No Traces

Belle stood before the French ceiling-to-floor window and watched the bright stars in the dark sky. She then traced the outline of her reflection on the window. One year to show her sincerity. Was Alaric playing games with her or trapping her? She wasn't able to figure out his true motive behind this bet.

On the second floor, in the study room, Alaric loosened his tie and massaged his throbbing temples. A piece of land? How could a person as cunning as Alaric couldn't guess which land she was asking?

"Annabelle Smith, so you are from there. No matter what, you are my woman now." Alaric walked to the wine cellar in the corner and filled his glass. He twirled the glass with a devilish smirk.

"Bro?" Gil-the blabber mouth, barged into the study while panting heavily.

"I can't find anything about my sister-in-law when she was in Italy. It was as if someone intentionally removed all the traces of her past." Gil took the wine bottle from Alaric's hand and gulped it down without reserv