidating, but this man's presence was outright terrifying. A forceful, dark power seemed to emanate from him from the very moment he walked in. He moved like he owned the entire world. Instantly, the armed men bowed their heads respectfully. "Master," they murmured in unison. "Do you have my package ready?" his voice thundered. It sounded strong yet strangely sweet, deep and heavily mature. He stepped forward, stood face to face with my father, blowed a cloud of smoke directly onto his face. "Sir Damian, the...i..i..i..uhm.... mm... I-I..." Dad stammered, completely unable to form a coherent sentence. I would never forget the sheer look of agonizing pain and helplessness on his face. "Don't waste my time." Damian's tone dropped into a dangerously quiet register, as if he had no patience left to waste. Suddenly, his gaze shifted directly to me. His cold, calculating eyes sent a violent shiver straight down my spine. "What package is he talking about?" I whispered directly into my mother's ear. "Keep quiet, Melissa," she whispered back. Damian scrutinized my body from where I stood, his eyes lingering with an unsettling intensity. Beside him, a few of his men smirked. A wave of deep shame and terror washed over me. I didn't fully understand what was happening, but I instantly knew we were done for. "Hey! stop, She's my daughter, and you will not look at her in that way!" Damian did not even flinched. Like what dad said has no effect on him. "I am not concerned with whatever the hell you are!" Dad continued, his voice shaking but furious. "But you will not do anything stupid to my daughter, you got that!" "That's just so funny, Raymond!" Damian laughed slightly, as if what my father had said was the funniest joke he had ever heard. Who the hell is this psycho? I thought. "You're in debt to me, Ray." Damian blurted out, his expression instantly shifted into a very threatening, dead serious stare." "I would rather not waste my time on you, I am here for something of mine that you are holding onto." "Hand over your daughter." My brain shut down immediately. I glanced at Dad, but he only sighed in utter frustration. He walked over to me and held me tightly against himself. "Hey, baby, I'm so sorry," Dad whispered. "I'm so sorry things had to come to this point, but I need you to be a brave girl, okay?" "What's happening?" I asked, looking up at him with puppy eyes. Tears welled up in my eyes immediately, because I knew he recognized that look; it always told him I was terrified and confused. "You'll be living with Sir Damian for a couple of months until I come to get you back," he said. "But Dad, I like it here with you and Mom! Why?" I looked over at Mom. "You know that, Mom! Why are you sending me to live with him?" He looked so terrifying. My heart bolted as I rolled my eyes around the room, taking in Damian and his men. "What a scene!" one of damian's men interjected dramatically, a cruel smile spreading across his face. "So she has no idea that she is been given out by her own parents to master damian, Poor thing." The bodyguard muttered silently. "What?! Dad, tell me that's not true!" I voiced out aggressively. "No! That's not it, Melissa!" Mom cried out, already weeping as Dad tried to convince me. "We would never do such a thing to you! He threatened to take you away from us, that you are what he wants in return for his payments." "And you agreed to it?" I asked, completely shocked. "Don't hate us, Melissa! We would never want such a thing for you, sweetheart! Please!" Mom and Dad begged in unison. "Enough! Take her!" Damian commanded his men. "What?! No!" I protested, holding a tight grip on my mother. "I'm not going with you!" I shouted. Two of his men strode toward me and pulled me away from my mom, completely ignoring the tight grip I held on her. One of them hoisted me up onto his shoulder. I fought back with everything I had, but to no avail; he was far too strong and hefty for me. Tears were already streaming down my cheeks. "Leave me alone! Let me go!" I continued screaming and fighting on his shoulder, but it didn't shake him at all. My parents hugged each other tightly. I could see the tears they had been holding back finally find it way slowly down their cheeks, but they could do nothing this time around. My parents had always had my back they would never let anything bad happen to me but at this point, it was a completely helpless situation. "No! Stop! Don't take her, take me instead!" Mom suddenly roared. "She's in this situation because of me! If I didn't need the money for my heart surgery, you'd have no reason to take her. So take me instead! Let me pay the debt myself!" Mom pulled out of Dad's arms, knelt on the floor behind Sir Damian, and held his feet, crying bitterly. "Mom!" I voiced out. "Get off my feet, woman!" Damian barked angrily and rudely shoved my mother to the ground. I felt a sharp pain pierce through my heart as I watched my mom being pushed to the floor. Yet, she crawled right back up and held his feet again. "Please, Sir Damian, she's my only daughter! Don't take her away from me," Mom begged bitterly. "I promise we'll pay you back, please!" I could only watch and cried because there was absolutely nothing I could do. "Too late, woman. I'm taking her!" Damian retorted sharply. Mom tried to touch his feet one more time, and that was when a deafening gunshot shattered through the air. "Mom!" I let out a bitter cry. Damian had pulled the trigger on her. I watched in horror as her lifeless body fell to the floor. He calmly wiped his gun with a clean white handkerchief and tugged it back into its position, as if killing someone meant absolutely nothing to him.Chapitre 20Olivier fixait le compte à rebours. 11:47:32.Onze heures.C’était tout ce qu’ils avaient. Il se dirigea immédiatement vers l’ordinateur et tenta de le rallumer. Rien.– Ne perdez pas votre temps.La voix provenait toujours du haut-parleur dissimulé dans le mur. Olivier leva les yeux.– Qui êtes-vous ?Un rire bref résonna dans la pièce.– Tu connais déjà la réponse.– Montrez-vous.– Pas encore.Annabelle s’approcha d’Olivier.– C’est la Fondation ?– Probablement.Son père secoua la tête.– Non.Olivier se tourna vers lui.– Comment pouvez-vous en être certain ?– Parce qu’ils n’utilisent jamais ce genre de méthode.Annabelle fronça les sourcils.– Alors qui fait ça ?Le vieil homme ne répondit pas. Olivier remarqua quelque chose sur le mur. Une petite lumière rouge clignotait à intervalles réguliers. Il s’approcha.– La caméra.Il arracha le boîtier du mur.L’écran s’éteignit.Mais une seconde plus tard, un autre écran s’alluma.Puis un autre.Puis encore un autre.En que
Chapitre 19Le silence dans la pièce était devenu insupportable.Annabelle tenait son pendentif entre ses doigts.Depuis son enfance, elle le portait autour du cou. Sa mère lui avait toujours dit qu’il appartenait à son père. Elle n’avait jamais imaginé qu’il pouvait contenir quelque chose. Encore moins quelque chose capable de mettre deux familles en danger. Olivier était toujours debout près de la porte. Son visage était fermé. Son père, lui, regardait le sol. Annabelle finit par se tourner vers lui.– Vous saviez que le père d’Olivier était vivant ?Il resta silencieux.– Répondez-moi.– Oui.Olivier ferma les yeux.Annabelle sentit sa colère monter.– Depuis combien de temps ?– Plusieurs années.Olivier se retourna brusquement.– Plusieurs années ?Son père acquiesça.– Je voulais le retrouver.– Et vous avez préféré me laisser croire qu’il était mort ?– Je voulais te protéger.Olivier eut un rire sans joie.– Tout le monde utilise cette excuse.Annabelle regarda le pendentif.– C
Chapitre 18Annabelle resta paralysée. La silhouette avançait lentement dans la pièce. La faible lumière provenant du couloir éclairait progressivement son visage. Clara. Sa meilleure amie. Celle à qui elle avait raconté ses peurs. Celle qui connaissait tous ses secrets. Celle qu’elle avait appelée après l’accident. Celle qui avait toujours été là. Annabelle sentit quelque chose se briser en elle.– Clara…Son amie s’arrêta à quelques mètres.Son expression était étrangement calme.– Bonsoir, Annabelle.– Qu’est-ce que tu fais ici ?Clara ne répondit pas immédiatement.Elle regarda Olivier.Puis le père d’Annabelle.– Vous avez enfin réussi à la retrouver.Le père d’Annabelle se plaça devant sa fille.– Tu n’aurais jamais dû venir.Clara sourit.– Vous n’auriez jamais dû la faire revenir ici.Annabelle secoua la tête.– Je ne comprends rien.Clara posa les yeux sur elle.– Je suis désolée.Ces mots firent encore plus mal.– Désolée pour quoi ?Clara inspira profondément.– Pour tout.
Chapitre 17Annabelle ne respirait plus. Cette voix. Elle aurait pu la reconnaître parmi des centaines d’autres. Une voix grave, douce, légèrement rauque.BUne voix qu’elle n’avait plus entendue depuis dix-sept ans.– Papa ?Le mot lui échappa dans un souffle. Olivier se plaça immédiatement devant elle.– Restez derrière moi.Annabelle secoua la tête.– C’est lui.– Annabelle…– J’ai reconnu sa voix.Les pas continuèrent de monter. Lentement. Une silhouette apparut au sommet de l’escalier. Annabelle sentit ses jambes trembler. L’homme était plus âgé que dans ses souvenirs. Ses cheveux étaient presque entièrement gris. Son visage était marqué par les années. Mais ses yeux… Ces yeux-là, elle les connaissait. Elle les avait vus chaque fois qu’elle se regardait dans un miroir. L’homme s’arrêta. Le regard d’Annabelle croisa le sien. Pendant quelques secondes, personne ne parla.Puis il murmura :– Ma fille…Annabelle sentit les larmes couler sur ses joues.Elle fit un pas vers lui.Olivier






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