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Novel Catalog
Chapter_67
The atmosphere in the room had become oppressive, thick with tension and a sense of dread that seemed to hang in the air like a storm cloud. Kaitlyn and Freya, both frustrated and annoyed, struggled to calm the wailing child in Kaitlyn’s arms.
“What’s going on? Why the sudden fussiness?” Freya muttered, trying to rock the baby with little success. The baby’s cries echoed through the room, intensifying the unease that already loomed over the household.
Kaitlyn, her patience fraying, grumbled under her breath, “It must be terrified by the sight of that dummy. Nothing good ever happens when she makes an appearance!” Her words were laced with venom, a testament to the deep-seated animosity she held for Quinn.
Meanwhile, Quinn was hurriedly ushered down a narrow hallway, her movements restrained by the strong grip of the servants guiding her. She barely had time to process what was happening before she was thrust into a small, clinical room, one that had once been Freya’s but now stood cold and unwelcoming. The room smelled of antiseptic, a harsh reminder of the situation she found herself in.
As Quinn was strapped to an unforgiving operating table, her mind raced, her thoughts chaotic. The sterile surroundings only made her feel more trapped, more like an animal in a cage. She looked around frantically, her breath quickening as the reality of her situation sank in. A masked doctor approached her, holding a syringe with a gleaming needle that seemed to mock her fear. The sight of the needle under the stark light made her stomach churn, and her body instinctively tensed in resistance.
“Please, no,” Quinn whispered, her voice barely audible. Her heart pounded in her chest as she struggled against the restraints, her body thrashing in desperation.
The doctor’s voice, cold and clinical, cut through her panic. “If the needle breaks, you’ll be the one to suffer the consequences,” he warned. But Quinn was beyond reason now. Her body screamed for escape, her mind too overwhelmed with terror to process the doctor’s words.
In a frantic, desperate motion, she tried to break free, her strength no match for the firm hold of the servants. Her veins stood out on her forehead, her mouth gaping open as she gasped for air, but no sound came out. Her body trembled uncontrollably as the doctor prepared to insert the needle.
Quinn’s eyes locked with the doctor’s, a silent plea for mercy, for someone to understand her pain. But the doctor’s expression remained unreadable, his brow furrowing slightly as he fought to maintain his professional composure. He was not the one who could save her.
“Doctor, proceed,” Evelyn Reed urged, her voice impersonal, as if this was all just a routine. “Mrs. Kennedy is waiting.”
Avoiding Quinn’s gaze, the doctor lifted her clothing and inserted the needle into her spine. The pain that shot through Quinn’s body was unlike anything she had ever experienced. It wasn’t just physical—this was the kind of agony that pierced the soul. The icy sensation spread through her, dulling her senses, stealing her consciousness. It was as if the needle had pierced her heart, not just her spine.
A numbness overtook her, both physical and emotional, as the anesthesia slowly worked its way through her veins. She no longer had the strength to resist. The battle within her faded as her body succumbed to the numbing cold of the drug.
With a soft, defeated sigh, Quinn’s grip on the bedrail slackened, her hand falling limply to her side. Her eyes, unfocused and hollow, stared at the ceiling above her, tears streaming down her face, dampening her hair. Her lips moved, but no words escaped. She was lost, adrift in the darkness of her mind, where only one thought lingered: Alexander… where are you?
In the quiet of the room, the doctor watched her, noticing the silent plea on her lips. It was clear to him now—she had been calling for Alexander. Her only hope, her only chance of salvation, was him. But he never came.
Out in the yard, Quinn’s phone lay discarded, its screen cracked, rain splattering over it. The faintest ringtone played, nearly drowned out by the sound of raindrops pattering against the earth. The caller ID flashed briefly, showing Alexander’s name. The phone’s feeble sound was a stark contrast to the chaos inside the house, but it quickly fell silent again, its connection to Quinn’s fate severed just as abruptly as her hope.
Back inside, the baby had finally quieted, and Kaitlyn let out a relieved sigh, though the tension still lingered in the room. She glanced back at the door, an uneasy feeling settling in her chest.
Freya, sensing her mother’s concern, turned to her with a curious look. “Mom, are you worried about Alexander returning?”
Kaitlyn exhaled heavily, her face shadowed with something darker than mere annoyance. “I can’t explain it, but I can’t shake this uneasy feeling.” She paused, clearly distracted by her own thoughts.
Freya, ever pragmatic, wrapped her arm around Kaitlyn’s, offering a comforting smile. “Don’t fret. He’s too busy celebrating Getty’s birthday to worry about that dummy.”
The mention of Getty’s name caused Kaitlyn to grimace. Her disdain for Getty was just as deep as her hatred for Quinn. “That rascal, he never gives me a moment’s peace,” she muttered, frustration in her voice.
Freya, unfazed, shrugged. “What can you do if he’s smitten? At least Getty’s somewhat better than that dummy.”
Kaitlyn’s frown deepened. “It feels like he’s deliberately defying me. The old man’s been gone for years now, and I told him to divorce that dummy and marry someone more suitable, but he refused. Not only does he refuse to divorce, but he also has an indecent woman on the side! It’s like he’s trying to provoke me on purpose.”
Freya listened patiently, though her thoughts were far from her mother’s complaints. “Alexander should have children by now,” she remarked, more to herself than to her mother. “He always claims he doesn’t like them, but whenever he visits Peanut, he brings a whole heap of gifts.”
Kaitlyn paused, a flicker of melancholy crossing her features. She sighed, her mind elsewhere, but Freya’s question brought her back to the present.
“Mom?” Freya prodded gently.
Kaitlyn snapped back into the conversation, offering a distracted reply. “He’s just being polite to you.” But the weight of her words, the hint of something more, hung in the air, unanswered.
