Chapter 554

Darkness swallowed Annabelle's consciousness. When she opened her eyes again, the pungent smell of mold assaulted her senses.

The rough wooden bed beneath her dug into her skin. The coarse sheets chafed against her body. She bolted upright, nails digging into her palms. "Where is this? Did you kidnap me?"

A dim yellow bulb flickered to life with a click.

Only then did Annabelle see the cramped room—its single window barred with iron rods. Beyond it stretched an endless void of darkness.

Emily Zade entered, her heels clicking coldly against the floorboards.

"Awake?" She stood by the door, eyeing Annabelle like inventory awaiting disposal.

Annabelle lunged forward. "Let me out! My parents will call the police when they realize I'm missing!"

Her frantic gaze swept the room—peeling walls, mold-speckled ceiling, even the door lock was an antiquated bolt.

Emily chuckled. "The police? Do you know where you are?"

Annabelle froze. Outside the window, unfamiliar languages mingled with children's cries.

"An overseas orphanage funded annually by Mr. Hamilton." Emily adjusted her cuffs with deliberate calm. "Quite fitting for you."

Annabelle's nails screeched against the wooden door. "You're insane! I'm a Taylor heiress!"

"Were." Emily turned away. "Now you're just another caretaker here."

The door gaped open, mocking her helplessness.

Annabelle sprinted out. At the corridor's end, dark-skinned children stared at her with vacant curiosity. Their stained clothes clung to malnourished frames.

This bore no resemblance to any orphanage she'd known.

"Take me home!" She grabbed a passing nun. "I'll pay any price for a plane ticket!"

The nun regarded her with pity. "Child, this is your home now."

Night fell. Annabelle finally spotted an escape route—only to collapse in terror at the sight beyond the gates. Primeval forests loomed like monstrous jaws around the decaying compound. Distant animal howls pierced the air.

She staggered back inside, where the matron intercepted her outside an office.

"Starting tomorrow, you'll tend to disabled children on the third floor." The matron extended a set of burlap work clothes.

Annabelle hurled them to the ground. "Do you have any idea who I am?"

The matron retrieved the garments calmly. "A soul in need of redemption."

Moonlight through the barred window painted Annabelle's ashen face. At last, she understood—no one was coming to save her.