Once, my paranoid love

“Paul, please,” Anne pleaded, her voice filled with anguish. “You’re going to kill him!”

Yet Paul continued his assault, his eyes devoid of reason or compassion. The room seemed to close in, the air heavy with the weight of this nightmarish moment.

Paul’s relentless assault on Robert continued, each blow landing with sickening force. As he struck, he muttered words that sent a chill down Anne’s spine, revealing the depth of his anger and determination.

“You know how much I love Elena, and you shouldn’t have threatened me in the first place,” Paul muttered between blows, his voice laced with venom. His eyes, once filled with warmth, were now cold and unforgiving. “I’ll bang her anytime I feel like it.”

The room seemed to grow darker as Paul’s disturbing words hung in the air. Robert, battered and bloodied, groaned in pain beneath Paul’s onslaught, unable to defend himself against the relentless assault. It was a horrifying spectacle of brutality, one that transcended the boundaries of reason and sanity.

“Whoever tries to stand in our way, I will murder them,” Paul yelled, his voice filled with a chilling intensity that reverberated through the room. His threat hung in the air like a malevolent specter, a stark reminder of the darkness that had consumed him.

Anne’s heart pounded with a mixture of fear and disbelief.

Desperation welled up within her as she once again tried to intervene, her voice trembling with terror. “Paul, please! Stop this madness!” she shouted.

But Paul’s assault showed no sign of abating. He seemed beyond reason, driven by a destructive force that had overtaken his very being.

“Paul, shut the hell up,” Anne commanded, her eyes filled with a mother’s love but also with a steely determination to stop the violence that had consumed her son. She pushed him aside.

Paul, panting heavily from the exertion of the assault, blinked in surprise as his mother pushed him. His gaze fell upon a bloodstain on his palm, a stark reminder of the brutality that had just unfolded. It was as if he had become a different person, a savage and volatile beast.

“Call the ambulance!” Anne’s shout broke the silence, her maternal instincts kicking in despite the horror that had transpired. She loved her son, and in that moment, she knew what needed to be done.

But Paul’s response sent a shiver down Anne’s spine, a stark contrast to the son she once knew. “Let him die,” he murmured calmly, his deadly look and eerie composure sending a chill through the room.

Suddenly, Paul threw the belt across the room in a fit of rage, the belt sailing through the air before crashing against the wall. Anne’s heart pounded with fear for what her son had become and for the darkness that had swallowed him whole.

“Paul!” Anne shouted, her voice shaking with a mixture of anger and desperation, as she moved to confront him. Anne slapped Paul suddenly.

“Mom!” Paul yelled violently, his temper flaring out of control. He grabbed her by the jaw, his fingers digging into her skin as he lost all sense of reason and restraint.

As the chaos in the room continued to spiral out of control, Paul pushed his mother aside with a violent shove and stormed out of the room, leaving behind a trail of destruction and despair.

“I don’t give a damn about you and your husband,” Paul spat as he made his exit, his voice filled with a bitterness that cut to the core.

Anne, still reeling from the shock of her son’s actions, yelled after him in a mixture of anger and desperation. “Crazy bastard!” Her voice echoed through the empty room, a stark reminder of the horrifying scene that had just unfolded.

But Anne’s attention quickly shifted back to her injured husband, Robert, who lay on the floor, battered and unconscious. Panic gripped her as she rushed to his side, her hands trembling as she tried to assess the extent of his injuries.

“Please open your eyes, Robert,” Anne pleaded, her voice trembling with fear and sorrow as she gently shook her husband, desperately trying to rouse him from his unconscious state.

When Robert showed no sign of regaining consciousness, Anne’s heart pounded with a growing sense of dread. She knew she had to act quickly to get him the help he needed. With trembling hands, she fumbled for her phone and dialed the emergency number as fast as she could.

**

Elena’s POV.

After a relaxing bath, I emerged from the bathroom feeling refreshed but not particularly hungry. The maid, always attentive to my needs, greeted me as I stepped into the bedroom.

“What do you want to eat, ma’am?” She inquired, her voice gentle and warm.

I paused for a moment, considering her question. The truth was, I wasn’t feeling particularly hungry at that moment. “It’s alright. I’m not feeling up to eating,” I replied with a small smile as I settled onto the edge of the bed.

As I relaxed on the bed, my thoughts wandered to another topic. I had something on my mind that I wanted to share with the maid. “By the way,” I began, “She is Pom. She may be able to help you.”

The maid, whose name I had come to know as Pom, looked at me with curiosity. “You know everything about ma’am,” she said with a kind smile, referring to herself in the third person. “I will help you.”

Pom’s willingness to assist was evident in her demeanor, and I was grateful for her dedication. She had become a trusted presence in my life, someone I could rely on for both her assistance and her comforting presence.

With a nod of appreciation, I watched as Pom and the other girl, the one she had mentioned, walked out of the room together.

I let out a heavy sigh as I flopped down onto the comfortable expanse of the bed. Marriage had brought about significant changes in my life, not the least of which was the presence of a husband, a man I had married without truly knowing the depths of his past and his family ties.

‘Dad, what are you up to? Do you miss me, or are you engrossed with your work?’ I started thinking about my father.

‘And what about Paul? Are you looking for me?’ Suddenly, I felt a sharp pain inside my heart while thinking of Paul, ‘Or are you with Nikita?’

I closed my eyes slowly, attempting to find solace in the quiet of the room. But sleep eluded me, and my mind continued to race with thoughts and uncertainties that weighed on my heart.

With a resigned sigh, I eventually decided to get out of bed and leave the room. The mansion I now called home was far larger than the one I had grown up in, a sprawling labyrinth of halls and rooms that echoed with opulence.

As I walked through the dimly lit corridor, my steps seemed to reverberate in the silence. The mansion felt like a world of its own, a world I was still trying to understand and make my own. There were only a few maids who lived here; their presence was discreet and efficient, tending to the needs of this vast household.

It was clear that my husband was a man of considerable wealth and privilege, a fact that was impossible to ignore in the grandeur of the mansion and the quality of life it afforded. But beneath the surface, I sensed a complexity that extended beyond material wealth.

**

Derek’s POV.

Obin’s voice broke through the stillness of the room as he explained his actions. “Sir, I drove ma’am to her new home,” he began, his tone respectful but tinged with a hint of concern.

I responded with a curt acknowledgment, my attention momentarily diverted from the papers scattered on my desk. “Good,” I replied, though my tone was devoid of enthusiasm or interest.

Obin continued, his voice tentative as he shared an observation that had clearly troubled him. “But she refused to use your room,” he explained, his words carrying a weight of unspoken tension.

I glanced up from my work, my brow furrowing slightly as I considered Obin’s remark. “It’s her residence,” I replied evenly, my tone measured and unyielding. “She is welcome to use any of the rooms she desires.”

Obin hesitated, clearly wanting to say more, but my disinterest in the topic was palpable. I had no patience for discussions about her preferences or choices when there were matters of greater importance to attend to.

“But sir…” Obin began again, his voice trailing off as he tried to find the right words.

I interrupted him with a fierce glare, my frustration clear. “Obin,” I said firmly, “you’re talking about her excessively. It’s meaningless.”

The tension in the room was palpable, a reflection of the unspoken conflicts and uncertainties that had become a part of our daily interactions. I returned my attention to the paperwork on my desk, signaling the end of the discussion.Content provided by NôvelDrama.Org.