Enslaving My Ex-Boss

Shadows of Guilt

[Hazel]

"Enough!" Elijah yelled suddenly, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. He then came by my side and held my hand, his hand warmer than I expected. He then pulled me behind him and stood in front of me as if protecting me from Arthur’s accusing eyes, just like a shield. "Hazel has nothing to do with Miranda’s death." He said fiercely, his voice firm and resolute. "If someone needs to bear the blame, then that’s me. I was the one who asked her to divorce. I—"

"Divorce?" Arthur murmured, his voice laced with disbelief. His brow furrowed.

"Yes," Elijah said, locking eyes with Arthur. "We’re divorced now. And Hazel is not the reason. You can stop blaming her."

"Why did you divorce her?" Arthur asked, suspicion creeping into his voice.

"It’s in the suicide note. Infidelity," the detective chimed in, leaning against the doorframe with a grin.

James elbowed him sharply. "Shut up," he hissed.

"What?" the detective shrugged, rubbing his ribs lazily. "Are we really going to ignore the note? There she had written clearly that the reason she died was because of Elijah’s affair."

"I thought you believed it was a forged evidence. Not real," James said, his tone sharp and accusatory, his eyes narrowing at the detective.

"I said I can’t take it as evidence unless we do the handwriting analysis. Never said it was forged, and I don't believe it," the detective replied, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips, his words carrying a smug edge that only served to fan the flames.

"Carl—" James growled, but Arthur’s voice cut through.

"James." Arthur’s command silenced both men. His gaze swept between them. "Detective Carl," he said, "both of you, out. Now."

"But this is my—" Carl began to protest, but James cut him off, dragging him out.

Once they were gone, Arthur turned his gaze back to Elijah. "If it’s not Hazel, then who is the girl?" he demanded, voice thick with fury.

"There is someone," Elijah said firmly, his voice steady despite the slight tremor in his hands. He looked at the floor, avoiding Arthur’s eyes. "I don’t want to reveal her name because I respect her. If I tell you the truth, you’ll only judge her." His eyes softened. "And trust me, Grandpa," he added quietly, his voice breaking, "you don’t wanna do that."

"Bullshit!" Arthur bellowed, disappointment twisting his face. He jabbed a finger at Elijah. "I should have never asked you in the first place." Turning abruptly, he stomped away, his footsteps heavy with frustration.

After he exited the station, Elijah crumbled to his knees, and finally, the tears that he never showed to the world became visible to me. The sight clenched my heart harder than it ever had been clenched.

"Elijah," I went beside him and put my hand on his shoulder, my voice more friend-like than someone professional.

He lifted his head to look at me, his eyes rimmed red and glistening with unshed tears. The pain in them was raw, unfiltered. "She is gone," he whispered, the words fragile and cracked. Then, as if seeking an anchor, he gripped my hand tightly, his grasp almost desperate.

"She is gone, Hazel." His voice broke into a sob. "It's all my fault! I am her culprit. It's all my fault." His tears fell onto the back of my hand, their warmth burning against my skin as his guilt seeped into every word.

"No, Elijah," I said, kneeling in front of him. Gently, I cupped his cheek, my thumb brushing away the damp trail on his skin. "Look at me," I said firmly, guiding his face so that his eyes met mine. His breathing hitched, but he obeyed, his gaze locking with mine even as his pain threatened to drown him.

"It's not your fault," I continued, my tone unwavering. "You did what any sane person would do, okay?" His eyes searched mine, as though trying to find a thread of truth in my words, but I could see the struggle in them—the doubt, the self-loathing. "Hey," I said, raising my voice slightly to break through the fog of his thoughts. "Hey," I repeated, this time softer, gentler. "It's not your fault, okay?" I nodded, encouraging him to follow my lead. "Say 'okay,'" I instructed, feeling a flicker of awkwardness at the command, but knowing it was necessary.

"No, I am a monster," he muttered, shaking his head and attempting to pull his face away from my grasp. His voice cracked as he spoke, the weight of his guilt evident in every word.

I tightened my hold, refusing to let him retreat into himself. "Elijah. Look. At. Me," I said, my words sharp yet steady. His eyes reluctantly met mine again, filled with torment. "It's. Not. Your. Fault. Okay?" I paused, giving him a moment to process. "Maybe she had a sensitive heart, but that doesn’t mean she could cheat on you, and it doesn’t mean you were wrong to ask for a divorce."

He swallowed hard, his jaw trembling.

"You are still protecting her dignity," I said, my voice softening as I leaned closer. "You could have told the police, or your grandfather, about Miranda’s affair. You could have played the victim, exposed her, and made her out to be someone suffering from intense mental illness. But you didn’t." I placed a hand gently over his heart. "That shows who you are, Elijah. You’re not a monster. You’re a kind, good man."

His lower lip quivered as he bit down on it, shaking his head slightly. "No, I’m not," he murmured, his voice thick with anguish. "She died because of me. I was supposed to protect her. I was her brother before all this mess. I was supposed to protect her, Hazel. I was supposed to protect her."

"And you are, Elijah," I said, my throat tightening as my own tears blurred my vision. "You’re still protecting her by not revealing her darkest secrets. You didn’t do anything wrong. Don’t blame yourself for her choices."

He hesitated, his chest rising and falling unevenly, each breath sharp and shallow as if the weight of his words was choking him. "But she’s dead now," he said, his voice a broken whisper, barely escaping his cracked lips. "What am I going to do with this title of 'being right'?"

"Nothing," I replied softly, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead, my fingers trembling just slightly as they touched his skin. His warmth, even in his grief, was something comforting to me. "But you can stop blaming yourself." I let my hand linger for a moment longer, feeling the weight of his sadness in the delicate touch. "Wipe your tears, and prepare for her funeral. She may have been suffering deeply when she made those wrong decisions, but now she’s in the afterlife. And in the afterlife, there’s no pain, no illness—only love and good memories. So, let’s honor her with love. Collect all the happy memories you have of her and send her off with those."

His eyes met mine then, wide and raw, full of unshed tears. His breath hitched as though something within him was breaking. "Can you hug me, please?" He begged, his voice, fragile, cracking at the edges, like glass about to shatter.

"Of course," I whispered, my heart aching for him as I pulled him close. His arms wrapped around me, tight, desperate for some kind of solace, and I held him back just as fiercely, not saying a word. We stayed like that, our breaths mingling in the quiet space between us, until the sound of footsteps broke the silence and our hug as well.

"Whoa," Carl muttered, his voice dripping with judgment. "They act like this and expect us to believe they were working on some 'project' in a private hotel room?"

James glared at Carl, his jaw clenched. "His wife is dead. He’s broken, and Hazel is consoling him. For once, can you just keep your negativity aside?"

Carl crossed his arms, grinning smugly. "My negativity has saved lives," he said with a self-satisfied ease. "So... Should I stop it?" He tilted his head, a challenge in his eyes. "No, I don’t think so."

To be continued…