The CEO's Regret: His Lost Wife's Secret Twins novel Chapter 8

Chapter 8

ARIA

Cold.

:

That was my first thought when consciousness returned. Everything was cold.

My eyelids felt like lead. I forced them open. Darkness. Almost complete darkness except for a dim

emergency light somewhere above.

Where am I?

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I tried to sit up. My head spun violently. Nausea hit me in waves. I collapsed back down, gasping.

What happened? I remembered leaving the terrace after the confrontation with Blake. Walking through the

service corridor. Then… nothing. A blank space in my memory.

No. Not nothing. A smell. Sweet. Chemical. Heavy.

I was drugged.

Panic clawed at my chest. I forced myself to breathe slowly, taking stock. I was lying on cold stone. My dress was still on-that water-blue gown, now wrinkled and dirty. My clutch was gone. My phone.

They took my phone.

I pushed myself to sitting, fighting the dizziness. My muscles felt weak, uncoordinated. How long was I out?

Minutes? Hours?

The air felt wrong. Thick. Stale. Each breath seemed insufficient, like I wasn’t getting enough oxygen.

I blinked, trying to adjust to the dim light. Gradually, shapes emerged from the darkness. Walls. Stone walls.

Racks lining them. Bottles. Hundreds of bottles reflecting the emergency light.

Wine bottles.

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Chapter 8

A wine cellar. Understanding hit me cold and hard. Someone locked me in a wine cellar.

I scrambled to my feet, swaying. The room tilted. I grabbed the nearest wine rack for support, bottles

clinking.

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“Hello?” My voice came out hoarse, weak. “Is anyone there?”

Nothing. Just my words echoing off stone.

I stumbled toward where I thought the door should be. My legs didn’t want to cooperate. Whatever they’d

drugged me with was still in my system.

There. A heavy metal door. I threw myself against it, pushing. It didn’t budge.

“Help!” I pounded with my fists. “Let me out! Someone help me!”

The sound barely carried. These stone walls, this thick door-they swallowed everything.

I pressed my ear against the metal, listening. Nothing. No footsteps. No voices. Just silence.

How far underground am I?

The cellar was maybe fifteen by twenty feet. Wine racks lined every wall, floor to ceiling. The arched stone ceiling looked ancient. Solid. No windows. No vents that I could see. Just that one heavy door between me

and freedom.

One locked door.

I felt my way along the walls, searching for anything-a switch, a vent, a weak point. My hands trembled. From the drugs or fear, I wasn’t sure.

The air. I focused on it now. Definitely thinner than normal. This cellar was sealed tight to preserve the

wine. Climate controlled. Airtight.

Oh God.

My chest tightened. Not just panic. Physics. There was only so much oxygen in a sealed space this size. And I’d been breathing it since-

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Chapter 8

How long have I been down here?

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I had no way to know. Could’ve been unconscious for an hour. Could’ve been minutes. But every breath I

took used up the available oxygen.

I pressed both hands to my stomach. Still flat. But our baby grew there. Blake’s baby. Completely dependent

on my oxygen. My survival.

“HELP!” I screamed, throwing myself at the door again. “PLEASE! SOMEONE HELP ME!”

My voice bounced back, mocking. No one could hear me down here. No one was coming.

I slid down to the floor, my back against the door. My breathing was already faster, shallower. My body

trying to compensate for the thinning air.

Think. Think! I forced myself past the panic. There has to be a way out.

The bottles. Hundreds of them. Glass. Breakable.

If I couldn’t break through the door, maybe I could make enough noise for someone to hear. This was a

hotel. Staff came down here eventually. Someone would-

Eventually might be too late.

I grabbed the nearest bottle-some French label I didn’t recognize. Heavy. Solid glass.

“Please work,” I whispered. “Please.”

I swung it at the door with everything I had. The bottle exploded on impact. Glass shattered. Wine sprayed everywhere, dark red like blood. The sound echoed, but not loud enough. Not through that door.

My hand stung. I looked down. A deep gash across my palm, blood mixing with wine. I couldn’t feel it yet.

Adrenaline.

I grabbed another bottle. Swung again. Smash. More glass. More blood. My hands were slippery now, red and

wet.

“HELP!” I screamed between impacts. “SOMEONE HELP ME!”

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Chapter 8

:

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Bottle after bottle. The floor became a lake of wine and glass. My hands shredded themselves on the shards.

Blood ran down my arms. But I couldn’t stop. Wouldn’t stop.

For the baby. Keep going for the baby.

The air was definitely thinner now. My lungs worked harder. Each breath felt insufficient.

My hands shook. Not just from exertion. Blood loss. I’d cut myself badly. Probably needed stitches. Multiple

stitches.

The wine racks. They were tall. Heavy. If I could topple them-

I grabbed the nearest rack and pulled. It didn’t budge. Bolted to the wall for earthquakes probably. Damn

California building codes.

I tried the freestanding ones in the center. Pushed with my shoulder. The rack groaned, tilted, then crashed

down. The sound was massive-bottles exploding, wood splintering, glass everywhere.

“HELP! I’M DOWN HERE!”

I shoved another rack. It fell into the next one, creating a domino effect. Three racks crashed down in

sequence. The noise was deafening even to me.

Someone has to hear that. They have to.

But what if they didn’t? What if the stone walls swallowed the sound? What if-

My vision blurred. The air felt thick, wrong. I was breathing faster, gasping, but getting less oxygen. My

body screamed for air that wasn’t there.

I sank to my knees in the wine and glass. My dress was ruined, soaked in burgundy. My hands looked like they’d been through a meat grinder. Blood everywhere. So much blood.

I’m going to die here. The thought came clear and cold. My baby’s going to die with me.

No. Not happening.

I crawled to the door on hands and knees. Glass cut through my skin. I didn’t care. I pounded on the metal

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with what strength I had left.

“Blake,” I whispered. His name slipped out unbidden. “Blake, please. I know you don’t love me. I know you

never will. But please… find me. Please.”

Stupid. He wasn’t coming. He was with Emma. He was always with Emma.

My arms gave out. I collapsed against the door, hands leaving bloody smears on the metal. The emergency

light seemed dimmer now. Or maybe that was my vision failing.

I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry. Mommy tried. I tried so hard.

The darkness crept in at the edges. My breathing was shallow, rapid. The air tasted stale and wrong. I

thought of Blake finding out tomorrow. Would he care? Would he feel anything besides inconvenience?

He’d probably be relieved. One less problem. No messy divorce.

That shouldn’t hurt as much as it did. But it did. God, it did.

My eyes drifted closed. So tired. Everything hurt. Maybe if I just rested for a minute-

No. No sleeping. Sleep meant death.

I forced my eyes open. Focused on my hands. The blood. The pain. Anything to stay conscious.

“Someone,” I breathed. “Please. Anyone.”

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The CEO’s Regret: His Lost Wife’s Secret Twins