Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 127933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
I looked back at him, searching his face for some explanation, some shred of humanity, but he stood there, watching me, completely composed. He was waiting for my reaction, for me to come to terms with the monstrous reality that he had just laid bare.
“I…I don’t even know what to say.”
"Hawthorne Industries," Alexander began, his voice steady as he led me away from the freezer. “That’s where the alias comes from by the way. It’s a brand sold off the Isle, and you’ve even seen it before. The resort stocks it regularly. But of course, it’s not labeled as what it truly is.”
I followed him, my legs heavy beneath me as my mind tried to wrap around what he was saying. I had seen that brand at the resort, and even enjoyed meals there, but I never thought twice about where the food had come from. It all seemed so normal.
“This meat,” he continued, his hand still holding mine firmly, “is from tourists who broke their agreements while visiting the Isle. Some are members of Impío who have failed in their oaths. But one thing remains constant—it’s always fresh.”
I wanted to ask more, but my throat was tight, the words stuck behind the knot of revulsion that was growing within me. The image of those vacuum-sealed packages, labeled with human body parts, was seared into my mind. As we moved out of the pantry and further from the cold, sterile reality of the freezer, he continued to explain, his voice almost soothing in its calmness.
“Those who are detained and not released... well, they’re taken to Hawthorne Harvests. It’s part of the system we’ve put in place. Those who break our rules or learn too much are processed, ensuring there’s no evidence left behind. Every piece is used, nothing goes to waste.”
Hawthorne Harvests. It sounded like a farm, something innocent, even wholesome—but the grim reality of it was far from that.
He sensed my discomfort, but he didn’t stop. “For those tourists who go missing, we have official explanations—cover stories, you could say. Some ‘leave early’ or ‘choose to relocate,’ cutting ties with their former lives. Others... well, accidents happen. Drownings in the sea, mishaps on the trails. The Isle ensures every story fits perfectly, so nothing draws undue attention.”
I was silent, the enormity of it all spiraling through my mind. They had a system, a methodical way of making people disappear without a trace. It wasn’t about power or control—it was about total dominion over life and death. Every piece of the puzzle was in place, ensuring that no one would question those who vanished. As we stepped into the warmth of the house, the freezer door sealing behind us, I realized just how deeply I had been pulled into this world.
"It’s simple," he continued, his tone calm but filled with that eerie sense of conviction. "We aren’t wasteful on the Isle. Those people may have been useless alive, but in death... well, that’s our religion’s specialty. Nothing goes to waste, and every mistake is used to maintain the balance here.” His eyes locked on mine, unblinking. “In death, they finally serve a purpose.”
I swallowed hard, the weight of his words sinking in, but I couldn’t find the strength to argue. There was no room for that in this world he had pulled me into. This was his reality, and I had become a part of it.
He led me outside, and the sun hit my skin, warm and bright, in contrast to the chill that still lingered inside me. I blinked at the sight in front of us—a sleek, black Ferrari parked in the driveway. Its glossy surface shimmered under the light, reflecting the estate behind us.
The car was low to the ground with sharp, aggressive lines, looking as dangerous as the man about to drive it. The interior, rich with dark red leather, gave it a bold, predatory edge. I watched as Alexander walked over to the passenger side, my surprise growing when he reached for the door handle.
“You’re driving?” I asked, genuinely curious. He rarely drove himself—there was always a driver.
He chuckled, his grin widening as he opened the door for me, holding it with that same gentlemanly grace he always seemed to carry. “I figured today was different,” he said, amusement coloring his tone. “Besides, I don’t trust anyone else to drive you. Not today.”
I smiled faintly as I slipped into the seat, the leather soft and luxurious beneath me. The door closed with a solid thud, and for a brief moment, I found comfort in the normalcy of the gesture. I wasn’t naive enough to think that anything about this day was truly normal.
Alexander rounded the car and slid into the driver’s seat. With a flick of his wrist, the engine roared to life, filling the air with a deep, guttural growl that matched the controlled intensity I always felt from him. It was powerful and precise, just like everything else in his life.