Page 90 of Darkest Oblivion
The ocean surrounding this territory shimmered under the moonlight, inviting, and I headed toward it, my bare feet numb on the gravel path.
People might see me like this—bloodied, broken, a mentally ill woman stumbling through the night—but I didn’t care.
I approached the lake’s edge, its waters lapping gently, whispering of escape, of drowning the pain. But something pulled me right, toward the woods—a dense thicket of twisted oaks and shadows, their branches clawing at the sky like skeletal hands.
I veered into the trees, the underbrush scratching my legs, thorns drawing fresh blood that mingled with the old.
“My baby is gone,” I mumbled, my voice hoarse, broken, as I staggered deeper. “My sweet little precious one is gone... my baby is gone...” The words spilled on repeat, senseless, desperate, a litany carved out of grief. Each time I spoke them, they cut deeper, yet I couldn’t stop.
The shadows swayed around me, thick and endless, and I mumbled to them as if they might give something back, as if they could cradle what I had lost.
My mind splintered beneath the weight of emptiness, clinging to the impossible — that if I said it enough, if I bled it into the dark, my baby might return.
Memories crashed over me, fueling my delirium—Dmitri tucking me into bed after our night, his kisses knitting me together, planting a life inside me only to ghost me, leaving me in this vast estate like a discarded toy.
I’d called him, begged through the pain, but he hadn’t answered. His punishment was working—loneliness had broken me, depression its blade, and now my baby was the price. “Dmitri...” I whispered, my voice cracking as branches snagged my gown. “Why?”
Voices shouted in the distance—“Penelope!”—but I kept walking, lost in the woods’ embrace. “Penelope!” Closer now, but I didn’t stop. Then, “Penelope,” right behind me.
I turned, and Antonio Bellanti blocked my path, his lean frame in a dark hoodie, his eyes glinting with malice. He paused, covering his nose with his sleeve. “Christ, look at you—bleedingall over yourself like a butchered pig. Can’t even keep your own filth inside, can you?”
I stood still, numb, my tears dried, my body a shell. I’d just lost my baby, stumbled into this trap, and now kidnapping loomed. My chest heaved, but no words came.
Antonio laughed, cruel and mocking, the sound scraping through the night. “I’ve been lurking, waiting for the perfect moment to snatch you. And look at you now—already half-dead, stumbling around like a bleeding carcass.”
He stepped closer, his smirk twisting into something darker. “You can cooperate, or I’ll beat the hell out of you until you pass out and drag you anyway. Doesn’t matter—you’ve already marked the ground with your filth. No one’s coming for you, whale. Who’d even want to touch you, dripping like that?”
Silence. I was empty, broken. But then, instinct screamed: run. I turned softly, then bolted, my bleeding feet pounding the earth.
“Dmitri!” I shouted, my voice ragged, desperate. Why his name? He was my tormentor, the monster who’d ruined me—yet in panic, it was him I called. “Dmitri!”
Antonio’s footsteps thundered behind me, gaining fast. I ran harder, branches whipping my face, thorns tearing my skin, my lungs burning as the woods blurred.
My bare feet slipped on leaves, blood mixing with dirt, but I pushed on, gasping, the world narrowing to survival.
“Giovanni!” I screamed, hoping someone—anyone—from the villa would hear. My panting grew labored, my chest tightening—not just from exhaustion, but the familiar vise of asthma squeezing my lungs. I fumbled for my inhaler, but it wasn’t there—left in the room in my grief.
The attack hit full force, my breath shortening to shallow gasps, my vision spotting as I slowed, staggering.
Antonio crashed into me, shoving me to the ground, his weight pinning me.
He slapped me hard, twice, the sting exploding across my cheeks. “Help!” I screamed, my voice weak, tears streaming as he sat on my barely healed tummy, pain surging through me like fire, the fresh loss of my baby amplifying the agony.
He laughed, the sound vicious, degrading, dripping with contempt.
“No one’s coming for you, whale. You’re nothing but a bloated whore—reeking of blood and failure.”
He circled me with his words, each one a knife. “Who’d save a pig like you? Your body’s a joke—skin spilling over like dough. No wonder Dmitri left you to rot. You’re too heavy to fuck, too ugly to love.”
His sneer deepened, eyes glittering with cruelty. “Your father sold you off because he couldn’t stand the sight of you. And your mother? Your grandmother? They pity you. That’s all anyone’s ever felt for you—pity.”
He leaned closer, spitting the final words like poison. “No one could ever love a fat, worthless bitch like you. Not me. Not your precious father. Not even that monster Dmitri.”
He slapped me again, harder, his words a barrage of cruelty that cut deeper than the pain. “When I drag you back to Rome, I’ll make your life hell. I’ll let my men take turns until you’re broken, bleeding, begging for death. And I’ll make sure you stay fat—force-feed you like the pig you are, so the whole world sees you for what you’ve always been... a filthy, worthless fat slut.”
My eyes widened in horror, my body shaking as his degradation sank in, shredding what little resolve I had left. He pulled out a small gun, its barrel cold against my temple, then smashed it against my head.
Pain exploded, stars bursting in my vision, and everything went dark.
