Chapter 68 Fetch Me Some Trousers.
Ariana’s POV
+8 Pearls
With a sour look, Stefan snapped, “Fetch me some trousers!” Though we weren’t alone, he clearly valued his privacy.
I playfully stuck out my tongue and scampered off to his room, plucking a set of pajamas from his drawer. The whole situation tickled me pink, and I couldn’t help but chuckle all the way back
Handing over the clothes. Stefan dressed hurriedly, his face a mask of annoyance, before storming out and slamming the doot.
Outside, the swallows were diligently feeding their young. I lingered at the window, watching them with a light heart, then drifted downstairs to grab some breakfast.
Ever since Angela took over the kitchen, our meals had been nothing short of splendid. After stepping on the scale and noticing a two–pound gain, I playfully groaned, “Angela, I’ve put on weight! If I end up single, you’re to blame.”
Angela’s laughter pealed through the air. “Oh, Miss Sutton, don’t fret. You’re stunning. A few extra pounds won’t turn admirers away.
As Stefan descended, Angela’s laughter died down, and she retreated to the kitchen.
He looked as irritable as ever. No sooner had he sat down than he grumbled about the swallows. “The nest needs to be
removed this afternoon.
His remark made me purse my lips. “They’ll leave soon enough on their own. Why the rush? The chicks are still featherless They won’t survive if you dismantle their home now.”
His response was frosty. “If you can stand the stench, be my guest. I can’t bear it.”
I sighed, resigning. The windows stay shut mostly; the smell isn’t an issue. Just leave them be.”
With that, Stefan left for work, and I found myself adrift in the house, as idle as a cloud, save for counting ants in the courtyard. This languid routine gnawed at me. How long does Stefan intend to keep me here?
During my aimless meandering. I ventured down to the basement, where the gym and wine cellar resided. I remembered a stubborn door in a secluded comer from a previous cleaning–it hadn’t budged then.
Curiosity got the better of me, and this time, the door creaked open, probably stiff from years of disuse.
I stepped into a pitch–black corridor, groping in the dark. “If this space is workable,” I mused, “it’d make a fine studio.
Then, a sudden noise startled me–the capricious door swung shut, whether by draft or by design. Plunged into darkness, I couldn’t even see my own hands. My phone, my lifeline, lay forgotten elsewhere.
Panic set in as I jostled the door repeatedly, to no avail.
Trapped in this ink–black void, claustrophobia crept over me. I fumbled along the wall for a light switch, hoping for some relief. Success was mine, but the bull was dead
Desperation took hold as I pounded on the door, my hands battered and bruised. The silence was deafening–my pleas seemed smothered by thick walls.
Alone, my initial wonder dissolved into dread. I slumped against the door, praying for a rescue.
As hours trickled by, thirst and hunger gnawed at me. The stifling heat hinted at heatstroke. Dizziness and despair mingled. pulling me toward unconsciousness.
In this dark, forgotten corner of the house, I faced a grim reality–I might not make it out alive. I never imagined my end would come this way.
