EVE: The Apple Of Their Eyes | ✔

Chapter 6

Meanwhile, Dean, having returned home, lies sprawled on the floor of his penthouse, succumbing to the numbing embrace of alcohol.

In the weeks that have elapsed since he learned of Kaitlyn's tragic fate, Dean, a man of considerable influence, spared no effort in scouring the city in search of her. However, his pursuit yielded only a disheartening discovery – a city surveillance video capturing Kaitlyn limping towards the sea, ultimately disappearing beneath its depths.

With authorities closing the case and deeming it a suicide, the absence of a recovered body added another layer of torment to Dean's anguish, leaving him ensnared in a labyrinth of unanswered questions and unresolved grief.

Dean, disheveled and inebriated, was interrupted by a knock on his door. Abby, his secretary, cautiously entered, concerned about her boss's state.

"Where's Trina? I asked for her, not you."

Dean, disheveled and clearly inebriated, glared at Abby, his secretary, demanding an explanation.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Castellan. I've been trying to get in touch with her, but she's not picking up. I'm just stepping in to help until we find her."

Abby, looking nervous, tried to explain the situation, hoping to appease her irate boss.

"What do you mean, you don't know where she is? It's your job to know!"

Dean, frustration evident in his tone, scolded Abby for not having control over the whereabouts of his personal assistant.

"I get it, sir. I've been doing my best to locate her, but no luck so far. I just want to assist in the meantime."

Abby, maintaining her composure, expressed her efforts to locate Trina while emphasizing her intention to provide temporary help.

"Assist? You think you can fill Trina's shoes? She knows how I operate. You're just a secretary."

Dean, dismissive and irritated, questioned Abby's capability to step into Trina's role, emphasizing the difference in their positions.

"I know I'm not Trina, sir. I'm not trying to replace her. Just trying to help out until we figure out where she is."

Abby, humbly acknowledging her role, clarified that she wasn't attempting to take Trina's place but rather offering support in a challenging situation.

"Wonderful help you're providing. Can't count on anyone in this place."

Dean, expressing his dissatisfaction, lamented the lack of reliability from those around him.

"I'm genuinely sorry, Mr. Castellan. If there's something specific you need, I'll do my best to assist you."

Abby, maintaining her professionalism, apologized sincerely and offered her assistance in addressing Dean's needs.

Dean, abruptly rising from the floor, settles onto the couch and poses an unexpected question.

"Do you believe Kaitlyn is dead?"

Abby, caught off guard and fearing a potential outburst, carefully considers her response.

"Sir, I..." She hesitates, choosing her words cautiously, "... Her body was not found. There could be a possibility that she is still alive, or..." She trails off, avoiding a sensitive word that lingers unspoken.

Dean, visibly distressed, leans back on the couch, his eyes reflecting a mix of frustration and longing.

"Or what, Abby? Spit it out," he demands, his impatience evident.

Abby takes a deep breath, attempting to navigate the delicate situation. "There's also the possibility that she chose to disappear, sir. People sometimes do that."

Dean's expression darkens, and he shoots back, "Disappear? She had everything with me—why would she do that?"

Abby treads carefully, "People have their reasons, sir. Sometimes it's personal struggles, the need for a fresh start, or..." She trails off, letting the unspoken possibilities linger in the air.

Dean, grasping with the truth, closes his eyes as if mourning a profound loss. He refuses to shoulder the blame, and his eyes snap open with a fierce determination.

Still inebriated, he snatches his car keys, propelled by a desperate need to find answers. Ignoring the blurred lines between sorrow and intoxication, he stumbles out of the building, leaving a perplexed Abby behind.

Dean accelerates his fastest car, heading towards one of his residences located far from the bustling city. The engine roars as he races against the night, the road winding beneath the tires as if mirroring the twists of his turbulent thoughts.

Arriving at his secluded private house, Dean swiftly gains entry using his fingerprint. Anger emanates from him as he stomps down to the basement, securing the door behind him. With a flicker, the basement lights reveal a grim sight—Jane, battered and bruised, tied to a chair with a gag muffling any attempts to make noise.

Jane slowly opens her eyes as she senses someone entering. Her eye is still swollen and bruised, and her lip has a cut, bleeding slightly.

"You. You have a lot to answer for," he says, untying Jane from the chair and forcefully dragging her by her arm to the nearest table.

"You're the reason I lost Kaitlyn. And what was your excuse? You wanted me to take you back, to love you again? Is that it?" He questions, grabbing Jane and causing her pain, bringing tears to her eyes.

Suddenly, he lifts her dress and pushes her face down onto the table, bending her over. He unbuckles his belt and uses it to tie Jane's hands.

He suddenly forces himself on her making her tiptoe in pain. She groans and starts to cry, but she couldn't say a word such that her mouth was muffled by a gag.

He kept thrusting as his fingernails dug on the skin of her hips.

She was ravished out of love, unlike how he used to have her, when they were still lovers.

But Jane accepted it all. After all, she accepted that she was guilty of murdering Kaitlyn that night of the incident.

Her legs started to tremble, after all she has started to feel weak from all the punishment, she had received from her ex lover.

But she remained enduring accepting all the inflicted pain. As if a sinner accepting the final sentence of her life.

Dean didn't want to hear her say sorry. All he wanted was for her to pray the price. And yes, her pain for it dearly.

As if a broken doll, Jane falls flat on the table tears wetting the wood as Dean kept going on.

She started to bleed but she didn't bother move or he'll hurt her even more.

All Jane could think about was the guilt of doing something such as killing someone and that she's willing to pay the price.

For once, she yearned for the ability to rewind time, her vacant gaze fixated on the wall, devoid of emotion, as she endured the degrading treatment.

She whimpered, tears streaming down her face. Closing her eyes, she wished for a swift end, occasionally contemplating a life where she had never been born.

--

A/N: Hey lovelies, just a bit of info. To anyone who I missed to follow, just send me a message so I could  click that button, thank youuuu!