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Novel Catalog
Chapter 8 Blood On The Bed
Martha’s voice echoed through the hallway. “Are you awake, Ceci? I’ve made your favorite ravioli. Come eat while the food’s still hot.”
The sound of Martha’s voice slowly pulled Cecilia from her sleep, her mind a fog of confusion. It wasn’t until those familiar words reached her that the fog began to clear, and memories of the previous day came rushing back.
After leaving Daltonia Villa, she’d gone to the hospital for a check-up and had planned to see Martha afterward. Cecilia touched her forehead, feeling a twinge of unease. When did my memory start failing me like this?
As she tried to sit up, her eyes caught something on the bedsheets—a large bloodstain on the floral fabric where she had slept. She instinctively reached for her right ear and found it sticky. Looking down, she saw her hand covered in blood, and her hearing aids stained crimson.
Panic flickered in her eyes. What happened? She quickly wiped her ears with a piece of paper, hurrying to strip the bloodied sheets from the bed.
Meanwhile, Martha noticed that Cecilia hadn’t come downstairs yet. Stepping outside, she found her washing the duvet cover on the balcony. “What’s wrong?” she asked with concern.
Cecilia forced a light laugh, trying to hide the anxiety in her voice. “My period came. I accidentally got it on the bed.”
Martha seemed to accept the explanation without question. After Cecilia washed up, the two of them sat down for breakfast. The moment was peaceful, but Cecilia couldn’t shake the nagging fear that this might be the last time she would hear Martha’s voice. Sometimes it sounded clear, other times faint—and she feared that, before long, she might lose the ability to hear it altogether.
Her heart ached at the thought of breaking Martha’s heart if the truth came out.
After spending most of the day with her, Cecilia quietly left some savings on the bedside table before saying her goodbyes.
At the station, Martha walked her to the platform, waving goodbye with a reluctant smile. She only turned back once Cecilia’s figure had disappeared from sight.
Martha couldn’t stop thinking about Cecilia’s frail form as she made her way home. Her concern grew with each step, and once inside, she immediately dialed the internal line at the Rainsworth Group. The CEO’s secretary answered, and when she learned Martha was seeking Nathaniel, she relayed the message.
It was the third day since Cecilia had left, and the first time Nathaniel had heard about her. He sat back in his office chair, a small, satisfied smile creeping across his face. Just as I predicted, he thought. Cecilia can’t last more than three days.
Martha’s weary voice came through the phone. “Mr. Rainsworth, I’ve been Cecilia’s nanny since she was a child,” she began, her tone pleading. “Please, show her mercy. Stop hurting her. She’s not as strong as she seems. Mrs. Smith never wanted her, and left her in my care. She was only taken back when she reached school age… In the Smith family, everyone treated her like a servant—except for Mr. Smith. As a child, she would often call me, crying, saying, ‘Martha, I don’t want to be Ms. Smith anymore. I want to come back and be your daughter…’”
Martha’s voice wavered with emotion. “You and Mr. Smith were the only people she cherished in Tudela. Please, be kind to her. She’s lived humbly her whole life.”
Nathaniel’s mood shifted instantly, his expression darkening. “What’s the matter? Did shaming me with money not satisfy her? Now she’s playing the victim?” His voice was frigid. “What does it matter to me how Cecilia lived?”
“She had it coming—everything she’s gotten,” he snapped before hanging up.
Martha, stunned by his coldness, realized the painful truth—Nathaniel wasn’t the man she had once believed him to be. He wasn’t good for Cecilia, not in the way she deserved.
As Cecilia drove back to the city center, her phone buzzed. She glanced at it—Nathaniel’s message appeared on the screen: Didn’t you mention wanting a divorce? Let’s meet at ten o’clock tomorrow morning.
She stared at the message for a long moment, thoughts swirling in her mind, before typing back a simple reply: Okay.
Just one word, but it caught Nathaniel’s attention immediately. Fine! Let’s see how long you can keep this act up, he thought, the spark of irritation fueling his decision to skip work for the day. He called someone out for drinks.
At the nightclub, Stella was already there. “Let’s drink till we drop tonight,” she declared, raising her glass with a mischievous smile.
Zachary, sitting beside Nathaniel, couldn’t resist asking, “So, how’s the little deaf girl today?”
Nathaniel’s expression darkened, and he arched a brow. “Don’t mention her again. Tomorrow, we’re getting divorced.”
Stella smiled and poured him a drink. “Well, then here’s to your new life,” she said, raising her glass. Others around them joined in.
The atmosphere at Elite Club was lively and carefree, but Zachary pulled Stella aside, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I can tell Nathaniel still has feelings for you. You’ve got to make him yours.”
Stella nodded with a soft smile. “Thank you, Zachary. Without your help, I might not have even met him.”
Her thoughts turned back to the past. Stella had met Nathaniel years ago when she had come to thank the Smith family for their financial support. She had run into Nathaniel during a visit, and soon after, they had grown closer. The connection had deepened when, four years ago, Nathaniel’s mother and Zachary had been involved in a car accident. Cecilia had stumbled across the scene and saved both of them. Stella had made sure to take credit for the life-saving act, which had earned her Zachary’s unwavering gratitude—and eventually, his affection.
This was something no one, not even Cecilia, knew. Everyone believed Nathaniel had chosen Stella out of love, and that Zachary’s affection for her was because of her charm. But the truth was far different. Zachary’s feelings were rooted in gratitude for her intervention in the accident.
“Why so formal with me?” Zachary asked, his tone filled with fondness. “Aren’t we friends?”
Stella pretended not to notice his affection, as the two of them exchanged their usual banter.
Later that night, Nathaniel had drunk heavily, and when Stella offered to take him home, he declined. “No need. It’s not convenient,” he muttered, his mind elsewhere.
Stella, frustrated by his response, pressed him. “You’re getting divorced tomorrow. What’s the inconvenience? Are you afraid Cecilia will find out about us?”
Nathaniel’s eyes darkened. “You’re overthinking it,” he replied coldly.
He arranged for Stella to be driven home and kept his phone close, hoping for a message from Cecilia.
When he finally returned to Daltonia Villa, it was pitch dark. He pushed the door open, expecting to find Cecilia waiting for him. But the house was empty.
Everything was as it had been when she left—the clothes he had carelessly left by the washing machine remained, still untouched. Frustrated, Nathaniel grabbed the pile of clothes and tossed them into the trash.
The alcohol weighed heavily on him, and he collapsed onto the couch. As he drifted off into a restless sleep, his mind was consumed with nightmares.
In his dream, Cecilia was covered in blood, smiling at him as she said, “Nathaniel, I don’t love you anymore.”
With a jolt, Nathaniel woke up to the first light of dawn. He rubbed his forehead in frustration, straightened himself up, and changed into a sharp suit. He kept an eye on the time, his mind focused on what lay ahead. Today, they would meet. Tomorrow, they would be divorced.
