Mafia’s doll

Adrian had never thought a situation like this would come in his life. Where he’d be vulnerable and on his knees—for a woman. Begging was all he had been doing for the past few days. Kneeling in front of the bed she was lying on, he clasped her bandaged hands between his and prayed repeatedly. “Please god…please god…save her.” The pain and suffering in his voice even made the nurses around him pity him, but the god above was showing no sign of redemption for him. He knew he did not deserve this, he did not deserve her, but the fast pacing of his heart stated otherwise. The constant ringing of her screams in his head bleeding his ears, the look of fear in her eyes tearing him every second he closes his eyes. Even unconscious, she was haunting him. It had been two weeks already. Yet no sign of her regaining consciousness. Adrian didn't blame her though. Considering the state in which he initially found her, he didn't even expect her to make it alive. It was a miracle she made it alive

Her whole body quivered the moment she stepped out the car. Oddly enough, it wasn't due to the weather, but rather an outcome of her jumbled thoughts running through her mind. The indescribable emotions she experienced were impossible for her to put into words. "Careful, lean on me," Adrian muttered, helping her, his hand unconsciously moving to her waist while with the other he positioned her on the wheelchair the driver pulled out from the back of the car. Amara swallowed feeling dryness in her throat, hands still hadn't stopped shaking as she settled in the chair. “Call Rhys.” She heard Adrian talking to the guard as the latter nodded and disappeared into the house. Now that she was in the open air, the confined air of the car had been replaced with nature's freshness. Her eyes were cautious yet curious as she innocently looked around herself, this was a large ground where the car was parked. Her curious eyes caught the large pool on the left side of the gigantic house, on the sid

Amara stared at the darkness in front of her–that was all but stained with blood. Her nostrils scrunched holding back the urge to vomit. But the nasty and stale smell was forgotten in an instant when something shuffled behind her. Panicked, she turn around in a blur, her eyes huge and watering. Hands shook as she clutched her sides with a desperate need to get away from this horrific room. Her breathing became more unstable when she realise there was nothing behind her, but a small crack through which a beam of light was coming from. She swallowed the anxiousness and took an involuntary step towards the source of brightness, heart beating like crazy and senses all jumbled up. The silence engulfed. Sweat tickled down her back and forehead as she clutched onto the little hope of safety. As she moved closer, the light become more visible making she let out a relieved sigh. But it was short-lived as you felt something wet beneath her feet all of sudden. Panic was soon to seize her and s

"How long? How much fucking long?!" Adrian ran his hand through his hair as he paced around the room with tensed shoulders. Abigail watched him with concern. It had been two days. Two fucking days and yet no lead. Adrian wasn’t sure what he was looking for anymore. Every lead led to dead end. Even the men he hired to investigate seemed useless. The staff didn’t knew what happened that night, and the guard were scared of Adrian’s rage. This huge mansion clawing at him. How did someone managed sneak into his goddamn house and hurt his wife?! The guards who were supposed to protect the house at that time were quickly fired by Adrian before interrogation. Even the CCTVs around the house were tampered with. Either this was work of someone who was far clever to be a stranger or someone he knew. Too well. And that thought just someone—who might be close to him—did such beastly thing to his wife, enraged him to no point of turning back. Moreover, desp

The next few days blurred into one another, like watercolour strokes blending on a canvas. Amara found peace in the simplicity of her days, losing herself in the vibrant swirls of paint she spent hours on and the comforting presence of Martha. Her emotions remained stormy, but amidst the chaos, she was slowly discovering ways to piece herself back together. Sometimes he’d wake up and find herself in an unfamiliar room, strange and lonely. Yet, as the days passed, she started relying more on her conscience than her fears. And strangely, whenever Rhys was home, the nightmares were less frequent. She’d feel someone beside her bed every night, dreamily stroking her hair, running their gentle fingers on her delicate skin. But when she’d open her eyes, the bedside would be empty. There would be lingering coldness left on her skin. She’d wonder if she once again imagined things. But the wrinkled sheets on the other side, how could she possibly imagine them? Moreover, the chilling sensat