A Ghost at His Wedding

Half a month later, Dorian finally returned to the West Village townhouse we once shared. He slammed the door open and yelled, "Elowen, get the hell out here!"

He kicked open one door after another but found no trace of me. The grim look on his face deepened.

Dorian ordered his men to track my whereabouts, muttering darkly, "Oh, Elowen. If you want to run, you'd better run far. Because if I catch you, I'll break your legs."

Too bad I was standing right in front of him.

Soon, one of his men sent a set of coordinates to Dorian's phone. Dorian's expression twisted.

I looked at his phone, puzzled, and quickly recognized the location: the Dumbo loft of my childhood friend, Silas Croft.

"Mr. Westbrook, the last person Ms. Beaumont contacted was Mr. Croft. He claims to have never seen her. We suspect he may have abducted her."

Dorian said coldly, "I'm on my way."

He floored it all the way to Silas's building.

He began kicking the door, his jaw tight with tension.

When Dorian kicked the door for the third time, it swung open from the inside.

Silas's calm face appeared before him, though dark circles were visible under his eyes.

"What is it?"

Dorian gave a chilling smile. "You're hiding my woman. What do you think I'm here for?"

Silas remained expressionless. "I'm not hiding her. She's dead. Didn't the funeral home call you to pick up her ashes?"

"Oh? Elowen put you up to this too? Ha! It seems she's really determined to avoid me this time!"

Dorian refused to believe I was dead. He was convinced it was all just an elaborate trick.

He looked past Silas into the loft and shouted, "Elowen, don't think you can skip my mother's anniversary just because Silas is protecting you! I'll count to three! If you don't come out now, don't come crying to me later!"

"One... Two... Three!"

The moment he finished counting, Dorian lunged forward and kicked Silas hard, ordering his men to rush in and find me.

Silas crumpled to the floor, clutching his stomach, a flicker of fury finally breaking through his calm facade.

"Dorian, Elowen is dead! You picked up her ashes yourself! Have you forgotten? She's dead!"

Enraged, Silas grabbed Dorian's collar and slammed him against the wall.

Dorian's face was a thundercloud. He retorted mockingly, "Still trying to hide her, even now! Silas, your love for her knows no bounds! It's a pity I've already fucked her so much she's loose!"

"I suppose when I'm done with her, if you still want the used goods, I might consider letting you have her. But not now. She still has to atone at my mother's grave, so she has no time for you."

Silas's face flushed crimson. He gripped Dorian's collar with all his might and snarled, "Dorian Westbrook, you dare!"

Suddenly, he threw a punch at Dorian's face.

Almost immediately, the two of them became a tangle of flying fists and feet.

My chest ached, feeling like it would burst from the inside.

Though Silas was fit, Dorian was skilled in close-quarters combat. It only took a few moves before Dorian had him pinned to the ground.

Panic seized me, but I was powerless.

"Look at you, Silas! So pathetic! Willing to risk getting beaten to death by me for Elowen! And her? She just takes your protection for granted! A woman like that, how is she worthy of your love?"

This time, it was Silas who let out a derisive laugh. "Dorian, you're the pathetic one. You've got the wrong killer, and you're torturing the woman you supposedly love. You're more pathetic than a bum on the street."

"What did you just say?" Dorian raised his fist coldly.

Just then, another voice cut in frantically. "Mr. Westbrook, we found the traffic cam footage of Ms. Beaumont's accident on the FDR Drive! And... her autopsy report from the NYC Office of Chief Medical Examiner!"