Chapter 4: The Groveling Begins
949 Words
04
The rain had stopped, but the storm inside the Thorne Villa was just beginning.
"Get out," Damien said. He didn't shout. His voice was a dead weight.
Isabella stood in the foyer, surrounded by Louis Vuitton trunks. Her face was streaked with real tears this time.
"Damien, please! I had to lie! I was afraid of losing you to her!"
"You never loved me," Damien said, looking at the empty spot on the wall where Elara’s portrait used to hang. He had taken it down three years ago to please Isabella. Now, the wall just looked scarred. "You loved the credit card limit. If you aren't off my property in ten minutes, I'm burning your passport."
He slammed the door in her face.
Silence returned. But this time, it wasn't peaceful. It was agonizing. Everywhere he looked, he saw Elara. The kitchen where she made his coffee. The sofa where she waited up for him.
He grabbed his phone. He had to fix this.
Elara loves lilies, he thought. She used to fill the house with them.
He dialed the city’s most exclusive florist. "I want five hundred white lilies. Delivered to the Vance Global headquarters. Now."
Two hours later, Damien stood in the lobby of Vance Global. He wasn't allowed up—his access pass had been revoked—so he waited.
The elevator doors opened. Elara walked out, flanked by security. She was laughing.
Walking beside her, with his arm possessively around her waist, was a man. He was tall, with blond hair and a jawline that could cut glass. Damien recognized him instantly from the tabloids: Lucas Vance, the international supermodel.
Jealousy, hot and acidic, exploded in Damien’s chest.
"Elara!" Damien shouted, stepping forward.
The security guards tensed, but Elara held up a hand. She stopped. She looked at Damien, then at the ocean of white lilies filling the reception desk behind him.
"What is this?" she asked, her voice bored.
"I... I know they are your favorite," Damien stammered, feeling like a schoolboy. "I’m sorry, Elara. About Isabella. About everything. I kicked her out."
Elara looked at the flowers. Then she looked at Damien.
"My favorite?" She let out a dry chuckle. "Damien, I’m allergic to lilies. I spent three years taking antihistamines every day because Isabella liked lilies, and you insisted on having them in the house."
Damien felt the blood drain from his face. "What? No, I thought..."
"You thought what you wanted to think," Elara said. She turned to the receptionist. "Throw them in the trash. The smell is making me nauseous."
"Wait!" Damien grabbed her arm. "And him? Who is he? You leave me and jump into bed with a model the next day?"
Lucas stepped forward, towering over Damien. "Watch your tone, Thorne."
"It’s none of your business," Elara said coldly. "But for the record, Lucas treats me like a queen. Something you never learned to do."
"He’s using you for your money!" Damien yelled, desperate.
"Actually," Lucas smirked, kissing Elara’s cheek. "She’s using me for my looks. We’re very happy. Let's go, honey."
They walked out the glass doors, leaving Damien standing alone amidst five hundred wilting lilies.
That night, Damien hit rock bottom.
He drank a bottle of whiskey and stumbled to Elara’s new penthouse address, which he had paid a private investigator to find.
He banged on the door at 2:00 AM.
"Elara! Open up! I know he’s in there!"
The door didn't open. Instead, two burly men in tactical gear appeared from the stairwell. Vance private security.
"Mr. Thorne," one of them said. "You are trespassing."
"I need to talk to my wife!" Damien slurred.
"Ex-wife," the guard corrected. He grabbed Damien by the collar and dragged him to the elevator. Damien tried to fight back, but he was too drunk. They threw him out onto the street like a bag of garbage.
Paparazzi cameras flashed in the dark.
BREAKING NEWS: CEO DAMIEN THORNE EJECTED FROM EX-WIFE’S APARTMENT. A PATHETIC DISPLAY.
The next evening. The Grand Launch of the "Ocean's Tear" Collection.
The venue was the National Gallery. It was the event of the year.
Damien wasn't invited, but he got in. He bribed a waiter for a uniform and a tray. He had to see her. He had to explain that he wasn't crazy, just broken.
The lights in the gallery dimmed. A spotlight hit the center stage.
Elara walked out. She wore a dress made of shimmering blue fabric that looked like flowing water. Around her neck, the Ocean’s Tear sapphire pulsed with light. She looked ethereal.
"Thank you all for coming," Elara spoke into the microphone. "This collection represents resilience. Beauty born from pressure."
Damien watched from the shadows, his heart aching. She was magnificent.
Suddenly, he heard a strange sound. A creak from above.
He looked up.
High above the stage, a heavy lighting rig was swaying. A cable snapped with a sharp ping.
The sabotage wasn't subtle. Someone had cut the wire.
The massive steel fixture groaned and tilted, directly above Elara’s head. She couldn't hear it over the applause.
"Elara! Move!"
Damien didn't think. He didn't calculate the risk. He dropped his tray and sprinted.
The crowd gasped as a waiter charged the stage.
Elara turned, confused. "Damien?"
SNAP.
The final cable gave way. The thousand-pound rig plummeted.
Damien reached her just in time. He tackled her, throwing his body over hers, shielding her with his own back just as the world crashed down around them.
CRASH.
Darkness. Sparks. Screams.
And then, silence.
"Damien?" Elara’s voice was trembling, muffled beneath his chest.
He didn't answer. Something warm and wet was soaking into the shoulder of her blue dress. Blood.
- Writer
