Love Unspoken

After banging on the door got her nowhere, Quinn slumped to the floor, exhausted.

She was in a small, cluttered space, pitch dark. The silence was so intense it felt like even the air had stopped moving.

The darkness wrapped around her, making it hard to breathe.

Squatting on the cold ground, she hugged her knees. In the room, the only sounds were her own breathing and her heartbeat.

Alexander had asked her to reflect, but she was at a loss as to what. Was it the five solitary hours she had spent waiting in the restaurant or the fact that she had seen Juliet home? She didn't know what she had done wrong. Quinn fumbled in her pocket and withdrew her phone. It was dead now, unresponsive. Curled up behind the door, she closed her eyes and covered her ears, pretending she was just in her bedroom, and it had simply gone dark.

She was reminded of a time when Freya had also locked her in a storage room like this for an entire day and night. Occasionally, mice and insects would scuttle over her, invoking paralyzing terror in the six-year-old Quinn. The saddest part was that she couldn't even scream out her fear. She could only scrape desperately at the door, scratching until her fingers bled. Yet still, no one came to her rescue.

he held her a memory that

back into the depths, returning her

recalled her past in fragmented flashes, a sensation akin to an invisible grip

her gasping for breath. In desperation, she tugged at

to the remnants of hope. Gradually, her efforts diminished to a mere shuffle. Meanwhile, Alexander had already departed, unaware of the desperate pleas emanating

room.

Abigail called unexpectedly, he merely glanced at the

many unanswered rings, Abigail's brows furrowed. Deep down, she understood that Alexander wouldn't take her

with a voice that pierced the silence. Hobart, the butler, hastened upstairs, arriving at the door with a demeanor of solemn respect, "Miss, how

him. I need to speak with him!" Abigail