Chapter 47 : Looking Back on the Past

As Angela stepped out of Leonardo's room, an unsettling stillness engulfed the lobby, early in the morning, casting an eerie atmosphere that sent shivers down her spine. Attempting to regain her composure, she forced herself to dismiss the previous night's encounter with Leonardo as a mere inevitability. Each footfall echoed through the house as she made her way to the familiar emptiness of the kitchen, a space she often wandered alone during the early morning hours. But this time, an uneasy tension lingered in the air, raising the hair on the back of her neck. Her gaze descended upon a shattered bowl scattered on the floor, an unexpected jolt of surprise coursing through her veins.

Startled, Angela hurried toward the back door of the kitchen, leading to the rest of the house. Panic surged within her, and she flung it open, only to be confronted with a distressing scene. Mrs. Gale stood beside a guard, blood staining his forehead, a visible sign of turmoil.

"What happened?" Angela's voice quavered with concern.

"The studio has been ransacked," Mrs. Gale responded, retrieving a first aid kit from the cabinet and handing it to Angela. Swiftly, Angela assessed the guard's injuries, trying to determine if they could be treated before the arrival of a doctor or if immediate hospital attention was required. Her examination unveiled a deep gash.

"He needs to go to the hospital," Angela declared urgently.

"I'll drive him there," volunteered Mrs. Gale, guiding the injured guard into her service car before speeding away. "Something happened at the studio," she shared as they rushed past the gates. "Mrs. Vera can provide you with all the details."

Just as Angela prepared to sprint toward the studio to investigate the situation, Leonardo emerged from his room, a sense of authority emanating from his voice.

"What's going on?" Leonardo inquired, his tone firm.

"I believe we should check the studio," Angela replied, leading Leonardo toward the entrance where Mrs. Vera stood frozen, her eyes betraying her fear.

"Mrs. Vera?" Angela approached cautiously, taking in the chaos within the studio. "What transpired here?"

Leonardo's impatience grew evident, and he demanded, "Tell me what happened in the studio, Angela."

"The place was completely turned upside down, Leonardo," Angela stuttered, her words faltering under the weight of the unsettling scene.
Mrs. Vera recounted the guard's testimony. He had heard a commotion coming from the studio and, upon opening the door, an unknown assailant struck him on the head, rendering him unconscious. "I found him lying outside the doorway," she explained, her voice filled with concern.

"Call the police, Mother," Leonardo commanded, his determination palpable. Mrs. Vera nodded and quickly left the studio to contact the authorities and attend to the injured guard.

Angela's body tensed as she surveyed the scene before her. The studio had been intentionally thrown into disarray, with items strewn about haphazardly. Paints had been flung across the walls, leaving chaotic streaks. With a mixture of fear and alarm, she recounted her observations to Leonardo, her voice quivering slightly.

"What do you think happened here?" Leonardo's tone revealed a blend of anger and anticipation. Suddenly, his anxiety heightened. "Check the ceiling."

Angela's gaze shifted upward, and a wave of unease washed over her as she locked eyes with the disturbed ceiling boards. A sense of impending loss gripped her heart as she stared at the disheveled structure above.

"What happened, Angela?" Leonardo's voice trembled on the edge of desperation.

"Wait, Leonardo," Angela pleaded, grabbing a nearby stool and positioning it beneath the compromised ceiling board. She climbed onto it cautiously, reaching up to examine the affected area. Her fingertips explored the hidden crevices, but her search yielded no results. Her voice quivered as she delivered the somber news.

"Leonardo..." Her words trailed off briefly, heavy with disappointment. "The painting isn't here."

A surge of anger mingled with frustration coursed through Leonardo. "That thief stole my painting," he growled, seething with indignation.
The arrival of the police at Vera's mansion brought a temporary sense of relief, as they diligently investigated the scene for hours, gathering all the necessary information. Finally, they departed, armed with valuable leads, including the whereabouts of the missing Crying Lady painting. Mrs. Vera, after ensuring the guard's well-being at the hospital, breathed a sigh of relief upon finding him in good condition. They covered his hospital expenses and granted him a well-deserved vacation, grateful for his dedication.

That night, an eerie silence enveloped the kitchen as everyone's frayed nerves still lingered from the recent burglary. Mrs. Vera took proactive measures and contacted the agency, requesting another guard to reinforce their security. Mrs. Gale, visibly agitated, was lost in her thoughts. Various theories floated around, but Leonardo swiftly put an end to the speculations.

"They were solely after the Crying Lady painting," Leonardo declared with a sense of finality. His words cut through the tension, stifling any further discussion. He then turned to Angela, a quiet determination in his eyes.

"Angela, please accompany me to my room," his tone was serious. And Angela hesitantly followed him.
As they stepped into Leonardo's room, Angela's eyes fell upon an unexpected sight—herself entwined with Leonardo on the bed, their bodies bare. A wave of embarrassment washed over her, and she tried to shake off the uncomfortable image, aware of Leonardo's presence.

"How are you doing?" Leonardo asked, his voice devoid of warmth as he settled himself on the bed.

"I'm... I'm fine," Angela stammered, her heart racing with unease.

Leonardo's voice, tinged with remorse, softened as he spoke, "I deeply regret what happened last night. It was a grave mistake, and I should never have treated you that way."

Angela felt a wave of speechlessness wash over her, unable to express her surprise and remorse. She attributed it to the influence of the wine, trying to make sense of the awkwardness that now hung in the air between them. She desperately wished to erase the past and escape the uncomfortable tension. Conflicting emotions tugged at her, as her logical mind grappled with her passionate desires.

Though her thoughts were clear, her soul remained unsettled, a mysterious fluttering sensation gripping her stomach. She knew she needed to steer the conversation elsewhere, to divert their attention from what had transpired. "What are your thoughts on the missing painting?" she blurted out, hoping to change the subject.

"You seem uneasy," Leonardo observed solemnly.

Perplexed, Angela asked softly, "What do you mean?"

"I can sense your discomfort around me," Leonardo stated, rising from the bed and leaning on his cane.

"It's my fault," Angela almost whispered, pressing herself against the wall.

"No, it's entirely my fault. I took advantage of your vulnerability," Leonardo insisted, his voice filled with remorse. "I understand the effect the wine had on you, and you have every right to punish me as you see fit."

"You know I can't," Angela pleaded, urging him to let go of the topic, and added, "We must forget what happened between us."

"Are you certain?" Leonardo's voice grew deeper, heavy with emotion. "Because I cannot simply disregard or forget what occurred. It was so beautiful and..." He trailed off, leaving his last sentence unfinished. Instead, he redirected their focus to the stolen painting, alleviating Angela's unease.

"Who is the model?" Angela attempted to shift the conversation toward the artwork. "I mean, who is the weeping lady in your painting? She feels so real."

"Indeed, she is real, but her name eludes me," Leonardo confessed. "She was a stolen glimpse of a grieving woman. I saw her only once, yet her image lingered in my mind, compelling me to capture her on canvas." Leonardo openly shared his fascination with the woman, admitting that he visited the area regularly in hopes of catching another glimpse of her.

"How I yearn to lay my eyes upon her once more," Leonardo sighed, his voice filled with longing. "Go to bed early, we have a trip tomorrow," he said, his footsteps leading him to his bed, just like any normal person who can see.

That night, Angela found herself puzzled. The destination of their trip the following day had not yet been revealed. And there was something peculiar about Leonardo's recent behavior. He had been unusually quiet after what had transpired between them. Perhaps he was consumed by profound regret, Angela pondered as she delved into her thoughts and closed her eyes.
The following morning, they had their breakfast, and Angela silently followed Leonardo's instructions as they got into the car. As Angela drove along the road, a sense of familiarity started to wash over her. Suddenly, it clicked in her mind, and her heart began to race with excitement as a familiar monument gradually came into view. At that moment, she knew exactly what Leonardo had planned.