Page 212 of The Devil's Fire

“I’m somewhere safe, I promise. I just needed to be alone.” I tried to reassure him, but it wasn’t too much of a help.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Thaia?! Did he leave you alone? That son of a -”

“Michael, that’s enough.” I said, not liking how he was talking. Fuming with anger, Michael’s voice boomed with a string of profanities.

“Where are you? I will come and get you right now.”

“Michael, I understand you’re worried, but I promise I’m safe. I just had to get away for some time to myself. Please, understand that.” I explained softly to him, and it calmed him down.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get angry and yell at you.” He sounded apologetic as he spoke. “I was just worried since I couldn’t get in contact with you, and it’s not like he’s providing us with any information.” He spat out, and guilt filled my body even more for not at least giving them a heads up they wouldn’t be able to reach me.

“Can I at least come and see you? I just want to make sure you’re okay. Please?” Michael asked.

“Okay.” I said, giving in as it didn’t sound like he would take no for an answer. I kind of owed it to him since I just disappeared with no warning.

“Just send me the info, and I will be there tomorrow. I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed your goofy ass, too.” I let out a small smile as he laughed.

“Of course, you have! It’s me we’re talking about.” I could hear his grin through the phone, and I rolled my eyes at him, even though he couldn’t see me.

“I will see you tomorrow, then. It’s late and I’m kind of ready to go to sleep now.” I said, a yawn escaping me.

“See you tomorrow! Stay safe and sleep tight.”

“I will. Goodnight.” A slight sense of relief washed over me after our conversation, lifting the weight of guilt for cutting off contact.

I scrolled through my phone, reading the text messages he had left me and seeing how worried he had actually been. I opened a text message from Cara, telling me she was doing better, and they had moved the date of the wedding. I had distanced myself from everyone that I had completely forgotten that there was supposed to be a wedding. But I was happy when she said she was doing better.

Staying here had me missing everyone at the manor, especially a certain person with golden-brown eyes. I bit down on my lip, thinking about if I should make a call tomorrow after Michael’s visit.

Maybe it was time to go back and figure things out?

I was nervous to see Damiano again; scared I would see on his face how much he despised me. It made my heart squeeze that we might never recover from the loss, and we would have to live separate lives.

I opened the photo album on my phone, swallowing hard as I looked at a picture of him, and tears welled up in my eyes.

“I’m sorry.” I whispered out, my voice trembling as tears streamed down my face and soaked the pillow beneath me, my grip on the phone tightening. “I’m so sorry for losing our baby.”

seventy

Althaia

I have never been a morning person, but since I got here, I have turned into one. I went to bed early, mainly to avoid my mind spiraling into a darker place, and I would wake up early to watch the sunset rising above the water. It was an amazing view and made me feel at peace.

I had been drawing a lot more as well, unable to resist capturing the beauty of the beach with the sun rising on the horizon, casting a shimmering glow on the water.

Each morning, I would sit outside with a cup of coffee, relishing the tranquility that surrounded me. This simple routine became a source of gratitude, slowly helping to heal my soul, mending it piece by piece.

I bought blank canvases and paint supplies as drawing was my escape, and I would always stumble upon something breathtaking here that begged to be immortalized in my sketches. I couldn't resist sketching Kiara a few times; she was too adorable when she curled up next to me and dozed off, or when she would lie on her back while playing with a mouse toy.

There were moments when my hand seemed to have a mind of its own, producing a drawing that surprised me once I finished. It would be of him, more specifically his piercing golden-brown eyes. I would have several pages of him in my sketchbook and not miss a single detail when it came to his tattoos.

Not a day passed without thoughts of him filling my mind. Each time his image surfaced, an overwhelming sense of shame would wash over me, reaching a point where nausea set in, making me push him out of my mind. Despite my efforts, the lingering guilt continued, leaving me at a loss on how to face him when we would inevitably cross paths again.

Dark thoughts would cloud my mind, leading me to believe that his easy acceptance of our separation was tied to the tragic event. I had carried his child, and I lost it. The internal conflict of guilt and shame consumed me, and I couldn’t imagine what he must be thinking about it.

My one job, my sole responsibility, was to protect that precious life, and I failed miserably. How could he not blame me for it?

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