Five years. That’s how long it had been since we’d torn our lives apart. In that time, Ethan Hayes had become a titan, his name synonymous with success. So, when the host of a live televised interview announced a special segment—dialing a random number from his phone—I never imagined my screen would light up. But it did. And I froze. On the television, I saw Ethan’s gaze fall on the selected number. The blood drained from his face, his composure cracking for a fraction of a second. The host, blissfully unaware, prattled on as the phone rang and rang, unanswered. A wave of relief washed over Ethan's features. He thought he was safe. But in that moment, a reckless impulse took hold of me. I answered. “Long time no see, Mr. Hayes.” On screen, Ethan’s expression morphed into a mask of cold fury. The host stammered, quickly fabricating an excuse to end the call. 1 The line went dead. I tossed my phone aside and stared at the row of empty prescription bottles lined up on the counter. A silent monument to a battle already lost. That’s right. I was dying. The same year Ethan and I divorced, I was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. The doctors gave me five years, tops. So I vanished from Crestwood City, erasing myself from the world he inhabited. He must have assumed I was already gone, a ghost from a life he’d successfully buried. This call, this proof that I was still breathing, must have been a bitter disappointment. I swept the empty bottles into the trash and walked to the balcony, wrapping my thin arms around myself. Sunlight washed over me, but all I felt was a profound, soul-deep chill. The doctor’s latest verdict echoed in my mind. Three months. That’s all I had left. 2 I never expected to see her at the hospital pharmacy. Tiffany Cole, the woman Ethan cherished, the treasure he kept locked in the palm of his hand. I tried to hurry past, a ghost in the bustling hallway, but her voice snagged me. “Elara? It is you, isn’t it?” I froze for a heartbeat, my back still to her. I pulled my face mask up higher, my only thought to run. But it was too late. She was already standing in front of me. Sighing, I lowered the mask, mustering a weak, shoulder-shrugging smile. “Miss Cole. Fancy seeing you here.” Her eyes widened in shock as she took in my gaunt face. “It really is you.” Her gaze darted instinctively to the large paper bag of medications in my hand. “Are you sick? Why do you need so much medicine?” The bag was opaque; she couldn’t see the labels. But I didn’t believe for a second that Ethan hadn't told her. He adored her. I was the obstacle, the painful memory between them. Telling her I was dying of cancer would have been a relief, a gift. I had no desire to linger. I took a step to leave, but she moved to block my path, her face a whirlwind of a thousand unasked questions. “Excuse me, Miss Cole.” “Can we just talk for a minute?” I ignored her, sidestepping her and walking away. I’d only taken a few steps when a soft thud echoed behind me. I turned. My breath hitched in my throat. “Miss Cole!” “Ma’am!” Two bodyguards rushed forward, kneeling to help the woman who had collapsed on the polished floor. I stood rooted to the spot, my eyes drawn to the tall, imposing figure striding down the hall. The air crackled around him, thick with an authority that suffocated everything else. “Mr. Hayes, Miss Cole has fainted,” one of the bodyguards reported, looking up. “Get her back to her room. Now,” the man—Ethan—commanded, his voice sharp as broken glass. The bodyguards hastily lifted Tiffany and carried her off. Suddenly, the corridor was empty, save for the two of us. I felt like all the air had been vacuumed from my lungs. No one could command a space like Ethan Hayes. “I didn’t touch her,” I said, my voice thin. “She fainted on her own.” His eyes, cold and dark, narrowed on me. “She’s been perfectly fine. Then she runs into you, and suddenly she collapses out of nowhere?” “She has a heart condition, doesn’t she? Isn’t fainting a possibility?” That struck a nerve. The wrong one. “Five years,” he hissed, his voice a low, dangerous growl. “And you’re still alive. I have to admit, I’m surprised. You’re more resilient than I gave you credit for.” My hands clenched into fists at my sides, nails digging into my palms. “My doctor just told me I’m set to live a long and healthy life. Sorry to disappoint you, Mr. Hayes.” I turned my back on him and walked away, not daring to look back. His voice followed me, a chilling promise. “Elara. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll disappear from Crestwood. I’ll pretend today never happened.” A sliver of ice traced its way down my spine. 3 By the time I returned home from a late grocery run, evening had settled over the city. A small cluster of neighbors was gathered by my apartment door, their hushed whispers ceasing as I approached. A knot of dread tightened in my stomach. I broke into a run. The door was ajar. Inside, my world had been annihilated. Everything—furniture, dishes, memories—was smashed, shattered, and destroyed. The bag of groceries slipped from my numb fingers, scattering across the floor. I bit down on my lip, hard, tasting blood. Drawing a shaky breath, I stepped into the kitchen. The refrigerator door hung open, and on the floor, amid a sea of broken glass, lay the shattered vials of my insulin. For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. The world tilted, and my knees gave out, sending me down into the glittering shards. A presence behind me made me look up. A man in a dark suit stood in the doorway. “Miss Flynn,” he said, his tone devoid of emotion. “Mr. Hayes asked me to remind you that you were the one who broke the agreement by returning to Crestwood.” He paused. “This is just a warning.” He turned to leave. My eyes, burning and red, fixed on his back. “Give him a message for me,” I choked out, my voice raw. “Tell him to bring whatever he’s got. Roots run deep. I’ll die in this city, right where I belong.” 4 Three days later, I found myself at Crestwood’s most prestigious cemetery, picking out a prime plot with a view. The agent was drawing up the contract when a flash of movement caught my eye. A small, injured cat tumbled from the top of the stone wall, landing in a heap near the foundation. I walked over and gently scooped it into my arms. Its tiny body trembled. “Shh, it’s okay,” I whispered. “As soon as I’m done here, I’ll take you to a vet.” “Mr. Hayes, our director is waiting for you upstairs.” My head snapped up. My gaze collided with Ethan’s. His eyes narrowed, a flicker of confusion in them. “What is she doing here?” he asked the manager guiding him. The manager, eager to please, answered immediately. “This young lady is here to purchase a plot, sir. She’s just chosen one.” “Don’t—” The word died in my throat, too late. A slow, cruel smirk spread across Ethan’s lips. “Is that so? In that case, I’m afraid there are no plots left to sell her.” He didn’t even look at me. “Cancel that contract. I’ll speak to your boss personally.” I clutched the small cat to my chest, a hollow ache spreading through me. “Ethan,” I called out, my voice shaking. “When I die, I have to be buried somewhere.” He paused on the stairs, just for a moment. “Miss Flynn,” he said, without turning around. “How you’re buried is no concern of mine.” My vision blurred. A symptom of the advanced cancer—temporary blindness. It usually passed quickly. “Don’t you feel any guilt, stealing a grave from a dying woman?” “No,” he answered, sharp and final, before continuing up the stairs and out of sight. As I walked out of the cemetery, the world was a hazy, indistinct blur. A man followed me out. He was one of the groundskeepers. “Miss,” he said quietly. “I know a place. They still sell plots there.” 5 Three hours later, I stood on a small hill on the outskirts of Crestwood, looking down at a simple, rectangular hole dug into the earth. It was remote, but the afternoon sun poured into the pit, making the soil itself seem warm and inviting. “This is my family’s land,” the groundskeeper explained. “We do traditional burials out here. Just dig a hole, and fill it back in.” He hesitated. “It’s not fancy, I know. But it’s cheap.” “How much?” “How about three hundred dollars?” I transferred him fifteen hundred. The extra was for a promise: that when the time came, he would be the one to cover me with that warm earth. He agreed instantly. 6 The pages of my calendar dwindled, one by one. Looking at the remaining balance in my bank account—money my parents had left me long ago—I decided on one last act of defiance. I took a cab to the most exclusive club downtown. I booked the largest private suite and ordered a half-dozen male models, all sharp jaws and broad shoulders. If I was going to die unloved, why not have a little fun first? I don’t know how long he’d been standing there, watching us play our drinking games, a silent, judgmental shadow in the open doorway. It was Ethan. One look at his thunderous face, and the half-bottle of champagne I’d consumed might as well have been water. His lips twisted into a sneer as he took in the scene. His assistant, Leo, stood just behind him, phone raised, recording everything. “Having fun, Miss Flynn?” he drawled, his voice dripping with contempt. “Finally showing your true colors, are we?” A sharp pain lanced through my chest. That tone—always so distant, so mocking. The undisguised pleasure he took in finding my breaking point. But what was I even doing? Still letting his cold indifference hurt me? I was a fool. I forced a breezy smile. “Absolutely! It’s a blast. Care to join us, Mr. Hayes?” He recoiled as if I’d offered him poison. “No, thank you. This isn’t my scene,” he said, his voice clipped. “Enjoy yourself.” He turned and strode away. Over his shoulder, I heard him instruct his assistant. “Send that to my grandmother. Let her see the ‘gentle and well-mannered’ daughter-in-law she was always so fond of.” 7 The party was over. I dismissed everyone but one of the young men, asking him to wait with me in the suite. The lights were dim, and I sat wrapped in the shadows, my mind a complete blank. “Achoo!” The air conditioning was blasting, and I hugged myself, shivering. Only I knew that in the darkness, tears were streaming down my face. The man I loved—the man I still loved, God help me—hated me to his very core. I eventually led the young model out of the club, right as Ethan and his entourage were preparing to leave. Their laughter died as they saw us. Ethan was the last to look over, his face an unreadable mask. “Taking him home with you?” he asked, his voice flat. I lifted my chin, tightening my grip on the young man’s hand. “Yes. I’m quite pleased with him.” I expected another sarcastic jab, another cruel remark. Instead, he just stared at me, his eyes dark and intense. I held my breath, then led the model to a waiting car and disappeared into the night. 8 When I woke up, the first thing I saw was the harsh, sterile white of a hospital ceiling. The sun was blinding. I tried to pull the sheet over my head, but a hand yanked it back down. “Hiding now, are we?” a nurse scolded. “Didn’t think about this when you were out drinking, did you? Forgetting you’re a patient?” I managed a weak, guilty smile. “Lesson learned. I’ll never do it again.” Days ago, not long after leaving the club, I had started vomiting blood. The terrified taxi driver had diverted straight to the ER. 9 After days of lying in bed, I felt strong enough to walk. I decided to stretch my legs, wandering the quiet hospital floors. As I passed a VIP suite, I heard voices and paused. “Ethan, can’t I go home yet? I’m so bored of this place.” It was Tiffany. “The doctor said you’re still a bit anemic. Just a couple more days of observation.” Ethan’s voice was gentle, soothing. Tiffany pouted. “Everyone’s a little anemic. It’s not a big deal.” My feet felt glued to the floor. Through the crack in the door, I saw Ethan reach out and gently stroke her hair. “Be good. Trust me. Just two more days.” She stuck her tongue out playfully. “Okay. By the way… is Elara really… dying?” “Yes,” he confirmed. “I had someone look into her case file. A month, maybe a little more. That’s it.” I watched his face, searching for any flicker of emotion. But there was nothing. He was a man of immense self-control, a fortress of secrets, but as he spoke of my death, his expression was placid. His breathing was even. My life, my death—it truly meant nothing to him. “But she really loved you,” Tiffany said softly. “I heard Alex and the guys talking about it. Once, they were playing a game, and they joked that you needed a liver transplant. Without a second of hesitation, she said she’d give you half of hers.” She looked down. “When they asked me, I hesitated. I was scared it would hurt.” Tears welled in her eyes. Ethan sat on the edge of the bed and pulled her into his arms. “Silly girl,” he murmured. “I love you. You don’t have to do anything for me. If it ever came to that, I’d be the one making the sacrifice for you.” I turned and walked away, my legs carrying me to the end of another, deserted corridor. The world outside the window was bathed in the hazy, melancholic light of dusk. All these years, the doomed connection between us… it was as simple as this: I loved Ethan Hayes. And he didn’t love me. My love hadn't just been unrequited; it had curdled, transforming his indifference into a deep, abiding hatred. A hatred so profound, he was now patiently waiting for me to die. 10 Sunlight broke through the clouds. I was packing my small bag, determined to leave. “What do you think you’re doing?” I turned to face the young nurse, Nurse Miller. I shrugged. “Going home. This bed is killing my back.” Her eyes widened in disbelief. She snatched the bag from my hand and threw it back onto the bed. “Go home? Are you insane? Look at yourself! You’re in no condition to be discharged.” She put her hands on her hips. “Don’t you know? The Grim Reaper can come for you at 3 AM, but a hospital can keep him waiting a few extra days. You go home, and he can take you whenever he damn well pleases.” We stared each other down for a long moment. Finally, my strength gave out. I sank to the floor, hot tears splashing onto the linoleum. “But I don’t want to live any longer, Nurse Miller,” I whispered, my hand clutching the hem of her scrubs. “Please, just let me go.” She looked stunned. “But… what about your family? You have to think of them.” I shook my head. “I’ve been an orphan since I was a little girl.” She gasped. “Then… isn’t there anyone in this world you care about?” I shook my head again. “Not anymore.” This time, it was her eyes that filled with tears. “No wonder,” she murmured, her voice thick with emotion. “You were unconscious for days. Not a single visitor came.” She knelt beside me and wrapped me in a tight, fierce hug. Then, she told me she would handle my discharge papers. As dusk fell, I walked out of the hospital. Ethan and Tiffany remained inside, the hospital walls separating us into two different worlds. This time, as I left, it felt different. I felt lighter. Like I had finally, truly let something go. 11 The calendar on my wall had only one month left. I booked a flight. A final trip. I never could have anticipated the cruel twist of fate. As the plane was about to take off, the last passenger to board was Ethan Hayes. And his seat was right next to mine. I stared in disbelief. After the hospital, I thought I’d never have to see him again. He noticed me at the same time. As he stowed his luggage in the overhead bin, I quickly put on an eye mask, shutting out the world. He was annoyed by my presence, and I had no desire to see him, let alone invite more humiliation. The first-class seats were spacious, designed for sleeping. I feigned sleep for almost the entire flight, my hair probably a tangled mess against the headrest. Beside me, I could hear the quiet, steady tapping of a keyboard. He was working. Only when the pilot announced our final descent did I sit up and remove the mask. I accepted a small snack from the flight attendant, needing the energy. “Where are you headed?” I looked up, surprised. He was talking to me. I took a sip of milk. “Isn’t everyone on this plane going to Veridia?” His expression tightened. “I mean, where in Veridia?” “Are you concerned about me?” I asked, a hint of disbelief in my voice. He gave me a look that screamed, Are you an idiot? Just then, the plane touched down. Of course he wasn’t concerned. He was terrified we’d run into each other again. I stood up and grabbed my bag from the bin. “It’s a big state, Ethan,” I said, not answering his question. “We won’t see each other again.” I was the first one off the plane. I’m done loving you. 12 Three days later, we ran into each other in the lobby of the Grand Veridian Hotel. Apparently, great minds—or at least, people with money—thought alike. A part of me knew our paths were fated to cross one last time. “Elara.” I had already walked past him, but his voice stopped me in my tracks. I took a deep breath before turning around. “Is there a problem? There are plenty of other hotels in this city, Mr. Hayes. You’re free to change yours.” “Judging by your attitude, I take it you’ve finally come to your senses.” I wasn’t expecting that. “I have,” I said, the words feeling surprisingly true. “I’ve let it go. I wish you and Miss Cole a lifetime of happiness.” “Thank you,” he replied, his tone even. “And I hope your remaining days are… peaceful.” My hand clenched into a fist. “They will be.” I was about to walk away for good. “Mr. Hayes, I have the laptop. We can head to the meeting now.” Ethan’s assistant, Leo, had just joined us. It happened in a flash. A man with a knife burst from the crowd, shoving past me, his eyes fixed on the man behind me. “Ethan, look out!” The warning barely left my lips before the man was on him. But I had already moved, throwing myself between them. A searing, white-hot pain exploded in my abdomen. “Get the hell off him!” “You crazy bitch!” The world devolved into a chaotic blur of shouting and motion. I felt a strange disconnect, as if the blood pouring from my body wasn’t mine. But I refused to let go, my fingers a vise grip on the attacker’s arm. So much blood. It hurt… my grip was slipping… Then Ethan was there, a blur of controlled violence. He kicked the attacker to the ground, sent the knife skittering across the marble floor, and his eyes—his eyes landed on me. For the first time, I saw them widen with an emotion I couldn't name. It looked like terror. “Elara.” He’d never said my name with such softness. He dropped to his knees, catching me as my legs gave out. Leo was pinning the attacker down, shouting into his phone. “This… Miss Flynn?” Ethan roared, a sound of pure primal fury. “What are you staring at? Call an ambulance!” I tried to speak, but only blood gurgled from my lips. I clamped my mouth shut. “Don’t talk,” he commanded, his voice shaking as he gently wiped the blood from the corner of my mouth. “We’re almost at the hospital. Just hold on.”
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