Night Mare

Charlotte POV

As I slowly opened my eyes, the beeping of a nearby machine pierced through the haze of my consciousness. My surroundings swam into focus, and I felt an overwhelming weakness hit me. Then, I noticed Nathan, my brother, seated on a nearby couch, his head cradled in his hands. "Nath..." I began, but a fit of coughing cut me off.

Nathan's head shot up at the sound of my voice, and he hurried to my side. "Charlotte, are you okay? Are you feeling any pain or headache? I'll inform the doctor," he said with concern etched across his face before rushing out of the room.

Moments later, the doctor entered, and after a thorough examination, he informed me and Nathan that my collapse was due to days of insufficient food and hydration. He emphasized the importance of taking care of myself, especially for the sake of the baby. As the doctor spoke, my heart raced with emotions, and when he revealed that I was healthily pregnant, a surge of both joy and concern coursed through me.

Thankfully, the doctor reassured us that the baby was okay, presenting us with several scans and test results as evidence. After imparting this crucial information, the doctor left.

Nathan gazed at me with concern and broached the topic that had been weighing on his mind. "Charlotte, it's time for you to leave the Harmon family mansion and find peace. You don't have to keep suffering like this," he urged, his eyes filled with empathy.

A faint smile touched my lips as I met his eyes. "I've had enough, Nathan. I'm completely done this time," I admitted, a sense of finality infusing my words. "By the way, how did you find me?" I inquired, my curiosity piqued.

Nathan's expression turned solemn as he revealed a truth that left me stunned. "For the past four years, I've had several servants placed at the Harmon family mansion to keep me informed about everything that happens to you there," he confessed. "I've known about all that has been happening, which is why I've been urging you to leave for years. But you insisted on staying, claiming that you still love Dylan and that he would change for the better."

As his revelation sank in, I felt a whirlwind of emotions stirring within me. The realization that Nathan had been silently watching over me for so long filled me with gratitude and regret.

"And that's how I was informed that you were locked up in the basement for the past three days," Nathan continued, his voice tinged with concern. "I rushed to the Harmon's mansion and found the basement door open, with you unconscious on the floor."

His words painted a vivid picture in my mind.

Nathan paced back and forth in anger as if being possessed all of a sudden, his fists clenched tightly. "I would make Dylan pay for this," he exclaimed furiously.

As Nathan paced back and forth, I instinctively reached out and grasped his hands, the urgency of the situation driving me to intervene. "Nathan, I know your temper. We can't let them find out about my pregnancy. It's for the best. I might be forced to go back, or they could take my child away from me," I implored, hoping to quell the storm of emotions brewing within him.

Nathan's eyes bore into mine, his frustration obvious, but my words seemed to resonate with him. As he gradually calmed down, I could see the conflict playing out in his expression, torn between his protective instincts and the need to respect my decision.

"I've made up my mind, Nathan," I assured him, my voice steady with resolve. "I'll stay away from Dylan from now on. I'll raise my child myself and give my baby a name."

Nathan regarded me with concern and contemplation. "But are you sure you won't go back? You've been stubborn for years," he probed, his worry etched in his furrowed brow.

"I won't go back," I affirmed, meeting his gaze with unwavering determination. "I've already told Dylan that I want a divorce, and I'll be filing for it very soon."

"Sis, will you be coming back to the company as the heiress?" Nathan asked me, his eyes filled with hope and anticipation. I met his gaze, feeling his expectations.

"I've lost my genius hands for designing, Nathan. It's been four years since I last sketched or created anything," I confessed, the memories of my former creative drive feeling like distant echoes.

"It doesn't matter. What matters is that you come back and bring the exceptional designer Charlotte Robert to the forefront," Nathan urged, his voice unwavering with conviction.

I looked into his determined eyes and nodded slowly, knowing that his words held truth. "I suppose it's for the best, the best way to start over" I murmured.

It was a moment of clarity for me as I pondered the saying, "You'll never find what you want if you're asking the wrong person." Reflecting on my interactions with Dylan, I realized that I hadn't been asking for too much. I had only been seeking one simple thing. However, it became increasingly obvious that I had been directing my requests to the wrong person. As this realization settled in, it became clear that my needs and expectations were simply not aligned with what Dylan could offer. This awareness marked a turning point, prompting me to reevaluate where I sought fulfillment and understanding in my life.

" It's best to start over!"

Dylan POV

"Help!" I screamed, my voice strained with panic and desperation. The raging fire had engulfed the entire warehouse, leaving me with no way out. The acrid smoke stung my eyes and clawed at my throat, making it difficult to breathe. My assistant and some employees have been consumed by the fire.

As I frantically searched for an escape route, a heavy design table crashed down onto my leg, a massive nail piercing through my flesh and bone. Agonizing pain shot through me, and blood spilled from the wound, pooling on the charred floor. With each passing moment, the fire crept closer, devouring everything in its path, including the valuable designs, machines, and fabrics that had once filled the warehouse.

Amidst the chaos, I struggled to focus, my mind racing as I assessed the dire situation. The security house, housing dangerous gases, loomed in the distance, a potential catastrophic threat if the fire reached it. Coughing and disoriented, I weighed my options, knowing that time was running out.

"Stay calm," I whispered to myself, though the words felt hollow in the face of such overwhelming peril. Every direction seemed to lead to flames, and the prospect of the gas house explosion loomed ominously in my thoughts. I needed to find a way out, and fast before it was too late.

Lying on the floor, weakened to my core, I whispered to myself, "This would be my end. I never planned for this." The relentless fire had left me resigned to my fate until a sudden crash shattered the chaos. It wasn't the sound of the flames, but the unmistakable noise of a window breaking.

Summoning every ounce of strength, I let out a desperate cry for help, my voice strained and feeble. "Help!"

Moments later, a figure leaped through the broken window, a silhouette against the fiery backdrop. "Are you okay?" a brave, resolute female voice called out through the haze, cutting through the suffocating smoke.

In my dazed and weakened state, I marveled at the courage of this unknown savior. "I need help," I murmured to myself, mustering the last of my energy. "Please, help..."

Struggling to maintain consciousness, I strained to focus on the figure before me. "Are you alive? Say something," the voice urged, its urgency and concern as it shook me from the edge of unconsciousness.

As my vision blurred in the thick smoke, I strained to make out the face of my rescuer, but the smoke covered her face, leaving her identity a mystery. She had covered her nose with a handkerchief, her face concealed from my view amidst the billowing haze. Despite the lack of a clear view, a sense of familiarity hit me as she touched my arms I struggled to stay conscious, clinging to the hope of survival.

As I lay there, overwhelmed by the severity of my injuries and the suffocating smoke, I felt my strength waning. The relentless bleeding and the thick, choking smoke left me teetering on the brink of consciousness. Then, everything faded to black as I succumbed to the darkness, unable to fight any longer.

"Hello! Wake up!" a voice called out urgently, breaking through the haze of unconsciousness. Slowly, I began to stir, the sound of the voice pulling me back from the brink. As I opened my eyes I was out of the fire already, but the face that loomed above me came into focus, and to my astonishment, it was Charlotte.

"Charlotte?" I stammered, disbelief coloring my voice as I struggled to comprehend the turn of events. How could it be her? Why Charlotte, of all people?

Suddenly, I jolted awake, drenched in sweat, my heart racing as I realized I was in my own bed. It had been a dream a recurring one that had haunted me for years. Each time, it played out the same way, always ending with my passing out in the blazing warehouse. But this time, the inclusion of Charlotte had thrown me for a loop, unsettling me in a way I couldn't shake.

The persistent confusion gnawed at me, especially considering the real-life account I had been given upon waking from the two-month coma. I had been told that I was saved by Allison, not Charlotte. Yet the voice in my dream had been unmistakably Charlotte's, not Allison's.

Questions swirled in my mind, casting doubt on the truth of what I had been told. Why would Allison lie to me about something so crucial? And if she had lied, what was the motive behind it? Why did everyone lie as well? The unsettling realization between reality and my dream left me grappling with uncertainty and unease.

I first encountered Charlotte at my Grandpa's birthday celebration, shortly after recovering from a life-altering coma. Grandpa took it upon himself to introduce me to her, emphasizing that she was the ideal match for me. Despite her undeniable beauty and intelligence, I found myself disinterested, my mind still consumed by the mystery of the girl who had saved me from the warehouse.

Even though I had been told that Allison was my savior, a part of me couldn't shake the lingering feeling that she might have not been the one who rescued me. However, Grandpa's relentless persuasion and his desire to see me wed to Charlotte, along with the promise of inheriting the family company, ultimately led me to reluctantly agree to the marriage, all in the name of honoring my grandfather's wishes and securing the family legacy.

Suddenly Fury coursed through me as I recall Charlotte's audacity to demand a divorce after years of imposing herself on me. "How dare she ask for a divorce?" I muttered to myself, my blood boiling at the thought of her abandonment. "If anyone should be leaving, it should be me, no one else."

Driven by anger, I rose from my bed and stormed through the house, determined to confront Charlotte. However, my search yielded no sign of her. The basement door stood ajar, empty, and her room bore no trace of her presence. Perplexed, I turned to the servants, but they too were at a loss, claiming they hadn't seen Charlotte since she was last confined in the basement.

Determined to unravel the mystery, I turned to the security footage, only to find the records from the previous day inexplicably wiped clean. Frustration gnawed at me, but I refused to stop. I immediately contacted my assistant, Charles, and instructed him to delve into the heart of the matter, urging him to engage a skilled hacker to recover the missing CCTV footage and unearth the truth behind Charlotte's sudden disappearance.

Back in my room, I sat in silence in my room, lost in my thoughts, when the door abruptly swung open. I didn't need to glance over to know it was Allison. Unlike Charlotte, who always waited for my acknowledgment before entering, Allison had a habit of breezing into my room unannounced.

"What is it, Allison?" I inquired, my tone tinged with a hint of exasperation.

"Come on, Dylan, I'm here for you," she replied, her voice carrying a note of earnest concern as she settled herself on the edge of my bed close to me. With deliberate intent, she gently nudged me until I lay back, her head coming to rest on my chest.

As she gazed up at me, her earlier advances, once welcomed, now evoked a deep sense of annoyance and disgust within me. Her proximity felt suffocating, and I found myself recoiling from her presence, no longer willing to entertain her advances. With a firm push, I gently disentangled myself from her and rose to my feet.

"Allison, I need some time alone," I stated firmly, my voice leaving no room for debate. "Please, give me some space and get out."

Allison sat up on the bed, her eyes searching my face. "You didn't come to see me this morning, Dylan. Are you avoiding me? Is it because of Charlotte, because she was punished?" she asked, concerned.

"Did she really push you that hard?" I interjected, trying to diffuse the tension.

"Charlotte pushed me, hard," she added, rising from the bed. "Regardless of the circumstances, she did push me. Are you having doubts? Are you siding with her instead of me, that slut?" Allison's voice rose with accusation, her eyes flashing with anger.

"Don't you dare call my wife that!" I exclaimed, my anger flaring as I pointed a finger at Allison. I couldn't fathom why I was reacting so strongly, but I knew without a doubt that my wife was not a slut.

Allison's expression shifted from shock to defiance as she moved closer. "Babe, what's wrong? You've always sided with me. What's changed?" she implored, reaching out to touch my arm, but I instinctively stepped back.

"We broke up years ago, Allison. I'm married now. Know your boundaries," I stated firmly, trying to assert the reality of the situation.

Allison's demeanor turned wild, but I remained resolute. "I'll make Charlotte pay for this," she declared, her voice filled with venom.

"You won't dare," I fired back.

"I fucking would, Dylan. I promise you that," Allison spat, her eyes blazing with fury as she stormed out of the room.

All I could do now was sit up on my bed "Where the hell is Charlotte?" I muttered to myself.