CHAPTER 31: CHAPTER 31 NIGHTMARE

The dancer, mid-step, faltered. Her confidence shattered like glass against stone. She barely caught herself from stumbling and turned away so fast, it was obvious she felt the danger.

She didn’t come near again.

Instead, she moved to the opposite end of the floor, pretending she never even looked their way.

None of the others noticed the silent warning that had just passed.

Leonardo glanced sideways, watching Isabella fidget with the hem of her skirt, her big brown eyes still unfocused after the earlier moment. She hadn’t said a word since the dancer left.

He leaned slightly toward her and asked, voice calm but quiet beneath the music,

"Want to go home?"

But Isabella blinked, tilting her head. "Huh?"

She hadn’t heard him.

Of course she didn’t. The music was too loud, and honestly—if anyone ever whispered, Isabella usually missed it the first time. She’d always suspected she had a slight hearing issue. Soft voices just didn’t reach her well.

Leonardo sighed softly.

With no other choice, he leaned in closer, lowering his face near her ear.

"Do you want to go home?" he whispered again, his voice low, smooth, and cold—yet the moment it brushed against her ear, it sent a warm chill down her spine.

His breath was warm, and for the first time, Isabella felt her cheeks heat up instantly.

No one had ever been this close to her. Not even by accident.

Her heart did a tiny flip as she clutched her little purse tighter, trying not to let the red creep up her face entirely.

She nodded. Fast.

Leonardo stood up without another word.

Casper raised a brow. "Leaving already?"

"Yeah," Leonardo said shortly, his tone making it clear not to push further.

Isabella stood up too, looking like a flustered schoolgirl who had just been caught daydreaming. The bodyguards moved in around them immediately, creating that same silent shield.

As they walked out of the private section, Isabella tried to calm her racing heart.

She didn’t understand it.

That whisper...

His voice...

His breath on her skin...

Why did it feel like her entire body had gone soft for a second?

She glanced up at Leonardo, who walked ahead with his usual expressionless face.

To him, maybe it meant nothing.

***

Leonardo had found the car ride oddly quiet. Isabella, who usually mumbled insults under her breath or made dramatic pouting faces, said nothing this time. She sat beside him with her face turned toward the window, expression unreadable. Not angry. Not sleepy. Just... far away.

It felt strange. Unsettling, even.

He didn’t say anything, but his gaze lingered on her longer than usual.

When they reached the mansion, she quietly thanked the driver, climbed out, and walked straight to her room without looking back. No complaints. No muttering. Not even a goodnight.

She fell into her soft bed, hugged her plushie close, and within seconds she was asleep.

But her sleep... wasn’t peaceful.

*Nightmare start*

Warning: This part contains a brief mention of past abuse.

If it feels too heavy or uncomfortable, it’s absolutely okay to skip ahead. Your well-being matters.

"ISABELLA! DID YOU PREPARE DINNER?!"

That voice. That slurred, rough voice echoed through the hall like thunder. Her heart dropped. Her body froze.

Her fever was burning hot. Her limbs were heavy. She had fallen asleep just for a few minutes. But now... Uncle Josh was home. Drunk. Angry.

Panicking, Isabella rushed into the small bathroom connected to her bedroom, locking the door with trembling fingers.

"Isabella! If you don’t come out—don’t blame me for being ruthless!" he bellowed from the hallway.

She flinched. Her hands shook. Her forehead was sweaty from both fever and fear.

Slowly, shivering, she opened the door and walked downstairs, her knees barely holding her weight.

"U-Uncle... I... I have a fever... I didn’t get up..." she whispered, her voice cracking.

He turned, eyes bloodshot, and snarled. "You’ve got a fever, huh? But your hands still work, don’t they—you filthy girl!"

The slap came hard and fast. Her body hit the floor with a dull thud. Her cheeks stung. Tears blurred her vision.

"I-I’m sorry... I’m sorry..." she cried, but her apology only made him angrier.

He unbuckled his belt. The sound alone made her crawl back, begging.

"You ungrateful brat! Why the hell do I even keep you?!"

The belt lashed across her back. Then her side. Then her chest. She tried to shield herself with her arms, but it only made it worse.

Her soft cries filled the room—quiet, broken sobs of someone who no longer hoped to be rescued.

And then...

He left.

Or so she thought.

She tried to sit up, breathing heavily, her body covered in aching bruises and stinging cuts.

But then she heard him again.

Footsteps. A clink of glass.

She looked up.

Her blood ran cold.

A small glass. Clear.

She knew it instantly.

Vinegar. Lemon juice. Salt.

The same burning mixture he’d forced down her throat before saying it would "purify her lies."

"No... no, please no..."

"DRINK," he growled, "or I’ll beat you ’til you can’t walk."

Her small hands trembled as she took the glass. The scent already made her throat burn. Tears spilled down her cheeks.

But she knew.

She had no choice.

So she drank.

And as the liquid slid down her throat, tearing like fire, she let out a choked cry and darkness swallowed her.

**

Her body moved on instinct, not strength.

Each step up the creaking stairs felt like walking through shards of glass. Her legs trembled beneath her, every inch of her skin stinging from belt marks. Her back throbbed. Her stomach ached. Her throat burned like someone had poured fire down it.

She held onto the wall as she walked, barefoot, bloodless, barely breathing. The glass had fallen from her hands after she drank it, shattering on the floor behind her but he didn’t even notice. He had already stumbled back to the sofa, grumbling curses as if nothing had happened.

Her small room was dark and quiet, untouched by the chaos she carried in her body.

She closed the door softly behind her and leaned against it for a second, her knees threatening to give out.

Then, slowly, she dragged herself to the corner cabinet where she kept a tiny pouch of secret things—things that gave her small comforts, even if no one else cared.

Her fingers pulled out the white tube, the only cream she owned for bruises and burns. She had bought it quietly one day with a few coins she had saved from helping at the shop. She kept it hidden, away from him. It was all she had.

She sat on her thin mattress, wincing as her back touched the wall.

With shaking hands, she uncapped the tube and tried to squeeze some onto her fingers.

But—

Nothing.

She blinked.

She squeezed harder.

Still nothing.

It was empty.

No.

No, no, no...

Her breath quickened as she desperately folded and rolled the tube, pressing it, begging it.

A tiny dot finally came out.

She used that drop as best as she could, patting it gently on her ribs and side, but it wasn’t enough. Not even close. Her body screamed with pain.

And then came the worst part...her throat.

She tried to swallow.

It felt like broken glass was stuck in her neck. The vinegar and lemon had scorched her voice box just like the last time. Tears stung her eyes again.

She opened her mouth to say something to cry for help, to whisper anything.

But her voice—

Gone.

Only a broken gasp came out. A whimper.

And that was enough to break her.

No one would hear her.

No one ever did.

And yet all she wanted right then... was for someone to come.

Just once.

And hold her.

But the only thing holding her was pain.

Her body gave out the moment she curled onto the thin mattress, like it couldn’t carry her pain anymore. She folded herself inward, knees drawn to her chest, arms wrapped tightly around her ribs as if she could hold the brokenness together with just a hug.

But it didn’t work.

The pain was everywhere.

Her back burned from the belt strikes, the skin raw and hot. Her chest throbbed from the impact of the metal buckle. Her legs were bruised and her stomach cramped from the drink that still boiled in her throat like acid. Her voice had disappeared, swallowed by the fire inside her.

And all she could do was cry.

Not loud. Not screaming.

But the kind of crying that came in silent, shaking sobs. Her breath hitched as she buried her face in the edge of her pillow, muffling the sound of her whimpers. Tears soaked the fabric quickly, but she didn’t move. She couldn’t.

She bit her lip to stop herself from crying out, but it only made the inside of her mouth bleed. Her arms tightened around her ribs and she rocked gently, the only comfort she had ever known. A small rhythm she created in the dark to tell herself she would survive this too. She had to. She always did.

But this time...

She was tired.

Her little fingers clutched the corner of the blanket like it was a lifeline. Her nails dug into her skin. Her throat made choking sounds as she tried to breathe, tried to whisper for help but no words came out.

She cried harder.

Because it hurt.

Because it always hurt.

Because no one ever came.

She wished her father were still alive. She wished her grandma could wrap her in that soft wool shawl she used to wear. She wished someone would come through that door and pull her into warm arms and say—

"You’re safe now."

But no one came.

So she cried until her body gave up.

And the night swallowed her pain... again.

*Nightmare end*