"Then let's get you home, señorita," he said, his voice steady now, because she needed someone who wouldn't waver.
Hannah stared at Benjamin in silence, her eyes revealing a fragile trust, as if clinging to the only anchor she had left. After a moment that felt suspended in time, she reached out her hands with trembling fingers and placed her hand in his.
There was something profoundly reassuring in his grip—solid, unwavering—a promise that he would carry her burdens if only she'd allow it. Hannah no longer knows if it's her trust in her chauffeur or just her mind giving up, but she just wants to rest right now.
Gently, Benjamin helped her rise from her seat, steadying her as her knees wobbled beneath her like a newborn fawn. She leaned into his quiet strength, drawing from it as they made their way to the car.
He moved quickly, opening the door for her with the swift efficiency of someone who had done it countless times, but this time with a layer of urgency laced into every motion. Once she slid silently into the back seat, he rushed around to the front and started the engine.
The drive back to the mansion was cloaked in silence. Hannah sat perfectly still, her gaze distant, lost in some dark corridor of her mind. Her silence wasn't unusual—Hannah had always been a quiet soul—but tonight, it was different.
He could feel it.
Every so often, Benjamin glanced at her through the rearview mirror, his brow furrowing deeper each time. She was pale. Hollow. As if something had been ripped out from within her and all of her strength and energy had been sucked dry.
Benjamin had been at her side for as long as he could remember, a silent guardian since she was a child. He had watched her laugh, cry, and grow—but never had he seen her like this. It was as though the light within her had dimmed.
The sight of her in such distress was unbearable, each glance a blade to his heart, and yet, he was powerless to do anything about it. All he could do was drive and hope that Arthur, who raised Hannah like his own granddaughter, would be able to reach her and take her out of her daze.
At last, the car rolled to a halt in front of the mansion's grand staircase. But Hannah didn't move. She sat frozen, her eyes unfocused, lips slightly parted in an expression of numb detachment. Benjamin watched her, his worry mounting.
"We've arrived, señorita," he said softly, his voice cutting through the fog clouding her thoughts.
Startled, Hannah blinked and came back to herself. She stepped out of the car without a word, her movements slow, almost mechanical. Each step she took up the staircase was heavy, like she carried an invisible weight on her shoulders.
As she crossed the threshold of the mansion, her eyes met the familiar, deeply concerned gaze of Arthur. The old butler stood just inside the doorway, his posture rigid, but his expression tender. Behind him, a line of household staff stood in quiet anticipation, their faces marked with worry, yet they maintained their positions.
"Welcome back, Señorita Hannah," Arthur said with careful formality, though his voice quivered with emotion. The relief in his eyes was palpable.
His composure faltered the moment he saw the exhaustion painted across her features. Without hesitation, he stepped closer, speaking with a gentleness that came from years of unwavering loyalty.
"Are you alright, señorita?" he asked, though his heart already knew the answer. Still, he held his tongue, resisting the urge to bombard her with questions she might not be ready to answer.
Earlier that evening, Arthur had nearly called the police when he discovered Hannah had left in a taxi and had failed to answer his calls. Panic had clawed at him—what if something had happened?
The only thing that held him back was the sliver of hope that she had simply gone out without notice, like she usually did. But the worry had never left his chest.
Seeing the anguish etched into his face, Hannah managed a faint, weary smile—a small flicker of gratitude amidst her pain.
"Thank you, Arthur," she said softly. Her voice was barely audible, frail but sincere. "I'm sorry I worried you. Something… unexpected happened."
Arthur's expression shifted, the stern lines of concern softening into compassion. He stepped forward with a reassuring hand, placing it gently on her shoulder.
"There's no need to apologize, señorita," he said, his tone warm and resolute. "Your well-being is what matters most. Please… allow us to care for you now," he said.
Hannah hesitated, the storm of emotions swirling behind her eyes. Part of her wanted to collapse into the comfort offered to her, knowing that Arthur's warm arms awaited if she were to need a hug, but another part resisted, still consumed by whatever darkness had followed her home.
She's not ready yet. She couldn't talk about it yet.
Forcing a soft, brittle smile, she turned to the butler, who had been with her since she was young, caring for her and treating her like a family member instead of a lady to serve. Her voice was calm, carefully measured, but a sharp ear could catch the fracture running beneath the surface.
"Thank you, Arthur," she said, and though her words were polite, they were heavy with emotion. "I… I think I need some time to myself. Just for a little while. But… thank you, truly," she added.
Arthur's gaze softened even further, his eyes filled with quiet understanding. He had served her for years, and in her faltering voice, he heard what she didn't say aloud. He nodded, the lines on his face deepening with the silent weight of helplessness.
"Of course, señorita. Take all the time you need. And should you need anything at all, I will be nearby. We all will."
Hannah gave him one last smile, but now with nothing more to say, Hannah turned and ascended the stairs, her steps steady in appearance but hollow in spirit. Every motion was rehearsed, an echo of normalcy, not wanting to make the old butler worry even more.
She felt the weight of his gaze on her back, heavy and worried, and that alone was enough to keep her upright a little longer, but the moment she reached her room and quietly shut the door behind her, her strength dissolved.
The facade that she had been keeping up collapsed the instant she locked the door.
Her breath caught in her throat. Her vision blurred. And with no one left to see her fall, she let herself sink.
Her legs gave way beneath her, and she slid down the polished tile of the door, landing with a soft, defeated thud.
With her back against the door, Hannah pulled her knees tightly to her chest, curling in on herself like a child seeking protection. A wave of vulnerability surged through her with terrifying intensity.
Her body trembled—not from the cold, but instead, from the unraveling of restraint. Her breath came in shallow gasps, her body quivering from exhaustion, both physically and emotionally.
She didn't even have enough strength to move or drag herself to the bed. The events of the day had stolen every ounce of her composure, leaving her raw and stripped of the armor she wore so carefully.
She didn't cry right away, though. Instead, for a long, aching moment, she just sat there, her chest rising and falling in silent desperation, her heart pounding in her ears like thunder in a distant storm.
She felt out of breath. The silence in the room was deafening, a vacuum in which every suppressed thought came rushing back to her in full force, and it was in the safety of that silence, far from the concerned gazes and polite reassurances, that Hannah allowed herself to feel.
The tears came without warning—hot, unrelenting, and silent. One after another, they streamed down her cheeks as she buried her face into her knees, muffling the sounds of her grief.
They rolled down her cheeks in slow, deliberate trails, like melting wax, each one born of a different emotion—fear, anger, sorrow, and confusion.
Her shoulders trembled with each sob, but she forced herself to remain quiet, as if afraid the walls themselves might hear her breaking. She didn't want anyone to hear. Not the maids, not the guards, not even Arthur. Especially not Arthur.
Because of how hard she was trying to stop herself from making noise, Hannah's breaths came out in small, gasping whimpers as she held herself tighter, as if afraid she might disappear entirely if she let go.
The cold floor offered no comfort, but she preferred it. It was real. Tangible. Something to feel when her heart felt too numb to even beat properly from fear.
Everyone in the Salvador mansion was relieved that Hannah was finally home. Unbeknownst to them, their eldest young miss is right now currently fighting a battle on her own.
In the privacy of that quiet, dim room, Hannah finally let the mask fall. And behind it, she was just a girl, lost, frightened, and aching for a kind of peace that felt impossibly far away.
***🦋***
Author's Note
What would you have done in Hannah's place?
Would you have asked for help or chosen silence like she did? Would you have had the strength to keep walking, pretending everything was fine while the weight of the world pressed down on your shoulders?
These are the questions that linger—and they're only the beginning.
Hannah's journey is far from over. In fact, the darkest corners of her story have yet to be revealed. The question is, are you ready to walk beside her through the uncertainty, the heartbreak, and the revelations that await?
If your heart's already racing, just wait. The next chapters dive deeper into the storm that's been building, and trust me—you won't want to miss a single moment.
So, keep turning the pages, dear reader. There's so much more to uncover.
And I promise… it's going to be one unforgettable ride.
Happy reading, darling. Hold on tight.