His Regret Bound My Ghost to His Side

Chapter 3

Elara's stomach dropped like a stone as she sprinted back to the villa.

She barged in, the door slamming against the wall with a bang, only to find Silas and Lila casually dining together.

"Why the hell wasn't Elias's treatment paid for?" Elara demanded, her voice razor-sharp.

Silas daintily picked a choice bite for Lila, his tone as if chatting about yesterday's news.

"Lila moved in today. I've handed her the household finances. Since you're clearly unfit as Mrs. Voss, she's graciously cleaning up your mess. A 'thank you' would be basic decency."

Lila's lips twitched into a fleeting smirk before she schooled her face into fake concern.

"Elara, the accounts are worse than I thought. Elias's medical fees might take a while."

"He doesn't have a while!" Elara's voice cracked like shattered glass. "Every second counts—do you want him to die?"

"But Sybil's life hangs in the balance," Lila simpered, oozing faux sympathy. "Her care comes first. Why not tend to her yourself? Save money, and... well, atone a little."

"Atonement?" Elara's nails dug into her palms hard enough to draw blood. "Lila, you're the one who should be groveling on your knees!"

"Elara!" Silas's fork clattered against the table like gunshots. "For five years, Lila's been at Sybil's bedside. You? Not once. When will your delusions end?"

"You crippled Sybil. That I haven't destroyed you is mercy!"

"Haven't I been destroyed enough?"

An invisible vise crushed Elara's chest.

She whirled on him, her voice a guttural cry. "Five years ago, I begged to call the police—you silenced me! You trapped me in this hell to torture me. Isn't that payment in blood?"

"Silas, what's your endgame? Does my grave need digging before you're satisfied?"

He surged to his feet, the room temperature plunging. "Sybil and I have drowned in agony because of you—yet you're still the same selfish witch! Now you play the death card?"

"Mark my words: I'll make sure you live to regret every breath you take."

Without another glance—his broad shoulders rigid with fury—he stormed upstairs.

The past crashed over Elara like a wave: their marriage, a battlefield of broken vows.

She'd once demanded divorce. When he refused, she'd stormed out of the Voss estate and never looked back.

Yet less than two weeks after leaving, she was abruptly fired from the company she'd served for years—without a single explanation. Every resume she sent out afterward disappeared without a trace.

Then Silas's call came, his voice laced with frost. "Elara, admit your mistake, and I'll give you a chance to atone."

Her fingers clenched around the phone, a sour, stinging ache flooding her chest—but she forced out each word with iron defiance. "I did nothing wrong."

The call ended before he could retort, her finger slamming the disconnect button with finality.

Those years became a relentless battle for survival.

By day, she peddled trinkets on street corners, nerves frayed like live wires, ready to flee at a moment's notice when Silas's men appeared.

When night fell, she'd throw on a delivery uniform, weaving through Havenbrook's maze of neon-lit alleys until exhaustion slammed her into restless, dreamless sleep.

Still, she refused to yield. Not to him. Never to him.

Then came the crushing blow. Her little brother Elias was diagnosed with acute leukemia. The avalanche of medical bills—chemotherapy, bone marrow transplants—threatened to bury her alive.

Backed into a corner with no escape, Elara finally dialed the number burned into her memory.