Azalea

“Good morning, darling,” I heard the voice greet again.

I opened my eyes slowly, my heart already racing. There he was—Adriano, standing by the window, watching me with those cold, empty eyes.

“What are you doing here?” I whispered, pulling myself up in bed. My hands shook as I gripped the sheets. The morning sun felt warm on my face, but his presence made everything cold.

He laughed, but there was no warmth in it. “What am I doing here? This is my house, remember? You seem to forget that a lot.”

Of course. This wasn’t my home. This would never be my home. I was just a prisoner...