Chapter 485 You Have Fallen for Me
Anne had barely registered what was happening when his voice came again, "Take the shot."
She turned toward the water.
Ripples fanned out across the glittering surface, sunlight dancing in fragments. Her breath caught — she scrambled to adjust her camera.
Under the blue sky, a pink dolphin broke the surface, its body gilded in gold, chasing and playing as if the ocean belonged only to it.
They were alone out here.
She could hear its high, clear calls, soothing in a way that loosened something in her chest.
A moment ago she had been angry with Willard. Now, that anger was gone.
Her lips curved despite herself. The shutter clicked in rapid bursts — she didn't want to miss a single frame.
Pink dolphins were rare.
Back when they had been filming guppies, they had hoped to see one. But Ernest's near accident had ended that trip early.
Life had kept them busy since. They had never come back.
Even if Willard had dragged her here against her will, it hadn't been for nothing.
The dolphin rolled a few more times at the surface before vanishing. Its wariness made the sighting all the more precious.
Anne lowered her camera, eyes lingering on the spot where it had disappeared.
A light tap landed on her head.
"Had enough?" Willard's voice was steady. "If you have, we head back."
Anne only nodded. She didn't know what to say, or how to feel toward him.
The yacht eased away from the area.
Far behind them, Quinton and his men surfaced, their work unseen.
At dinner, Anne barely touched her food. She excused herself early and returned to her cabin.
Willard didn't stop her.
Lying on the bed, she scrolled through the photos. No guppy breaching shots — but Willard had brought one back for her.
She learned he had prepared a small, beautiful tank for it.
Today's events were no coincidence. Everything had been arranged by him.
Her thoughts tangled. She wanted to call Elissa, but she couldn't rely on her sister for everything.
'This is something I need to sort out myself,' she thought.
"This is so hard," she muttered, rolling restlessly on the bed.
She wasn't like Elissa, who could let go easily. Otherwise, she wouldn't have clung to her feelings for Willard all these years, only giving up when pushed to the breaking point.
If he had shown her the slightest sign back then, she would have fought for him her whole life.
"Willard, you bastard!"
She grabbed a pillow, pummeling it as if it were him.
But even her anger felt tangled.
Outside the door, Willard heard her.
The walls weren't thick, but her curses were mild — she had never been good at swearing.
Even in her rebellious years, she'd only learned a few phrases, repeating them when provoked.
A knock startled her mid-outburst, triggering a fit of hiccups. She gulped water, but the knocking continued.
She opened the door, hiccuping — and froze. He stood there.
He held out a warm glass of milk. "Drink."
She took it without protest.
He remembered the nights before they married, when she had first come to the Larson Villa. Every evening, he had brought her milk. He had cared for her in countless ways — planting pear trees, defending her, even humoring her childish games.
Maybe that was why she had fallen for him. But anyone in his place could have done the same. He thought Anne was too young to understand what love really meant.
What he didn't realize was that her feelings weren't born from his care or their sibling-like bond — but because she saw him as a man.
Which was why she hated him so much now. Because once, she had loved him just as deeply.
"Ann," he said quietly, "if I let you tie me up once, could that erase my mistake? Could you forgive me?"
She avoided his gaze, her mind in chaos.
When she finally looked up, she frowned. "What did you say?"
He stepped closer, his tall frame casting her in shadow. She instinctively backed away — but his hand caught her waist, pressing her against the door.
Only the bedside lamp was on. The doorway was dim. His eyes locked on hers, intense in the gloom.
She shrank back, but there was nowhere to go.
"Ann." His voice was low, magnetic. "I'll let you chain me — heavier than last time. I won't eat or drink for three days. Will you forgive me for tying you before?"
She turned her head away.
He waited.
After a long moment, she met his gaze again, her eyes clear. "And then?"
"What?"
"I tie you up, forgive you for that one thing — and then what? Everything else still stands."
He leaned closer, his lips almost brushing hers. "What else?"
She pushed at him. "You keep ignoring my will—"
"You can ignore mine," he interrupted, pausing deliberately, "and kiss me."
She shoved him harder. He let her, stepping back slightly, a quiet laugh escaping.
"Whatever I've done to you, you can return it. Double it, if you want."
She glared. "In your dreams."
He chuckled again. "Fine. Let's settle one thing first."
Before she could protest, he pulled her into his room. Her breath caught at the sight of chains on the bed.
"I'm not a pervert. Let me go. This won't work, Willard. Not everything can be made right. We're far too tangled. And I won't unravel the past — because I don't want to be caught up with you in any way—"
He cut her off with a few soft words that hit her like a hammer.
"Ann, you've fallen for me."
Her mind went blank. She didn't deny it — she panicked. Like a secret she'd buried had been dragged into the light.
They stared at each other. He waited patiently; she was frozen.
Time dragged, sticky and slow.
Finally, she shoved him away. "Nonsense!"
"Why so worked up?" he asked mildly. "It was just a question."
She yanked the door open. "Get out."
He arched a brow. "My room, remember?"
She stormed out — but barely took two steps before he grabbed her, forcing her onto the bed. Cold, heavy chains landed in her hands.
His wrists were bare, lean. He held them out. "Go ahead."
She threw the chains at him. They struck his arm hard, leaving a red welt.
Anne could no longer think straight. The emotions she had been wrestling with these past days crashed over her in a single, suffocating wave.
And with them came the ones she had buried deep, the ones she had forced herself to forget. She was at her breaking point, her whole being straining against the weight of it all.
Her emotions boiled over. "Willard! You think this will make me give in? I hate you. I'd rather die than love you!"
He pinned her again, eyes level with hers. "What will it take for you to forgive me?"
"I won't. I want nothing to do with you. Ever."
She pushed his hands away — but he blocked her path again, this time holding a knife.
Before she could react, he pressed the hilt into her palm, guiding the blade to his chest.
"Ann, I'll trade my life for your forgiveness. Will you take it?"
Her hands shook. Without his grip, she would have dropped the knife.
"You're insane! Let go!" she shouted.
"I've been insane since the moment I realized I loved you." He pressed harder — the tip pierced his shirt, touching skin. "I tried to wait for you to understand. But my coldness wasn't to make you stop loving me."
She stumbled back onto the bed, struggling to pull away. But then came the sound — a soft, wet puncture — and blood welled against the blade.
"Willard!"
Tears blurred her vision. She fought, but couldn't break free. His blood was warm on her hands.
"Is making me a killer your idea of love?" she shouted.
He smiled faintly, lips pale, sweat beading on his forehead. "You can scatter my ashes if it makes you feel better. No one will come after you. You can love someone else—"
"Quinton!" she screamed. "Get in here now, or he's dead!"
Outside, Quinton had been standing guard, knowing what Willard planned. But Willard had ordered no one to enter.
The knife sank deeper. Blood smeared her fingers.
Willard's body swayed, collapsing toward her.
"I'll be glad when you're gone," she said coldly. "And I'll walk away without looking back."
He leaned on her shoulder, whispering, "You're lying."
His eyes held a glimmer of hope as he spoke, voice thick with emotion, "Why not follow your heart, Ann? Give me a chance to love you right. To make it all right."
Anne had once hated Willard with every fiber of her being, but never enough to wish him dead.
Still, she forced the words out, her voice cold and deliberate.
"I could wish you dead," she said. "But not by my hand. I won't have you haunting me in the dead of night."
"I'll never give you that chance," she continued. "Even if you live, we're strangers from now on."
Far away, Francis had been uneasy since yesterday. Elissa had tried to soothe him, telling him to put his mind at ease.
But by morning, she felt the same unease gnawing at her.
They sat on the couch, phones on the coffee table, waiting. When the sun rose, both phones buzzed at once.
Francis pulled her close. "Stay calm. Let me handle it."
Elissa saw the caller ID — Simon for him, Hope for her.
Francis answered. Simon's words made his chest tighten. Elissa picked up Hope's call.
"I have a bad feeling about this," Elissa said, her voice tight with worry.
Hope answered at once, his tone steady yet grave. "I'm coming to you now. Francis needs to get on a plane. Willard's in critical condition. And it's about Anne."
Elissa shot to her feet. But Francis shook his head — she couldn't risk the long trip, especially with the final leg by yacht and helicopter.
"I can handle this. Just stay home and wait for my call. The moment I land on the island, I'll video you—you'll see everything as if you were right there with me. All right?"
Hope arrived, unlocking the door with her code.
She lowered herself onto the couch beside Elissa and took her hand in hers, her grip warm and steady, as if willing her calm into her. "Lyndon's waiting downstairs. He's coming too — he cares about Anne as much as you do."
Elissa relaxed slightly, but when she saw Francis off, she gripped his arm. "Video. Promise me."
"I promise."
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