Chapter 5 Five

"What have you done to Dante Hendricks?"

It was the voice of Randolph Carwyn.

His cold eyes, full of threat, fixed on Abigail.

She looked at him, then at the unconscious man beside her. Finally, she let go and ran toward the back door.

That man was dangerous. Her instincts screamed it.

"Dante. Dante, damn it." Randolph called several times, getting no response.

Cursing under his breath, he lifted him and carried him out.

Before leaving, he stopped for a moment.

His gaze fell on the open back door and the blood-stained cotton on the floor.

His brow furrowed.

"What the hell was this guy doing here?" he murmured.

Unless...

He didn't finish the sentence. Clenching his teeth, he left in haste.

At the hospital.

Dante slowly opened his eyes. His eyelids felt as heavy as lead.

Around him, only the rhythmic sound of machines and a deep, familiar voice.

"Who was that woman?"

That phrase... he had heard it again and again over the past year.

He didn't even need to look to know Randolph was there.

Dante brought a hand to his temple; the movement made him wince in pain.

The hospital.

Had he lost consciousness?

How had Randolph found him?

Questions tangled in his confused mind.

"I don't know," he finally murmured weakly.

"You expect me to believe that," Randolph replied with a sarcastic smile.

"I've seen you with her twice. Twice, she's run away the moment I appear. And you tell me you don't know her."

"I don't know," Dante repeated with a sigh.

In truth, he only knew her name - Abigail.

He knew she worked at the Golden Beach bar.

Nothing more.

Randolph looked at him harshly, seeing the secret hidden in his eyes.

He grabbed him by the collar of his bloodstained shirt and lifted him slightly.

"Dante Hendricks. Tazanna is like this because of you, and it's still not enough for you.

A year ago, you hurt her because of another woman, and now... again.

Who the hell is that girl?

Are you going to tell me you've already forgotten her?" His voice vibrated between fury and contempt.

"In your life, you can only marry Tazanna Carwyn," he added, biting off each word.

Dante calmly pushed his hand away.

"Don't bother her. I've only seen her twice."

"Twice." Randolph let out a bitter laugh.

"Twice is enough for a man like you to lose his head.

That woman must be truly special."

He shoved him violently, making him fall back against the pillow.

"Tazanna wants to see you. If you don't want her to die, come with me to the Carwyn mansion," he said at last, regaining his coldness.

Silence hung heavy.

Dante closed his eyes, exhausted.

"Randolph... do you really think it makes sense to keep forcing this?"

"You owe her your life," the other growled.

"I hate her," Dante murmured with a bitter smile.

Every time he saw Tazanna, Dante fell into a pit of despair.

His feelings toward her had become tangled.

He knew that Tazanna Carwyn had been the cause of Orabelle's death a year ago.

And yet, after she lost her mind, he still visited her, carrying a guilt he couldn't explain.

He drank every night, glass after glass.

But that night, amid the music and smoke, he heard a voice.

A voice so familiar, so alive, he thought he was dreaming.

She... had she come back.

He ran toward the door, staggering, chasing the silhouette disappearing into the crowd.

"Orabelle," he shouted, his voice raw with anguish.

His cry echoed through the empty streets. Some passersby stopped to stare.

"It can't be. She's gone," he muttered, clutching his head.

The wound on his arm reopened, staining the white bandage red.

The contrast of colors under the dim light looked unreal.

"Dante Hendricks." A woman's voice, clear as a silver bell, sounded behind him.

Abigail, who had been crouched tying her shoelaces, froze when she saw him swaying in front of her.

He looked at her, stunned.

"Orabelle," he exclaimed and hugged her desperately.

His hoarse, trembling voice broke against her ear.

Abigail could barely breathe.

"Let me go. Dante Hendricks, let me go, you madman."

She tried to push him away, but his strength was crushing.

He held her tighter.

"No... I won't let you go. I won't lose you again. Orabelle, you're mine. I won't let anyone hurt you.

This whole year I've searched for you, missed you every single day."

His words, soaked in alcohol and despair, both irritated and confused her.

"I'm not Orabelle." Abigail shouted, struggling.

But for the first time, she felt a pang of pity.

That man, who seemed so proud, was broken inside.

Maybe... he just needed a hug.

She stayed still, letting him cry on her shoulder.

"You are Orabelle," he whispered. "I would recognize your voice anywhere."

Her voice.

So... was all of this just because her voice sounded like another woman's?

A sudden anger surged through her.

She felt used, deceived.

She stomped hard on his foot.

"Dante Hendricks, wake up."

He let out a cry of pain and looked at her, confused.

"Abigail?"

But before he could react, a bucket of cold water splashed over his head.