She’s pregnant.
“How…?” The word barely escapes my lips, my mind spinning with possibilities. “Annabel, what is this? What’s happening?”
She turns to me, her smile softening into something almost tender. “You always said you’d follow me anywhere, didn’t you, Calum? Even into the dark.”
“This isn’t real,” I stammer, my chest tightening. “It can’t be. You’re—you’re gone. You drowned.”
Her laughter is light, almost musical, but it chills me to my core. “Is that what you believe? That I simply slipped away, swallowed by the sea?” She steps closer, her hand reaching out to brush against my cheek. Her touch is cold, like frostbite, and I flinch.
“Annabel,” I whisper, my voice breaking. “I tried to save you. I?—”
“You tried to own me,” she interrupts, her voice suddenly harsh. “You and Jonathan, both of you, pulling at me like I was some prize to be won. Do you know what it’s like, Calum? To love and not be free?”
“I loved you,” I insist, the words tumbling out in desperation. “I still love you.”
She shakes her head, her eyes filled with an aching sadness. “You loved the idea of me. The version you painted over and over, perfect and obedient, untouched by the flaws you couldn’t bear to see.”
Her words hit like a blow, and I stagger back, my knees nearly buckling. The wind picks up, whipping around us, carrying the sound of the lullaby on its icy breath.
“You never saw me,” she continues, her voice rising. “Not really. You saw what you wanted to see, what you needed to see. But now…” She gestures to her swollen belly, her fingers curling protectively around it. “Now you’ll see the truth.”
The ground beneath me shifts, the cliffs trembling as though alive. The roar of the ocean grows deafening, and I feel myself being pulled toward the edge. Annabel watches me, her expression unreadable, as I fight to keep my footing.
“Annabel, please,” I beg, tears streaming down my face. “Tell me what you want. Tell me how to make this right.”
Her gaze softens for a moment, and she reaches out, her fingers brushing against mine. “Finish it,” she whispers, hervoice barely audible over the chaos. “Finish the painting. Finish the story.”
Before I can respond, the ground gives way beneath me, and I’m falling, the world dissolving into darkness. The last thing I see is her face, her eyes burning with an intensity that sears into my soul.
I wake sprawled on the floor in front of the mirror. My head throbs, and my body aches as though I’ve been battered by the storm. The lullaby is gone, replaced by an oppressive silence that feels heavier than any sound.
I sit up, my hands trembling as I push myself to my feet. The mirror is intact, its surface cracked but no longer glowing. My reflection stares back, gaunt and hollow, but the symbol is gone. For now.
The paintings are exactly as I left them, but they feel different somehow, as though they’re watching me. I approach the most recent one, the one of Annabel with the locket, and my heart sinks.
Her belly is swollen now, just as it was in the vision. The locket gleams brighter, its shape more distinct, and the symbol is etched into its surface, sharp and unyielding.
“Finish it,” her voice echoes in my mind, a command I can’t ignore.
I grab my brush, my hands steady despite the chaos in my mind. The paint flows easily, the image coming together with a clarity that feels otherworldly. Her face, her eyes, her unborn child—it all takes shape before me, each stroke a piece of the puzzle I can’t yet solve.
When I step back, the painting is complete, and the weight on my chest lifts slightly. But the questions remain, pressing and unrelenting. What will it cost me to uncover the truth?
Chapter Forty
Calum
The path to Jonathan’s cottage is uneven, the sand slipping beneath my boots as I trudge along the coastline. The air outside feels like it’s been wrung out of a wet cloth—heavy and suffocating. The moon is cloaked in clouds, offering little light, and the only sound is the relentless crash of waves against the rocks below. My fists clench with every step, my jaw tight, teeth grinding together.
Jonathan.
The name twists in my mind like a knife. He’s always been there, lurking at the edges of my life with Annabel. A shadow I could never quite shake, a rival I didn’t ask for but was forced to contend with. And now, he has answers I need—answers about her.
The windows of his cottage glow faintly as I approach, the warm light taunting me. Inside, Jonathan is likely sipping his whiskey, indulging in whatever twisted memories he holds of her. I don’t knock when I reach the door. I shove it open, the old hinges groaning in protest.
Jonathan is seated in a leather armchair near the fireplace, aglass of amber liquid balanced precariously on the armrest. He doesn’t flinch as I storm in, his eyes lifting lazily to meet mine.
“Calum,” he says, his voice smooth, maddeningly calm. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
