?Chapter 1286:


    She could not even step into the garden.


    Whenever she neared the door or showed signs of wanting to leave, a bodyguard in a ck suit appeared with empty eyes and blocked her path. He “invited” her back to her room.


    The master bedroom windows were specially made. They opened only a little and figures patrolled the courtyard below, casting nces toward her window to confirm she was still inside and still breathing.


    Three times a day—morning, noon, and night—someone called her name from the doorway. If she refused to answer, they opened the door and swept their sharp gaze across the room before a servant entered to clean, as if they feared she might be hiding something.


    She felt like a bird with broken wings. She lived inside the cage William had shaped for her and freedom no longer felt possible.


    On the third day after William disappeared, a few new maids arrived at the vi. They cooked and cleaned for Ste, but Rita, whom Ste knew, did not appear. That was intentional on William’s part.


    The two neers were young and almost unnervingly silent. They worked like someone had wound them up and pressed start—meals ced in front of Ste without a nce, rooms cleaned without a word. Everything was routine, without any real concern for her.


    Having people nearby but feeling more alone than ever… it cut deeper than being isted.


    Being ignored hurt in a way she hadn’t expected. It made her feel like everyone was agreeing on one thing: she was something William owned, not a person anyone needed to consider.


    Each day piled onto the next, and the hopelessness in her chest kept rising, slow but steady like a tide that nned to swallow her whole.


    She barely touched the food they brought. Delicate dishes, soups that smelled warm, tes arranged with care—none of it mattered. Two or three bites, then her stomach cramped as if rejecting everything.


    g?lnσν???s?c?m, your destination for tales


    She lost weight quickly. The brightness in her eyes dimmed. Most afternoons, she curled up by the window, arms around her knees, staring outside without actually seeing anything. Time started to feel unreal, like she was drifting through days instead of living them.


    There was no news from Marc. Not even a whisper. Her phone was gone. Her contact with the world was gone. All she could do was count the days in her mind.


    Four so far. Still no sign of him.


    The thought flickered, quiet and poisonous: What if he really isn’ting?


    Ste shook her head instantly, almost violently.


    No. Impossible.


    Marc wouldn’t abandon her. He was still searching. He just hadn’t found her yet. That was all.


    She held onto that belief even though she had no proof.


    Maybe because it was the only thread she had left to cling to. Without it… she didn’t know how she was supposed to keep living.


    That afternoon, Tasha—the younger of the two maids—walked past the living room and froze. Ste was curled up on the sofa again, silently crying.


    Tasha hesitated. She ced the tray on the table and took a small step forward.


    .


    .


    .