Blood And Promises Novel by Sabrina Hart Chapter 11

Blood And Promises Novel by Sabrina Hart Chapter 11

Every word felt like an icy nail, ruthlessly hammered into Richard’s eardrums.

His expression suddenly darkened, veins appeared faintly at his temples, and his voice squeezed out from between his teeth, carrying a chilling coldness: “Nonsense! How could Becca possibly hit her?!”

Becca? The one who always spoke softly, was frail and sickly, and couldn’t even bear to step on an ant? Hit someone? And beat Samantha until she was covered in blood? Absurd!

Almost without thinking, he grabbed the phone and dialed the number of Rebecca’s temporary residence. The call was quickly answered, and Rebecca’s gentle voice came through: “Hello? Who is this?”

“It’s me.” Richard’s voice was deep. “Sammy… what happened between you two?”

There was a brief silence on the other end, then Rebecca’s voice came, choked with sobs and infinite grievance: “Richie? You… how could you ask me that? Did Ms. Serrano say something to you again?” She sniffled, her voice even more sorrowful: “After you left her with me yesterday, I tried to talk to her, but she wouldn’t listen. Instead, she got angrier, pushed me, and ran off… I still have bruises from when she pushed me… Richie, I know she doesn’t like me, but I really haven’t… haven’t done anything to hurt her…”

Her crying came through the receiver, delicate, helpless, and full of the sadness of being misunderstood. If it were any other time, Richard would have already comforted her gently, believing her without a doubt. But today, as he listened to Rebecca’s sobs, a memory flashed before his eyes—Samantha’s last glance at him. In those beautiful, almond-shaped eyes, the once passionate and bright light had been extinguished, leaving only endless desolation and emptiness. Like a scorched earth after a raging fire, where not a single blade of grass remained.

Who should he believe?

Reason told him that Becca would not lie; she had neither the motive nor the ability to do such a thing. It was Sammy throwing a tantrum, deliberately using such an extreme method to get his attention, to retaliate for his previous “lack of trust.”

Yet in some corner of his heart, a faint voice questioned: What if? What if what Sammy said… was actually true? As soon as this thought emerged, he forcibly suppressed it. Impossible. Becca was not that kind of person.

Facing the receiver, his tone softened a bit, but still carried an imperceptible tension: “I understand. You should rest well for now.”

After hanging up, the inexplicable irritation only grew stronger. He tugged at his collar and paced back and forth in the living room, his military boots thudding heavily against the floor.

His gaze inadvertently swept across the corner of the living room, where several old cardboard boxes lay, still unpacked. Annoyed and distracted, he kicked one of them. The box toppled over, and its contents spilled out with a clatter. A few crumpled pieces of clothing rolled onto the floor, among them a light-colored shirt stained with large, dried, blackened marks that appeared a strange, dark brown.

Bloodstains.

Richard’s steps suddenly halted. He crouched down, his fingers stiff as he picked up the shirt. The bloodstains covered a large area, spreading from the chest to the side of the waist. The fabric felt stiff to the touch, carrying a strange scent left behind after the blood had dissipated. The shirt was also smeared with dirt and grass, as well as some tiny, white granules.

He picked up a bit of the white granules, rolled them between his fingers, hesitated for a moment, then brought them to his lips and lightly touched them with his tongue.

Salty. It was salt.

Richard’s fingers trembled almost imperceptibly. So much blood… soaking the entire shirt… mixed with salt granules… If… if all of this was real…

A chill shot up his spine, instantly sweeping through his entire body. He remained crouched, staring at the bloodstained shirt as if seeing it for the first time, and as if, through it, he could glimpse what the person who left it behind had once endured.

No, impossible. Becca could never do such a thing. It had to be a misunderstanding. Sammy’s temper—maybe she hurt herself, or perhaps… it was someone else’s blood?

But this shirt was clearly the one she wore out yesterday.

Richard suddenly stood up, moving so quickly that his vision went black for a moment. He steadied himself and called hoarsely toward the door: “Giovanni!”

“Here!”

“Check immediately!” Richard’s voice was cold and tense, tighter than he himself realized. “Check all of Samantha’s movements yesterday! Where she went, who she met! And,” He paused, his gaze falling on the bloodstained shirt. “Check the crematorium’s duty records from yesterday. Question every staff member, one by one!”

“Yes, sir!”