The glass shattered against the far wall. Elena's chest heaved violently. Her lips formed the word no again and again, but the room heard nothing.
Driven by pure survival instinct, she grabbed a heavy wooden chair and threw it. It slammed into the locked door with a deafening crash, splintering the frame. She grabbed whatever her hands found next: books, glass, porcelain — and hurled it all until the room barely resembled a bedroom anymore.
Her hands trembled uncontrollably. Her breathing turned ragged, uneven, laced with panic. Tears blurred her vision, but she couldn't stop.
Within minutes, the room was a wasteland. Overturned furniture lay scattered like broken bones, and a sea of jagged glass covered the floor. Elena stood in the center of it, shivering, trapped in a waking nightmare.
Suddenly, the lock clicked. The door burst open.
Several maids rushed in. "Madam!"
They froze. The pristine sanctuary was gone. In its place stood a wasteland of broken glass, and Elena — barefoot, her wedding gown tattered — standing in the epicenter of the destruction, her eyes wild and unrecognizable.
"Madam, please calm down!" one of the head maids cried.
Another took a cautious step forward. "Madam, please—"
But Elena couldn't hear them. Their voices were just the distant, echoing taunts of her old caretakers. She snatched a heavy silver clock from the mantelpiece and hurled it at them. The maids scattered as it shattered into the hallway.
"Stop her! Restrain her!"
Two of the strongest maids lunged through the debris to grab Elena's arms. The contact sent an electric shock of terror through her veins. She struggled violently, uncontrolled, frantic — her mind no longer in the mansion, but back in the punishment room, fighting the hands that dragged her there.
In the thrashing, Elena's bare foot came down hard on a jagged shard of broken porcelain. The edge sliced deep into her foot. Blood streaked across the floor as she kept fighting.
"Call Mr. Luca! Tell him she's losing her mind!"
Before anyone could reach the phone, Elena's adrenaline gave out all at once. Her body went limp, her eyes rolling back as consciousness abandoned her. She collapsed onto the glass-strewn floor.
The room fell into a deathly silence. A pool of dark blood slowly spread beneath her pale, still form.
"Oh my God..." One of the maids scrambled over the debris and grabbed the bedside phone. "Call Mr. Luca immediately! Tell him to hurry!"
Across the city, Luca sat at the head of a boardroom table while a row of executives waited for him to turn the next page of the acquisition documents in front of him. His sharp profile gave nothing away.
His phone buzzed. He frowned at the caller ID — his staff knew better than to interrupt him for anything short of the estate burning down.
He answered, his voice a low, commanding snap. "What is it?"
The head maid's voice was hysterical, breathless. "Sir... Madam collapsed. She woke up and started destroying the room. There's blood everywhere. She's unconscious."
Luca froze, his pen halting mid-air. "What?"
"She smashed everything, sir. She's bleeding terribly—"
Luca stood, his frame casting a shadow over the boardroom. The executives around the table held their breath.
"Call the family doctor," Luca said, his voice dropping to a quiet register that promised violence if anything went wrong. "I'm on my way."
He hung up without another word and walked out, weaving his car dangerously through traffic as he sped back toward the villa.
When he arrived, the house was in an uproar. Guards and servants stood outside the master bedroom, whispering in hushed, terrified tones. The moment his figure appeared at the top of the stairs, they bowed, trembling.
"Sir..."
Luca didn't look at them. He pushed past and stepped over the threshold.
Then he stopped.
The master bedroom was unrecognizable. Furniture lay splintered and overturned. Artwork had been torn from the walls. Glass and porcelain covered every inch of the floor. Blood streaked across the wreckage, pooling in the center of the room where Elena lay pale and unconscious.
"What happened?" Luca demanded, his voice a low growl.
One of the maids stepped forward, her head bowed. "She woke up and tried to leave, sir. When she realized the door was locked... she panicked. She didn't even scream. She just started destroying everything. She wouldn't stop, even when she was bleeding."
Luca's brows pulled together. "That doesn't make sense."
He crossed the wreckage, his shoes crushing glass beneath him, and knelt beside Elena. Her hands were covered in small, jagged cuts, her bare feet stained with a deep gash.
Sarah loved drama, but she loved herself more. She would never have torn herself apart like this.
The family doctor arrived and knelt beside Elena, treating the lacerations. Luca stood a few paces back, arms crossed, watching in silence.
The raw, primal terror. The absolute silence during a violent breakdown. The complete disregard for her own survival. None of it was familiar.
Luca looked down at the pale face of the girl bleeding on his floor.
The girl lying on the floor felt like a stranger.