Chapter 1
The Homestead had seen better days. Once a charming cottage from a bygone era, it now languished in disrepair, nestled only a couple of blocks away from the gleaming Gwen Towers but surrounded by a labyrinth of run-down buildings. The only perk to living there was the low rent. Unfortunately, the house was starting to show its age, with drafts sneaking through the cracks in the walls. Autumn had slipped away, leaving winter’s chill to creep in, and the Homestead had no heating to speak of. Isabel Fairchild spent the afternoon painstakingly sealing the old windows and wooden doors, trying to keep the cold at bay. With her hands finally free of dust, she picked up a basket of fruits—gifts from home—and knocked on her neighbor’s door directly across the hall. The Homestead was an old building without an elevator, with two units per floor, and there was a distinct smell of garbage wafting from the kitchen nearby. Isabel knocked again, her heart racing as she waited. After a moment, the security door opened just a crack, revealing a wary woman peering through the metal mesh. “Hi there! I'm Isabel, your new neighbor,” she said with a friendly smile, bending slightly to appear more approachable. “New neighbor, huh?” The woman grinned, her voice sharp as a knife. As she opened the door wider, Isabel took in the sight of a woman in her forties, sporting a wild mane of curly hair. “I brought these from my hometown,” Isabel offered, extending the basket. “Please try them; they’re really fresh!” “Oh, you’re too kind. Thank you!” The woman held the door frame with one hand while accepting the fruits with the other. “Is it just the two of you in this big old place?” “Yes, my boyfriend and I. He’s out at work right now. By the way, how do you usually handle the electric bill around here?” “It’s all mobile payments nowadays. It’s super convenient! Didn’t your landlord mention it when you signed the lease?” Isabel fiddled with the hem of her oversized sweatshirt, feeling slightly embarrassed. “Actually, we’re renting. The agent didn’t inform me about it.” “Oh, I see…” The woman took a closer look at Isabel, observing her casual attire that included baggy pants and fuzzy slippers, her posture awkwardly shielding her belly. “Speaking of which, I just bought a ton of crabs from the farmer's market yesterday; too much for us to finish. You’re welcome to take some!” she exclaimed, turning to head into her apartment. “Oh, I—uh, I can’t eat crabs,” Isabel stammered, her tone more urgent than intended. “I just found out I’m pregnant and the doctor advised against it.” The woman’s eyes widened in surprise. “You’re pregnant?” Forcing a small smile, Isabel felt a pang of discomfort as she heard her boyfriend’s voice echoing from inside, “Honey, the pot’s boiling over!” “I have to run,” the woman said briskly, “I need to check on dinner.” “Of course! Nice to meet you!” Isabel replied, stepping back as the door closed with a heavy thud. Once inside, Isabel laid her hand on the cool doorknob, surprised by her tangled thoughts as muffled voices erupted from the other side. “Who was that?” a man asked, his voice a mix of curiosity and judgment. “Just the new neighbor. Can you believe it? A young girl, unmarried and already pregnant, living with her boyfriend. What is the world coming to? I hope our daughter doesn’t turn out like that.” Isabel’s fingers clenched around the door handle, and she felt the familiar sting of her past, the faded scars on her palm reminding her of her struggles. After a moment of silent tension, she looked down, drawing a deep breath before finally shutting the door quietly. Drifting in and out of sleep later, she could sense a weight pressing down on her, prompting her to instinctively guard her belly. A featherlight kiss brushed across her cheek, rousing her. She opened her eyes to see Thomas, his gentle brown gaze softened by amusement, narrowing like a cat’s—his smile easy and warm, washing over her like honey. “Did you fall asleep before dinner?” he teased, clearly pleased with himself.
Chapter 2
She said nothing as she opened her arms and embraced him, burying her face into the warmth of his neck. “Baby, I’m all sweaty,” he chuckled softly. “I can smell it,” she mumbled with a hint of complaint that made her sound endearing. Reginald Brightman wrapped his arms around her fragile back, pulling her upright and gently patting down the skin that felt all too bony as if comforting a child. “What happened?” “I wanted to say...” “When did you want to tell me? You can always tell me. I’m right here.” His voice dropped to a seductive whisper that resonated with a magnetic calmness, the kind of safe assurance that grounded her. After a tender moment, he stood up to prepare breakfast. Just as Isabel Fairchild was about to get out of bed, her leg brushed against the edge of the mattress, and a jolt of pain shot through the scabbed wound. She sucked in a sharp breath, and the man by the door immediately turned back to her. “What’s wrong?” “My leg…” Reginald Brightman knelt before her, pulling up the loose fabric of her pants to reveal her thin leg, marked with deep bruises and patches of purple, clustered all over. The source of her pain was a raw scrape that had reopened, blood seeping through the bandage. He rummaged through a nearby drawer to find the first-aid kit, fumbling with it as he opened it, his fingers trembling slightly. It wasn’t until blood started pooling on the bed that he managed to grab the gauze, pressing it gently against the wound. “Does it hurt?” he asked softly. “A little,” she replied. There were too many injuries on her leg to know where to begin; the bruises spread like a tapestry across her skin, which once might have been as soft and pristine as porcelain. “Did all of this happen in The Gloomy Vault?” Isabel Fairchild nodded slightly, sensing his guilt bubbling just beneath the surface. She pressed down on the gauze and teased his jaw, “I’m hungry, Reginald Brightman.” He looked down, his voice low, “Alright, I’ll make breakfast.” As he stood, Isabel Fairchild discreetly wiped her eyes. She knew better than to let herself cry freely in front of him; even the slight touch of his hand carried the calluses of exhaustion. He had once moved in the realm of the privileged, an heir to a fortune, before abandoning all that for their precarious life. The next morning, Reginald Brightman rose early. When Isabel finally opened her eyes, she saw him in a sleek black sweater, layered under a fitted navy-blue cashmere coat. He was incredibly well-proportioned, practically a walking mannequin, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves like he belonged on the cover of a magazine. When he noticed she was awake, he flashed a smile, his dimples deepening charmingly. Bending down, he placed a soft kiss on her forehead. “It’s still early; go back to sleep. I’m heading out to buy some groceries.” So, the affluent young man had risen before dawn just to navigate the local market, scouring for the day’s freshest and most affordable produce. Isabel Fairchild clung to him for a moment before reluctantly letting him leave; sleep tugged at her and drained her strength. Reginald took her hand and pressed a gentle kiss to her fingers, making sure she was comfortably tucked in. Breakfast consisted of porridge and steamed vegetables, along with a light fish dish. With her pregnancy, there wasn’t much for her to eat; she struggled to find anything that wasn’t too fishy or too cooling for her system. Reginald took special care to prepare the fish, ensuring it lacked any undesirable odors and seasoning it lightly. Each meal he made was meticulous, showcasing his unwavering attention. “If there’s anything you want to eat, just tell me, and I’ll grab it when I get back tonight.” “It’s alright; didn’t you already buy a lot this morning?” He always believed that there could be more: “You should indulge a little more, so just let me know what you want.”
Chapter 3
Isabel Fairchild knew Reginald Brightman was worried about her finances. With a smile, she assured him, “I promise, I’ll tell you if there's anything I really want to eat.” “There should still be some fish left in the pot. You can pack some in a lunchbox and take it to work,” he replied. Reginald tousled her hair affectionately. “I love fish, but those are all for you.” After breakfast, she intended to wash the dishes, but he stopped her, insisting instead that she soak her feet in a bucket of warm water he prepared. As Isabel watched him tidy the kitchen, he popped a couple of pills from the cabinet before changing out of his fancy Barnaby Bright attire into a bright yellow work uniform emblazoned with his company’s name. He topped it off with a black overcoat. Even like this, his long legs and confident stance made him look like a professional model. After he dried her feet, Reginald remindfully instructed, “You have to call me if anything comes up. With you on leave these days, stay inside and don’t go out too much.” “Okay!” Seeing him about to leave, Isabel pouted and leaned in for a kiss. He held a towel in one hand, bending down to lightly brush his lips against hers, their movements infused with a seductive warmth. Once he left, Isabel picked up her phone to deal with paying the electricity bill when a call from school came through. “Ms. Fairchild, how many more days of leave do you have?” It was Professor Caleb Wainwright, stressing over their current understaffed situation. “I’ll be back to school the day after tomorrow, please hang in there just one more day,” she replied. “Alright then, make sure to inform your students about the scholarship funds in your inbox,” he said. “Sure thing. Thanks for your hard work.” Just as she was about to hang up, she heard laughter from the office, “Professor Wainwright, are you craving chestnuts or something?” Chestnuts… After ending the call, Isabel licked her lips, recalling the sweet, sticky taste. Her pregnancy cravings were certainly unpredictable, swinging with moods like the weather. “Reginald!” A young man jogged over, two buckets of ramen in hand, grinning as he presented them. “Here you go. Just made them.” “Thanks,” Reginald said, receiving the ramen and placing it on a low stool beside him. Edmund Stark sat down next to him, wiping sweat from his neck with a towel. As he opened the ramen cups, he began to complain. “Can you believe it? We’re just here to pick up a load, and Alden Duvall hasn’t even started unloading. He’s obviously using us as free labor!” “Maybe the factory is just overloaded and he’s busy,” Reginald shrugged, stirring the noodles with his fork. “Who knows!” Edmund grumbled, picking up some noodles and slurping them noisily. “We need to make sure we shadow him until this load is off. Reginald, whatever you do, don’t get soft-hearted. He thinks we’re just free help.” “Why should we help unload for nothing? I’ve been burned before with this sort of thing,” Reginald said, exhaling heat from his mouth as he took a few bites, feeling the scalding noodles nearly burn his tongue. Shaking his head in resignation, Reginald was just about to take another bite when his phone buzzed in his pocket. Holding the ramen in one hand, he pulled out his phone and saw a message from Isabel: “I want to eat chestnuts.” His face lit up with a wide smile as he quickly typed back a simple “Sure!” “Reginald, you’ve got a girlfriend!” Edmund teased, raising an eyebrow and grinning.
Chapter 4
“Hey, Reginald,” Edmund Stark chuckled, “With such a stunning wife, you really hit the jackpot. You and Isabel are a perfect match.” Reginald Brightman was about to respond when he noticed his phone’s lock screen—an image of her on their balcony in the afternoon sun. She wore his oversized shirt, reclining comfortably in a chair, the golden rays illuminating her radiant face and gently tousling her hair. Edmund, poking at a cup of instant noodles, sighed exaggeratedly. “Look at you, so happy. You must still be in the honeymoon phase. You’ve got the looks and the physique—why not just model instead of working here unloading cargo? You look too delicate for this.” “I could never handle the hassle of modeling—too much paperwork, you know? This pays quicker.” “Reginald, you used to—” “Let’s just eat, Edmund. We’ve got to unload something later. I need to get home early; Isabel mentioned she wants to make some chestnuts, and I don’t want her to miss the vendors.” Reginald furrowed his brow, sighing softly as he picked at his food. “Okay, okay, but next time I want to taste your wife's cooking.” “She can cook, but maybe you should try some of my dishes sometime,” Reginald replied, a smile crossing his face. After finishing their deliveries, the clock struck seven. Reginald hurried to Market Square, on the lookout for a vendor selling chestnuts. The place was bustling with activity that evening, and he found himself at the back of a long line. A little girl, maybe eight or nine, scampered over to him, her eyes wide with urgency. “Excuse me, can I cut in line? I want to buy some for my brother to eat at home.” Reginald glanced ahead; there were still two people in front of him. He smiled gently and stepped aside, letting her go in front, then joined the end of the line again. By the time he got his chestnuts, it was half-past seven. He clutched the plastic bag tightly as he hurried back home, but as he turned a corner, his shoulder was jostled by someone rushing by, engrossed in a phone call. “Watch where you’re going!” came the irritated voice behind him. Reginald opened his mouth to reply, but a sudden sharp pain struck his head, causing him to lose his balance. The bag slipped from his hands, hitting the pavement as he staggered sideways. “Ugh… ah!” he groaned, a wave of discomfort washing over him as he cradled his forehead with both hands. His vision blurred as he stumbled forward, ready to explode from the throbbing pain. Pulsing veins manifested on his forehead and neck, signaling his growing frustration. “Sir! Sir!” a distant voice called, echoing as if he were in a cave. “Sir!” The voice grew louder and clearer, and he turned to see the little girl again, holding out the spilled chestnuts. “You dropped your chestnuts!” Reginald winced, pressing at the temple with a blank stare fixed on the girl. “Sir?” “Go away,” he snapped, swatting at her arm. The chestnuts from the fallen bag rolled out, scattering across the ground. “Ah!” she cried, falling to the pavement as he strode off quickly, moving away from the crowded market, a heavy darkness shadowing his eyes. His expression was taut, fists clenched tightly at his sides, with a fierce determination burning in his gaze.
Chapter 5
Isabel Fairchild was sitting at her desk, phone in hand, sending out scholarship information while responding to her students' inquiries. She jotted down the names of students applying for the grants. Just as she was thinking about getting some water, there was a loud banging on the iron door. She remembered that Reginald Brightman had left with the keys. Isabel’s heart raced as she carefully opened her bedroom door just a crack to see the front door. She could hear the impatient sound of keys jiggling in the lock, and then he appeared in her line of sight, still wearing his work clothes. But before she could even muster a smile, she saw his dark eyes narrowing at her like daggers as he walked toward her, leaving the door wide open behind him. "Stay back! Calm down!" she cried, clutching her stomach as she heard his furious voice cut through the air like a knife. “Who let you out of The Gloomy Vault?” he demanded. "Please... it was you who let me out. I'm pregnant. You let me out!" she stammered, fear coursing through her. “Pregnant?” His gaze fell to her midsection, a cruel laugh escaping his lips. “Who’s to say that child is mine? It could just as easily be that bastard’s. I won’t tolerate another man’s seed in you.” “Then just kill it,” he muttered, speaking to himself yet dripping with certainty. “No. No…” The threat loomed like a dark cloud as he advanced, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. Isabel’s face blanched, and she dropped to her knees, grasping at his pant leg, trembling. She desperately wished for the Reginald she once knew to return. “It's really your child! I wouldn't lie to you, Reginald, I swear... You can believe me. I swear on my life, I swear!” Her chaotic hair framed a haggard face, and she raised her hand in a plea. “What’s your word worth?” He yanked her hair, pulling her head back, his laughter cold and dismissive. "How many lies have spilled from your lips? You've been tainted by another man, and now you have the audacity to swear?" Isabel stared at him in disbelief, her voice caught in her throat. Before she could protest, a resounding slap echoed through the room. Smack. The force of it knocked her onto the floor, her head hitting the edge of the desk. She knew well just how terrifying he could be when he snapped. Dazed yet instinct-driven, she crawled toward the safety beneath her desk, knowing it was futile. “Where do you think you’re going?” he growled, stepping onto one of her feet, lifting her other leg harshly. It felt like he was trying to crush her right leg. Isabel screamed, her fingers clawing at the concrete floor, painting the gray surface with streaks of white from her fingernails. She sobbed and begged him again and again, desperation slicing through her voice. “Don’t do this! I’m telling the truth! I didn’t cheat on you—I swear I didn’t!” “Reginald Brightman, help! Reginald Brightman!” she cried out, hoping against hope. “Shut up! Do you think I’m blind? I see everything clearly, through my own eyes. I’ve seen it all.”
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