Filed to story: Seventeen Heartbreaks: When Love Has No Voice
“It’s a bit late to worry about that now,” he said. If someone walked in now, there would be no way for him to hide.
Leila caught on and dropped her concern. She stopped resisting and gently pushed against him.
“Even so, we need to be careful.”
Landon took her hand, his fingers tracing circles on her wrist, and whispered teasingly, “Someone told me you and your husband are on the rocks, heading for divorce. How come I didn’t get the memo?” Leila’s body went rigid. How did Landon find out so fast? She cleared her throat and said carefully, “I wasn’t lying. We were getting a divorce. To be precise, we are officially divorced. It’s just that nobody knows we’ve finalized it yet.”
Landon got off her and then gathered her close, reluctant to let her go. He sighed softly.
“So, you’re looking forward to being rid of me, is that it?”
Leila snuggled into his embrace.
“I wasn’t wrong,” she murmured.
“And besides, I had no other choice. Telling them we were estranged was the only way.”
It was her only option. Otherwise, given the depth of Gracelyn’s hatred toward Landon, Leila might have found herself in danger.
Landon’s heart ached for her. He stopped teasing her.
“It’s my fault. I should have seen the danger. I’ve put you through hell,” he admitted.
Leila, who had thought he was only joking, was surprised by his sudden apology. She placed a finger on his lips, feigning annoyance.
“I don’t need your apologies right now. We’ll have plenty of time for that once we’re out of this mess, won’t we?” she whispered.
Landon was speechless, his eyes darkening as he looked at her. He leaned down and kissed her again, a brief, tender kiss.
Seeing that she was getting drowsy, he stayed by her side until she drifted off.
As he watched her sleep, his eyes were filled with a mixture of tenderness and compassion. Now that he knew Leila wasn’t really paralyzed, he could change his plans. He needed to get her out of this place, this nightmare, as soon as possible.
Even after just one day, Landon could feel something was off about this place. It was creepy.
Leila eventually drifted into a deep slumber in his arms.
Landon decided it was time for him to depart. As he rose from the bed, he heard a sound at the door.
It seemed someone was attempting to open the door, but finding it locked, they then tried a key.
Listening intently, Landon could discern voices.
“Dr. Watson, you can’t force yourself in,” one voice whispered.
“While everyone knows about your relationship with Leila, it’s too late. If you’re caught, I’ll be blamed for lax security.”
Calvert retorted, irritated, “Just open the damn door. Why all the fuss? If we’re caught, I’d like to see who dares point a finger at you. Don’t worry. I’ll take the fall. You won’t be blamed.”
The other person hesitated.
“Mrs. White won’t blame me, but Florrie… Florrie is still your wife, at least officially. She already asked me if you frequently visit Miss Nixon. If she finds out I let you in at this hour, she won’t let me off the hook.”
The mention of Florrie’s name further enraged Calvert. He had intended to proceed cautiously, but Florrie clearly had spoken to Gracelyn. Now, Gracelyn was planning to send him away under the guise of treating a distant relative.
While Calvert knew Gracelyn was trying to placate Florrie and that his exile wouldn’t be permanent, he was nonetheless furious. He had consumed some wine and, in a drunken state, intended to seek comfort from Leila.
After Calvert’s relentless badgering, the servant manning the door finally relented and granted him entry.
Landon, though clueless about the identity of the visitor or the nature of his supposed connection to Leila, was unwavering in his belief in her character. Plus, the man had chosen to slink in under the cover of darkness, when everyone else was slumbering. Leila was deep in sleep. If this man barged in unannounced, she’d be caught off guard. The man was utterly contemptible.
Landon’s eyes blazed with icy fury.
Just then, the door creaked open. Light from the hallway spilled into the darkened room.
Calvert crept inside, his gaze immediately falling upon Leila, peacefully asleep on the bed.
Emboldened by alcohol, Calvert cast aside all inhibitions. A lecherous smirk stretched across his face as he tiptoed toward Leila’s bed, whispering, “Leila, I’ll be gone for some time. I know you’ll be pining for me. But don’t worry. I’m here now, just to give you a little surprise.”
Lost in her dreams, Leila remained oblivious to Calvert’s presence and his sinister intentions. She merely stirred slightly, a frown creasing her brow as if sensing something amiss, her slumber becoming fitful.
Calvert had already lifted the quilt covering Leila.
Suddenly, he heard a sound, as if someone else was present in the room.
“Who’s there?” Calvert’s head snapped up, his eyes darting around the room, searching for the source of the noise.
The room appeared empty, devoid of any hiding places.
Abruptly, Calvert felt a hand emerge from beneath the bed, clamping tightly around his leg.
Terror seized Calvert, his scream nearly escaping his lips, but he managed to clamp his hand over his mouth just in time. Was someone playing a prank on him?
As Calvert bent down to peer under the bed, a fist connected with his face, landing a solid blow.
Stunned and disoriented, Calvert crashed to the floor with a thud.
Then, a black cloth descended from above, enveloping his head.
Calvert’s world went dark, and a barrage of punches assaulted him.
Calvert was pummeled mercilessly, writhing on the floor in agony. Even his cries for help went unanswered, lost in the silence.
Earlier, to ensure the servant at the door wouldn’t interfere, Calvert had sent her away on a pretext.
Only after a dozen or so brutal blows, when the pain became unbearable, did the assault cease..
“Who the hell is it!” Calvert, furious, ripped the black cloth from his face, only to find himself alone in the room.
The room was still dark, save for the faint light illuminating Leila, who was fast asleep in her bed. She appeared to be completely oblivious to the commotion.
A chill ran down Calvert’s spine, raising goosebumps all over his body.
He trembled uncontrollably, whispering, “No shit! A ghost?”
Then, it hit him. The black cloth was identical to the ones Gracelyn used to drape over the portraits of her deceased grandson.
Gracelyn missed her grandson terribly, and his portraits hung throughout the house, most of them shrouded in black cloth, a tradition of some sort.
The memory of what had just transpired sent a wave of terror through Calvert. It was inexplicable. He knew Leila hadn’t done it. After all, she’d been sound asleep when something grabbed his ankle. It had to be a ghost.
Paralyzed by fear, Calvert’s lustful intentions vanished. He stumbled to his feet, clinging to the wall for support as he fled the room.
Once outside, the thought of raising the alarm crossed Calvert’s mind, but he quickly clamped a hand over his mouth. No, he couldn’t. If the truth came out, everyone would know he’d been sneaking into Leila’s room in the dead of night. Gracelyn might turn a blind eye, but she’d certainly suspect something was going on between him and Leila. And then there was the spiritual advisor he’d bribed to whisper that suggestion in Gracelyn’s ear. If that came out, he was done for. Worse, it would enrage Florrie, and who knew what she was capable of when she was mad?
After weighing his options, Calvert decided to bury his fear. Reluctantly, he turned back to assess the damage.
But as he turned, the portrait of the deceased Gracelyn’s grandson, hanging on the wall, nearly sent him running again.
Calvert fell to his knees before the portrait, sobbing, “Mr. White, please, forgive me! It was my fault. I shouldn’t have lusted after Leila.” The portrait showed Gracelyn’s grandson smiling faintly, as always, but now it seemed to radiate an unsettling aura.
After a few more pleas for forgiveness, Calvert scrambled to his feet and fled.
Landon waited until the footsteps faded away and then opened the door. He watched Calvert scurry off, his eyes narrowed in anger.