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Chapter_32
Quinn’s heart was heavy as she stared at the screen, her fingers hovering over the keyboard, yet unable to type. Abigail’s words were kind, sincere even, and they only amplified the isolation Quinn felt in that moment. The weight of the lost paintings, the loss of a friendship that meant so much to her, lingered in her mind like a ghost. She wanted to tell Abigail the truth, but how could she? How could she explain that everything she had once cherished had been taken away, reduced to ashes in front of her eyes?
She could almost hear Abigail’s disappointment in her mind—the world isn’t solely about Alexander. Quinn’s chest tightened at the thought. It wasn’t just that her paintings were gone, it was everything. Her sense of self, her identity, the small bit of freedom she had clung to—all slipping further away with every passing day.
The words on the screen blurred as her tears welled up again. She wanted to cry, to scream, to make it all stop, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t even find the strength to explain herself. Maybe people like me don’t deserve friends after all, she thought bitterly.
The silence in the villa was deafening. She could hear the distant hum of Alexander’s presence in the study, but it was more a feeling than anything tangible. He was there, but not truly with her. His affections, no matter how carefully placed, didn’t fill the emptiness inside her. He was all she had, and yet he was the one who made her feel invisible.
Quinn shut her eyes, trying to block out the rising tide of emotions threatening to overwhelm her. The quiet hum of her phone buzzed in her hand again. Another message from Abigail.
Don’t forget to take care of yourself, Quinn. You deserve more than just pain. You deserve to live, to laugh, to breathe.
Her fingers trembled as she read the words, each one like a gentle hand pulling her from the darkness, but still, she couldn’t respond. How could she explain how trapped she felt, how suffocated her world had become? How could she tell Abigail that her heart ached with a loneliness so deep it seemed endless?
The quiet moments stretched on. The sadness within her grew, but so did something else—a quiet, tentative strength, perhaps. She wasn’t sure yet, but the feeling lingered like the soft flutter of a bird’s wings.
Perhaps one day, she could break free. But for now, all she could do was hold on, however weak that grip might be.
The tears that had built up in her eyes finally spilled over, dripping silently onto her phone, blurring the words on the screen even further. She wiped her face with the back of her hand, feeling defeated yet somehow more resolute. Maybe tomorrow would be different. Maybe tomorrow, she would find the courage to speak, to reach out, to find a way to survive.
But tonight, she was just Quinn—alone in her room, with nothing but the aching silence and the haunting memory of the things she had lost.
