Inaya's POV

It's been a few days since I last saw Dominic or anyone for that matter.

Cat drops by for a few minutes after work but she's been given so many cases because of my sudden disappearance. I feel so guilty for all of this, I asked her to secretly drop off some of the cases I was working on and I'll do it for her. She's totally down for the idea.

Angela dropped by once but said she's a big part of the party planning so she'll be busy up until the day.

Literally, I have no clue where either of the Belcastro brothers are. And I've learned to not ask what they've been up to.

I've been pretty much alone lately. I roam the house, get lost sometimes, try to keep myself from dying of boredom. I know there's a library in this house somewhere, there has to be one.

I've seen every movie, tv show, documentary with big houses and every single one has a hidden, giant library.

Though I don't venture off too much in case there's parts of the house that are... off limits, I try to take peaks everywhere. I even become curious if there are secret entrances and exits. Maybe if I click something, I'll discover something else.

Once I reach another room, which looks like a study, similar to a library but not quite. It gives off more of a office vibes, rather than a book room.

I sigh in disappointment and defeat, "Maybe he doesn't have a secret library."

I look around the room and trace my fingers on across the chocolate coloured, wooden desk. A large, dark chair tucked neatly under the desk. It looks like it belongs to a king.

Of course, Dominic only has the best.

A picture frame catches my eye. It's placed in the corner of the desk, facing the chair. Perfectly placed so one would be able to admire it when sitting at the desk.

I pick up the frame and it's a picture of a family... a normal looking family.

A tall man, handsome and young. His dark, well-kept hair matches his deep eyes. He's well-built; athletic. He resembles Dominic and Nicholas in different ways. He looks slightly worn out, however, there still seems to be some happiness in his eyes.

His arms are around the shoulders of a slender, petite woman. She, too, has dark hair but her eyes are a hazel. Her pale skin stands out against her silky, bouncy hair. Her eyes give off a more tired, weary look. As if she's exhausted and hasn't had a good night's sleep in a while.

But her smile is similar to the man's: there's happiness there somewhere but it looks like they're holding on by a thread.

In front of them, two young boys. I immediately recognize them. The taller boy with the big brown eyes, forcing a smile in the picture: definitely Dominic. The smaller boy in the arms of his father, with the fuller cheeks and the more hazel eyes resembling the woman: definitely Nicholas.

Of course these people are the boys' parents. Dominic looks more like his father: the sharp features, the dark eyes, the grumpy look. Nicholas, on the other hand, adapted to many of his mother's features: the softer eyes, fuller smile, the gentle expression.

This picture tells a narrative, not a clear one but if one looks closely, you can really see it. It looks like it was taken during a time where they were holding onto every bit of their joy by a thread that was already ripping, already broken. Even little Dominic in the picture looks like he knew something wasn't right, while little Nicholas looks like the carefree toddler that he should be.

I look closely at little Dominic... he looks like he's holding the weight of the world on his delicate, short shoulders. He looks like he knows something that's breaking him apart.

My heart aches for the small, helpless boy in the picture because whatever pain he was carrying, he's still carrying it till this day. I can see the same amount of distress and suffering in the way he carries himself today.

What happened to his parents? I know there was love between them... or at least at some point there was. Why isn't his father more involved in his life? What happened to his mother?

These are those forbidden questions, the ones no one would answer and I wouldn't know the answer to until Dominic himself tells me.

While I was lost in the photo, the door swings open. I spin around on the heels of my foot so fast that I almost lost balance and almost dropped the photo.

"Dominic, what are you doing here?" I ask like an idiot.

He raises a brow. "It seems that I have to remind you constantly that I live here, I own the house too."

His eyes trail down the the picture frame I'm holding and his expression changes.

This can't be good.

"Did I give you permission to roam around and snoop?" His voice is stern.

My hands start shaking, along with slight sweat forming in my palms. My heart is beating in my throat at this point.

"Dominic... I..." I don't know what to say. He hasn't started his rage but I know for sure he will.

"Put the frame down." He orders me.

"I didn't mean to—"

"I told you to put that fucking frame down." He raises his voice making me flinch.

I quickly put it down but I guess, with my wonderful luck, the picture didn't stand balanced on the desk. It tipped over and the frame shattered leaving dents in the actual photo.

I gasp loudly as this happens. If there was a possibility, I could've peed my pants.

I'm dead, I'm dead, I'm dead, is all my conscious kept repeating in my head.

Dominic stalks towards me, grabs my wrist so hard that I thought it would snap. I whimper from the pain that shots up my wrist.

"What the fuck did you do? Who the fuck told you to come in here without permission?" He's growling, the humane in his voice has disappeared.

"I-I'm s-s-sorry, Dominic. I... I'm..." I have no words.

I shouldn't have touched the photo. I should've just gone back to my room.

He slams my arm on the desk with the broken shards of glass. My hand stings as the broken pieces of glass gash, slice and scrape my skin at different angles. Blood gushes out from the multiple cuts. I let out a small scream from the unbearable stinging.

"Sorry? You're fucking sorry?" He shakes me violently using the harsh grip he has on my wrist. "You know what? This is my fucking fault. I've been giving my fucking prisoner too much freedom."

He drags me out of the room, with the tight grip on my injured hand. The blood is smearing over his hands but he doesn't care, his eyes are blinded by rage and he won't listen to me.

Once we reach my room, he throws my on the floor.

"Try exploring now, bitch." He shuts the door with a loud thud and I hear the bolt from the outside being locked.

I run to the door, hitting it while smearing it with red. "Dominic! Please! I didn't mean to, please don't do this to me!" I cry out. "Please come back, open the door!"

It's no use... it will never be of use...

"Please... I'm sorry..." I whisper as my back slides down the door and I hit the ground with a thud, sobbing.

I look at my hand, shards of glass stuck within it but I can't feel much of it because of the strong adrenaline still coursing through me.

I try to blink to clear up my vision from the tears but it only becomes worst. Slowly, I couldn't stay up, I was losing consciousness.

I try to drag myself to the washroom but half way, the pain finally starts to settle into my veins again. I begin to lose more and more of my responsiveness. Gradually, I couldn't fight my body anymore and I'm sure I knocked out from the immense pain, shock, horror of it all.

- - -

A/N: homeboi bipolar on another level, I-

Next Update: Friday, December 13, 2019.