The Home She Never Chose

The forest was suffocating.

Towering trees surrounded the little girl on every side, their gnarled branches intertwining above her like a vast, impenetrable canopy. The night was pitch-black, save for the occasional flash of lightning that tore through the sky and briefly revealed the twisted silhouettes of the trees.

She was running.

Barefoot.

Her tiny feet were scraped from the unforgiving forest floor, and mud clung to her legs and the hem of her torn clothes. Her palms were filthy, her knees smeared with dirt, and her hair was hopelessly tangled, strands plastered against her damp face.

She didn't stop.

She couldn't.

Something was chasing her.

She could hear it.

The footsteps behind her.

Heavy.

Unhurried.

Getting closer.

Her breath came in ragged, desperate gasps. Her little chest heaved painfully as she forced herself forward, stumbling over roots and uneven ground.

She dared not look back.

But then—

A deafening crack of thunder shook the forest.

She flinched.

Her foot caught beneath a protruding root.

She stumbled forward with a frightened gasp, catching herself against the rough bark of a tree.

For one agonizing second, she remained there, trembling.

Then she heard it again.

Footsteps.

Closer.

The little girl spun around.

There was no one there.

Only darkness.

Only trees.

Only the sound of her own frightened breathing.

She swallowed hard.

Then lightning illuminated the forest once more.

And this time—

She saw the figure.

Her eyes widened.

A strangled gasp escaped her.

She ran.

She ran with whatever strength her small body could summon, branches whipping past her, her bare feet striking the cold earth again and again.

Tears blurred her vision.

She couldn't breathe.

She couldn't think.

She only knew she had to keep running.

Another flash.

Another step behind her.

Closer.

Closer.

The little girl stumbled again.

A sob caught in her throat.

And then—

Knock. Knock.

Annah jolted awake with a sharp gasp.

Her body lurched upright in the rocking chair, one hand instinctively clutching the fabric over her chest.

For several seconds, she couldn't breathe properly.

Her lungs struggled to draw in air as though she had truly been running through that forest. Her heartbeat hammered violently against her ribs, and her fingers trembled where they gripped the armrest.

She blinked rapidly.

Once.

Twice.

The darkness of the forest was gone.

There were no trees.

No footsteps.

No little girl.

Only her room.

The familiar curtains.

The fading evening light filtering through the window.

And silence.

Annah swallowed, trying to steady her breathing.

She lifted a trembling hand to her face.

Her fingertips came away wet.

She froze.

A tear was still sliding slowly down her cheek.

She hadn't even realized she was crying.

Another knock sounded.

“Madam?”

Annah flinched.

She quickly wiped her cheek with the back of her hand and forced herself to breathe normally.

“Y-Yes?”

Her voice came out quieter than she intended.

“May I come in?”

She closed her eyes for a brief moment.

Then opened them again.

“Come in.”

The door opened.

Her housekeeper stood outside, looking slightly concerned.

“Madam, there are some people downstairs.”

“Who?”

“They say they're relatives of the late Mr. Drevain.”

The words made her pause.

“Relatives?”

“Yes, Mrs. Drevain.”

Annah stared at her for a moment.

After Lucian's death, she hadn't expected anyone from his family to suddenly appear at her doorstep.

Not after all this time.

“Tell them to wait downstairs.”

She rose from the rocking chair.

“I'll be there.”

The housekeeper nodded and quietly left.

The door clicked shut.

Annah remained standing in the middle of the room.

Her gaze drifted toward the mirror.

For a moment, she saw the reflection of an eighteen-year-old girl staring back at her.

Young.

Composed.

Almost ordinary.

No one looking at her would have guessed that moments ago she had been running through a forest in her sleep, desperately trying to escape something she couldn't even name.

She brushed the last trace of moisture from her cheek.

Then, as though trying to dismiss the uneasiness gathering inside her, she murmured,

“Same dream again…”

A tired sigh escaped her.

“I don't understand why I keep having such strange dreams.”

She adjusted the sleeves of her simple dress.

“At my age, shouldn't I be dreaming about handsome boys or something equally ridiculous?

A faint smile touched her lips.

“But no…”

She shook her head.

“Apparently, my mind prefers forests and nightmares.”

The smile vanished.

She took one final glance at herself before walking toward the door.

Downstairs, seven strangers were waiting for her.

Three men sat together, accompanied by two women and two children.

The eldest of the three men rose first.

“Mrs. Drevain,” he greeted formally.

Annah gave him a polite nod.

“I’m Sebastian Vale.”

He gestured toward the others.

“This is Damian Roswell, and Adrian Veyne. Evelyn Vale, my wife; Celine Roswell, Damian's wife; and my children, Arthur and Sophie.”

Annah acknowledged each of them with a quiet nod.

She had barely finished when Adrian leaned back in his chair, studying her with an almost careless expression.

“So, Annah…”

The way he said her name made her pause.

Her gaze shifted to him.

Adrian continued, “You’ve changed quite a bit.”

Annah's expression remained unreadable.

Then she spoke.

“You may be Lucian’s cousin, Mr. Veyne, but that does not give you the right to address me so casually.”

The room went still.

Adrian raised an eyebrow, seemingly surprised by her response.

Annah took a slow step forward.

“This is not your home.”

Her voice was quiet, but there was no uncertainty in it.

“This is the Drevain residence. Lucian may no longer be here, but I am.”

She let her gaze travel across the room.

“And as his wife, I am the owner of this house. So if you intend to remain here, I suggest you remember where you are—and who you are speaking to.”

Silence settled over the room.

For the first time, Adrian's careless expression disappeared.

Annah turned toward them with the same composed politeness as before.

“Welcome to my husband’s home. Although, I wish Lucian were here to welcome you himself.”

The words carried a quiet sadness that she quickly concealed.

Sebastian studied her for a moment before finally speaking.

“How have you been, Mrs. Drevain?”

“I've been well, Mr. Sebastian.”

He nodded.

“We came to meet our cousin’s children. I hope you don't mind the sudden visit.”

Annah maintained her polite expression.

So suddenly, they remembered the children?

She couldn't help wondering.

Still, she simply replied,

“I'm glad you care about them.”

The man studied her for a moment.

“We haven't seen them in a long time. I wonder why you did not let them meet us.”

“You are welcome to see them,” Annah said. “But I cannot force my children to meet anyone. Until now, they have never expressed any desire to meet their relatives.”

A brief silence followed.

Then Sebastian said,

“They hardly ever share anything with you, do they?”

Annah's brows knitted slightly.

“What do you mean?”

“My son is quite close to Leonard,” he said. “And from what I've heard, you've kept the children away from our family.”

Annah stared at him.

For the first time since entering the room, her composure faltered.

Did he really say that?

The children weren't there.

She couldn't look at them.

Couldn't ask them what they had said.

Couldn't even understand how such a story had reached these people.

She stood silently, her fingers curling slightly against the fabric of her dress.

There was something unsettling about their arrival—something Annah couldn't quite put into words.