“Are you done?”

Annalise froze, the strangely familiar cold voice sending chills down her spine.

Just when she thought it couldn’t get worse, Elijah stood behind her.

His glare cut through her like ice. The same look he had given her in that room, on that bed, when everything had changed.

“Well, look at you now,” he sneered. “Hiding behind another man? From heiress to helpless? That’s rich.”

Annalise spun around to meet his gaze. Her voice shook with fury, “Don’t talk to me like you know anything about my life, you lying scumbag.”

His eyes flared red. “You little—”

“Stop it,” Pauline snapped, grabbing his arm. Her jaw was tight, her eyes burning with silent rage. "Why do you even have to talk to her closely?"

She faced Annalise, "And you, just sign the damn papers already before you get hurt."

"Why would I sign it? I'm not going to give you anything!" Annalise retorted.

Pauline's eyes turned red. "You b--"

A loud growl erupted in the scene, breaking them apart in a second.

Before anyone could react, a strong hand shoved Annalise back. She hit the ground hard, barely catching herself before her head slammed down.

“Leave,” the mansion owner said, his voice cut like glass.

Annalise pushed herself up, knees bloodied, trembling. But she wouldn’t back down.

“I’m in danger,” she said, desperate. “They’re trying to kill me. Please… please help me. I’ll do anything to repay you.”

He stepped closer and stared at her, his thoughts unreadable.

Annalise’s breath hitched. Her whole body locked up. Something unseen pressed on her—like she wasn’t in control anymore.

Then Pauline’s voice rang out. “Hand her over. Do that, and we won’t destroy your precious home.”

Annalise looked up at him, searching his face. There was something strange in his eyes. They were cold, unreadable, and more. But it didn't matter. Annalise needed his help. If he let her go, Pauline and Elijah would kill her.

As though he didn't have an ounce of sympathy towards Annalise, he turned around and walked away, back to his house.

The doors slammed shut behind him.

Annalise's heart dropped.

Pauline laughed. “Guess your new man’s not the hero type after all.”

Elijah smirked. “You know what to do.”

Pauline stepped forward, holding out a stack of papers. “Still think you can run? Save us all the trouble and sign.”

Annalise glanced back. The doors didn’t move. No one came.

Her hands shook as she took the pen.

And just like that, she signed everything away. Pain spread throughout her chest and tears threatened to form in her eyes but she bit them back, trying to hold everything together as she did what the two traitors asked.

Her family name, her future, her past - now all gone.

Pauline snatched the papers and flipped through them with a smug grin. “There we go. Easy, wasn’t it?”

She gave Annalise a look that almost passed as pity. “You’ve been alone forever, haven’t you? So tragic. Want us to end it for you? We'll do it quick and painless.”

Annalise’s hands clenched. Her voice was low, bitter. “Get lost.”

Elijah chuckled. “Still got attitude. Cute.”

He took a step, but Pauline stopped him. “She’s not worth it.”

“What? We’re letting her go?” he asked, surprised.

Pauline wrinkled her nose. “This place is already falling apart. Let her rot here.”

She leaned in close to Annalise’s ear. “Go ahead. Try to survive. But don’t think there’s a way back. No one wants you anymore. And the one person here? It’s obvious he hates you too.”

Her words stung worse than any blow but Annalise kept silent.

“Let’s go,” Elijah muttered, turning away.

“Yeah. I hate this place,” Pauline added.

Their footsteps echoed as they walked off, fading into the night.

Annalise stayed where she was. She felt like she had lost everything, her heart felt empty and lost.

Just as she thought nothing could get worse, she looked up and saw it.

Orange flickers at the end of the bridge - continuing to get higher and larger as seconds passed by.

Her heart dropped and her eyes widened. “No… no no no…”

She turned, panic filling her chest. “The bridge—it’s burning!”

She bolted to the mansion and pounded on the doors. “Open up! Please! The bridge is on fire! We have to stop it before—”

Silence.

She slammed her fists harder. “Please! If it burns, I’ll be trapped! Please, open this door!”

Suddenly, the doors burst open.

She stumbled inside, her breath ragged.

“Please! Sir! The bridge—it's—”

She stopped.

Her eyes locked on the figure lying on the floor.

She ran to him, her heart full of shock and fear.

It was him.

The mansion owner.

This eyes were closed, his breathing slow.

Unmoving - just like how she found him a while ago.

He looked like he was asleep but it wasn't just an ordinary sleep.

It was as though he had fallen asleep for a long time - probably, dangerously, for an eternity.

. . .

Annalise’s heart skipped at the sight in front of her.

She dropped to her knees beside him, panic rising as she stared at his face and body.

His chest wasn’t moving.

“No, no, no. You’re not dead,” she whispered, her hand shaking as she touched his arm. “Hey. Come on. Get up. This isn’t funny.”

She gave him a small shake. Nothing.

Her throat tightened. First, the inheritance was snatched from her. Then the bridge went up in flames. And now this?

“This isn’t happening,” she muttered. “Why does everything keep going wrong?”

Her eyes stayed locked on his face, silently begging him to move, to breathe—anything. But he stayed still.

'Please, don’t be dead.'

Tears blurred her vision, but then—something fierce sparked inside her. She didn’t stop to think. She knelt closer and tilted his head back.

“Don’t you dare die on me.”

She began CPR. Breathe in, breathe out. Hands pressing down on his chest. Again. And again.

“Come on, breathe!” she cried out, forcing air into his lungs.

She didn’t notice the soft glow of the necklace around her neck.

A few more pumps.

She stopped, finally hearing it from his chest: a faint heartbeat.

Her hands froze. His chest began to rise and fall slowly.

She stared, stunned. “I… I did it?”

Her fingers brushed his cheek. Warm.

'He's alive.'

But she didn’t have time to process it. A loud groan echoed from outside. She jumped to her feet and ran toward the bridge.

Her breath caught.

The flames still raged, and the far end had collapsed - destroyed.

Her only way out… was gone.

. . .

A few moments later.

Annalise stood in the kitchen, digging through cupboards. Her stomach been growling for the past hours and she had yet to find something to quiet it down.

She glanced at the living room. He was still on the couch, out cold. It was the only place she could drag him to.

“Wake up soon,” she muttered, tossing a pot onto the counter.

She’d been here two days now. There was no way out and the one person who might help her was still unconscious.

She lit a fire with the wood she’d found and tossed in some chopped veggies from the garden. There was frozen meat in the shed—she made it work.

Soon, a warm soup was bubbling.

She poured herself a bowl and sat down, taking slow sips. Her whole body felt like it had been hit by a truck—emotionally, physically, everything.

A rustling sound made her pause.

She looked up.

The white ferret from before stood at the kitchen doorway, its nose twitching.

“You again?” she said with a tired glare. “Don’t tell me you want some too.”

The creature chirped, tail flicking.

She let out a sigh. “Alright. A little.”

She placed a small bowl on the floor. The ferret dashed to it like it hadn’t eaten in days.

As it munched happily, Annalise raised an eyebrow. “You better explain things to your master when he wakes up. He nearly bit my head off last time.”

The ferret froze mid-bite, like it understood.

Before she could say anything else, thunder cracked. A flash lit up the kitchen, followed by pouring rain.

She glanced at the window. “Well. Guess I’m stuck here longer.”

Once the meal was done, she wandered the mansion. Curiosity tugged at her heels.

She paused near a half-covered painting in the hall. Only part of the portrait was visible.

Just the lower half of the face… but she recognized it.

Those lips. She had felt them.

Her heartbeat kicked up.

It was him. The mansion owner she tried to revive through CPR.

Heart racing, Annalise continued to stare at his portrait until her gaze went down.

Beneath the image, old symbols and letters were carved into the frame, ones she wasn't familiar with.

And yet, for some strange reason, she could read the two words written on it.

Dante Lachlan.