My Faked Death, His Endless Torment

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e focus for a brief moment. His gaze drifted past me, landing on the small, silver locket I had placed

familiar cold indifference. "Don't try to manipulate me, Ela. We agreed. No children until th

business. You said we had plenty of time after the deal was done." My voice cracked. "Remember when you promis

and. "Childish fantasies, Ela. We had impo

my birthday? Do you remember the first time you said you loved me?" My voice rose, a desperate cry against his impenetrable indifference. "You forgo

to uphold. I can't be bothered with trivial dates and sentimental nonsense." He jabbed a finger in my direction. "And as for Isabel, she's a

a burden. I am everything you say I am." I turned my back to him, the last sliver of hope shrivel

my voice devoid of emotion. "Signed. Mr. Thompson has them. T

ord, he turned and walked out, his footsteps heavy and final. The door clicked shut, l

d, the cheap mattress digging into my aching back, listening to the silence of the house. My body felt like a lead weight, heavy and unresponsive, my

f hurried footsteps echoed through the quiet house. Then, a loud bang

er, Johnie, stood framed in the doorway, his face a mask of rage. My mother, Clariss

rics! King had to carry her out of the ballroom! She's terrified you're going to ruin everythi

for what? For dying? For wanting a moment of peace? I closed my eyes, a si

my protector. He would sit by my bedside when I was sick, reading me stories, his voice a comforting rumble. He taught me to ride my fir

athlete, the top student, the effortlessly charming socialite. My father, once so patient w

pointment in his voice. "So strong, so ambi

system – they were all just further proof of my inadequacy. My doctors were baffled, attributing my symptoms to "stress" or "fibromyalgia," whi

ith contempt. "And what do you do, Ela? You lie around, you get sick, you cause scandals. You're an

echoed in my mind, a cruel, familiar refrain. Isabel, his golden child, was everything I wasn't. He