You Hated Me, I Left Forever

Draven and Cressida were a wealthy couple bound together by nothing but hatred. ​ She despised him for driving the man she truly loved away from her, and he resented her for marrying him when her heart belonged to someone else. ​ When news reached her that Draven had been killed by his kidnappers, Cressida spoke only one cold sentence in reply. "Kill him then. Do it quickly. Throw his body into the sea when you're done." ​ And as if the heavens themselves had heard her wish, Draven was granted exactly half a month to walk the earth once more. ​ Over those fifteen days, he would take Cressida back to every place they had ever shared, and he would make her fall in love with him, only so she would know what it felt like to lose him, too. ​ ***** ​ The moment the kidnappers took his life, Cressida had been miles away, drinking and laughing with hired companions without a single care in the world. ​ As his consciousness began to fade, a soft, ethereal voice spoke clearly beside his ear. ​ "You cling too tightly to what is yours, and so you cannot pass on to the next life. The realm of the dead has taken pity on you. You shall return to the living for half a month. Once you have let go of all earthly ties, you may come back and enter your rest." ​ He was already dead. His body would soon fade away entirely. ​ How could anyone possibly return from that? Draven thought it sounded like nothing more than a foolish lie told to comfort children, and he refused to believe a word of it. ​ But when he opened his eyes again, he found himself standing aboard a massive luxury cruise ship. A long, bright banner hung where everyone could see it, written in bold letters. ​ Congratulations, Cressida. You are finally free of Draven Corwyn. A new life begins for you today. ​ Lights flashed all around him. Rock music blared so loud it shook the very floor beneath his feet. Thousands of people danced and cheered, caught up in wild celebration. ​ Draven's heart gave a sharp, painful lurch, and then it felt as though it might burst entirely with bitterness. ​ This ship had been commissioned specially for their wedding. They had named it "Sweet Promise — Forever", a name meant to stand for a lifetime together. ​ He had never imagined that while he was being tortured and murdered far away, his own wife would be here throwing a party to celebrate his death. ​ "Draven!" a voice rang out, sharp and cold as ice, "How dare you show your face here!" ​ Before he could speak, soft, pale hands wrapped tight around his throat and squeezed with all their strength. ​ Draven looked up into Cressida's face. He saw nothing there but pure, unmasked loathing and rage. ​ Not a single moment of worry had crossed her mind during all the days he had been gone. ​ He stood there silently and laughed at himself inside his own head for ever thinking she might care. ​ The crowd around them had begun to jeer and shout, their voices rising in mocking laughter. ​ "Draven, didn't everyone hear that you'd been killed? How come you're still standing here? Are you pretending to come back from the dead to entertain us?" one guest called out. ​ "You really will do anything, won't you?" another laughed. "You didn't want Cressida traveling abroad to be with Zoren, so you staged this whole k********g just to keep her here? Are you supposed to be some kind of ghost now?" ​ "I never staged anything — ah!" Draven started to say, but Cressida squeezed his throat harder and cut off his words. ​ She looked so delicate and frail most days, but right now she was using every ounce of strength she possessed. ​ Draven stared straight into her eyes and did not doubt for a single second that she truly wanted to choke the life right out of him. ​ Dark spots began to blur his vision, and he could barely draw breath when a calm, gentle voice spoke up from nearby. "Cressida. That's enough. Let him go." ​ The pressure around his throat vanished instantly. Draven gasped and pulled air back into his burning lungs, coughing softly as he turned to see who had spoken. ​ Zoren Corwyn stood there watching him. He was the adopted son of the Corwyn family, cherished and adored above all else. He was Draven's older brother. And he was the man Cressida had loved in secret all along. ​ "You see?" someone in the crowd shouted. "If you had never forced your way into this family, Zoren and Cressida would be happy together right now. You drove Zoren away to another country, and now that he's come back, you pretend to be dead just to get attention? Draven, you are the most pathetic man in the whole city!" ​ Draven looked over and saw Zoren and Cressida standing close together, their shoulders touching. ​ Once upon a time, the sight would have made him burn with rage. He would have stormed over and pulled them apart, then claimed Cressida right there with a kiss to mark her as his own and show Zoren exactly who she belonged to. ​ But he did none of those things now. He simply stood perfectly still and let a sad, bitter smile touch his lips. ​ He had spent every day of his life trying to win the approval of parents who never truly cared for him. He had poured every ounce of his love into a wife whose heart belonged to another man. ​ He had swallowed his pride and humbled himself again and again, only to die alone and forgotten, with no one even coming to claim his body. ​ He remembered it all with terrifying clarity. Just before the kidnappers killed him, they had thrown a phone at his chest and told him he had ten chances to call someone and pay his ransom. ​ The first time, he had called his father. The call had gone unanswered. ​ The second time, he had called his mother. She had picked up, and before he could even speak, she had screamed at him in pure fury. ​ "Draven, will you stop this nonsense? Zoren is lying in a hospital bed having surgery right now, and you pull one of your stupid tricks so that everyone will pay attention to you? I wish you were the one fighting for your life instead of him!" ​ The line had gone dead in his ear. He had felt nothing but hollow emptiness spreading through his chest. ​ For the remaining eight calls, he had dialed Cressida's number repeatedly. She had never answered once, and his every single call had been rejected. ​ The lead kidnapper had laughed in his face, his voice cold and cruel. "Aren't you the son of the Corwyn family? Aren't you the husband of the powerful CEO Cressida Fairmoor? Ten calls. Not a single person came to save you. You are worth absolutely nothing to anyone." ​ And then the man had driven a cold, gleaming knife straight into Draven's heart. He could still see the blood spreading across his chest in dark, blooming circles. ​ Draven lifted a hand and pressed it over his chest. It felt as though the wound was still burned there, deep and raw. ​ Zoren had been watching him. He looked surprised for a moment, then smoothed his expression back into that same gentle, perfect smile everyone adored. He walked forward quickly and reached out as though truly concerned. ​ "Draven. You're alive. Why didn't you come home? Do you have any idea what's been happening? Mom and Dad heard the news that you were gone, and they've been so overcome with grief they've been in and out of the hospital three times already. ​ "If something is troubling you, you can tell me. I'm your brother. I will always help you," Zoren added. ​ With those few soft words, Zoren had effortlessly convinced everyone watching that Draven had faked his own death just to get attention. ​ But the truth was, Draven really had been kidn*pped. He really had been killed. ​ Draven had no desire to stand there and pretend to appreciate Zoren's fake kindness. ​ He turned to walk away, but before he could take a single step, Cressida reached out and grabbed his wrist. ​ "And where do you think you're going?" she said. "Even if you actually dropped dead tomorrow, I wouldn't shed a single tear for you." ​ A sharp, stinging pain spread through Draven's chest at her words. But then his gaze fell upon the string of clear prayer beads wrapped around her left wrist. ​ He remembered them perfectly. Three years ago, Cressida had fallen terribly ill. ​ He had walked through a blizzard to an ancient monastery high in the mountains and knelt on the frozen stone steps for nine whole hours, praying all the while, until the friars finally gave him the rosary to bring back to her. ​ Draven said nothing at all. He lifted his hand, gently unclasped the beads from her wrist, and took them from her. ​ The string broke, and the beads scattered across the deck, just as his love for her had finally broken, beyond any hope of being put back together.