The master bedroom fell into a suffocating stillness, broken only by the faint, rhythmic blip of the heart monitor echoing off the shattered walls. Luca stood like a dark monolith near the towering windows, his arms crossed over his chest, his unreadable gaze fixed on the family doctor who was just finishing his examination of the unconscious girl.
The doctor slowly peeled off his latex gloves, letting out a heavy sigh that seemed to hang in the tense air.
On the bed, Elena lay entirely motionless, her face stark and pale against the pristine white pillow. The chaos from earlier had left its signature behind: small, jagged cuts mapped across her hands, and thin lines of dried crimson tracing the paths where the glass had sliced into her skin. Yet her breathing had finally settled into a slow, steady rhythm.
Luca's voice tore through the silence, low and dangerous. "What's wrong with her?"
The doctor glanced up, adjusting his glasses under the weight of the CEO's stare, before turning his eyes back to the woman on the bed. "Physically," he began, choosing his words with care, "her injuries are entirely minor."
Luca's brows pulled together. "Minor?"
"Some superficial lacerations from the porcelain, and bruising along her ribs from the crash. But nothing that should have caused her to collapse like that."
Luca's eyes darkened. "Then explain the madness that just occurred in my house."
The doctor hesitated. He'd already heard the maids' accounts in the corridor — the frantic banging, the silent rage, the blood.
"There are two possibilities," the doctor said finally. "The accident may have caused something physical — I'd want to scan for that. Or this wasn't caused by the accident at all. It may have triggered something that was already there."
"My wife has never behaved like that before," Luca said, his jaw tight. "Sarah throws expensive vases when she's angry. She's never broken herself."
The doctor nodded slowly. "Which makes this worth taking seriously either way. I want to bring in portable equipment — an X-ray, a CT scan of her brain."
"Why?"
"Because panic that severe doesn't usually come from nowhere," the doctor said. "It's either physical damage from the fall, or it's old. Very old."
Luca looked back down at Elena. Her chest rose and fell in peaceful rhythm now. She looked entirely calm, bearing no resemblance to the woman the maids had fought to restrain an hour earlier.
"Prepare the equipment. Have it brought to the estate immediately."
"I'll arrange it right away," the doctor said, turning to leave. At the threshold, he paused, glancing back. "One more thing, sir. If this was triggered by trauma, it may not have started last night."
Luca's expression hardened. "What are you implying?"
"She may be carrying something from further back. A fear that old doesn't build in a single night."
The door clicked shut behind him.
Luca stayed where he was, staring at the woman in his bed. She had every feature he recognized — the line of her jaw, the small scar at the edge of her left eyebrow. But she wasn't acting like the woman he'd married. Sarah had never once flinched at a locked door. She had never gone quiet with rage instead of loud. She had never bled herself without noticing.
Sarah had never mentioned a fear of locked rooms in her life.
So why had this woman torn her own house apart just to get out of one?
Across the world, the atmosphere inside the Venzagrase family home felt colder than it ever had before.
Rachel sat hollowly on the edge of the velvet couch, her fingers gripping the fabric of her skirt so tightly her nails threatened to tear it. Her eyes were red and swollen from two days of crying. For two days they had searched hospitals, called the police, and driven every road Elena might have taken. They had found nothing.
"She wouldn't just leave," Rachel said, her voice trembling.
Her mother sat beside her, mechanically rubbing her shoulder. "Rachel, sweetheart—"
"No!" Rachel pulled away. "Elena wouldn't just disappear like this. She wouldn't."
A few feet away, her father stood by the window, his face drained of color, speaking in low, urgent tones into his phone.
"Yes," he said quietly. "We need to officially file the missing person report now."