Chapter 328
Chapter 328:
Without hesitation, Fernanda silenced her phone and turned off the screen. Chatting was the last thing she had energy for.
After a restless night, the warmth of her bed felt like a siren’s call. Sleep claimed her quickly, and for once, she surrendered, leaving everything else behind.
Her dreams were a maze of chaos, a tangle of memories and feelings that made her already fevered head spin.
She dreamed of herself as a small child, overhearing whispers about her being sold off. The words struck like a thunderclap, driving her to flee into the rain until she stumbled into Hiram, who became her sanctuary.
She dreamt of fishing by a stream behind the village, her tiny hands struggling with a slippery fish meant for Hiram’s dinner. That day, she saved a boy who had sought the river’s depths to escape his despair.
She dreamt of the eerie villa with its mysterious garden, of Mr. Bernard’s patient teachings and his warm praise, calling her the cleverest soul he had ever known.
The boy in her dreams haunted her most. His cold, detached eyes peered from beneath long bangs. Their encounters were infrequent, but his presence lingered like a specter in her mind.
She dreamt of the boy again—a figure who had grown taller and more imposing over the years, carrying that same quiet, brooding intensity that sent shivers down her spine. His bangs now cascaded to his chin, obscuring most of his face, yet…
Through the veil of hair, his piercing, emotionless eyes fixed on her like a predator sizing up its next meal.
Then, without warning, the boy’s lips parted, revealing a set of sharp teeth. He lunged at her, aiming for her neck with the swiftness of a beast on the hunt.
“Fernanda, wake up!” Sloane’s frantic voice cut through the haze, accompanied by urgent shaking. “Fernanda, what’s wrong?”
Fernanda’s body burned with fever, her skin slick with cold sweat. Her brow was tightly furrowed, as though she were locked in an invisible battle. After what felt like an eternity of Sloane’s persistence, Fernanda’s eyes fluttered open.
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Sloane let out a breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding. “You’re awake! You have no idea how much you scared me.”
Fernanda stared at the ceiling, her mind momentarily blank, as if trying to piece together reality. The familiar beige paint, the ornate crystal chandelier with its lampshade, and the lack of any oppressive atmosphere told her she was in her dorm room.
The nightmare dissolved like mist under the sun.
Her gaze shifted to Sloane, whose face was a portrait of worry.
Fernanda struggled to sit up, every motion weighed down by exhaustion. Her head throbbed, and her voice came out hoarse, devoid of its usual warmth. “What are you doing here?”
“My brother asked me to check on you,” Sloane explained, her tone a mix of concern and apology. “He said you were out in the cold too long last night, and he thought you might not feel well. Bodies react differently—you might not show symptoms as fast as Bobby did. I asked Wendy about you, and when she said she wasn’t in the dorm, she gave me your door code. I figured I should come in and check.”
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