Betrayed by My Childhood Sweetheart, I Cursed Him

Elise's POV

A heavy sigh escaped my lips as I watched Louis’s retreating figure disappear into the distance. If only he had agreed to divorce me when I first asked, maybe the curse wouldn't have come to pass.

After days of silence, Louis finally agreed to see me.

I hadn’t eaten or drunk anything for three days, and when he entered, I was so weak that I couldn’t even lift my head to meet his gaze.

Without saying a word, Louis grabbed me by the arm and yanked me off the floor.

“Elise, I didn’t expect you to be this malicious!” His voice was harsh, accusing, as if I had betrayed him.

Confused, drained, and unable to think straight, I asked, “What did I do?”

But Louis didn’t respond.

He simply dragged me toward the backyard, his grip firm. The cobblestones beneath my feet scraped and bruised my legs with every step.

The pain shot up my thighs, but he didn’t care. I winced with each movement, yet he pushed me forward.

When he saw the expression on my face, a flash of disdain crossed his features. “You knew Nicole was allergic to flowers, yet you deliberately filled the garden with roses. Are you trying to kill her?”

I opened my mouth to defend myself, but no words came out.

Louis had forgotten. He was the one who loved roses, not me.

And that garden—that sea of flowers?

It was a surprise. I’d spent 540 days preparing for him.

Biting my lip, I managed to say just one thing. “I’ll clean it up now.”

With a limp, I made my way to the garden, pulling rose after rose from the earth by hand.

The thorns dug into my palms, leaving them bloodied and raw. Blood trickled down my wrists, but Louis didn’t even flinch.

His eyelids twitched, and he turned his gaze away without another word.

“Don’t assume that playing the victim will win me over," he muttered, his tone icier than before. “It’ll just make me hate you more.”

Louis turned away, leaving me in the garden, shattered and isolated. After the last rose was pulled out, my strength finally vanished. My legs gave way, and I fell to the ground.

...

The next morning, I woke to find my hands and face still covered in bandages, the wounds beneath them aching dully.

I sat up slowly, and a single thought came to mind. 'I had to find Louis.'

When I reached the door to his study, I heard his voice. It was louder than I had expected, sharp with anger.

“The projects were already signed. Who do they think they are, just canceling them like that? Don’t they realize I poured all our liquid assets into those deals?”

A pause, then his voice dropped, bitter. “Why does everything seem to be falling apart lately?”

Another beat. “Handle the canceled projects first. I’ll deal with the rest later.”

It was clear that the Jefferson curse was starting to take its toll.

I pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Louis, still on the phone, glanced up in surprise.

“Elise? What are you doing here?” His brow furrowed. “Since you’re awake, go check on Nicole.”

Then, with that usual smugness creeping into his voice, he added, “I remember you used to make soup. Nicole said the baby’s been craving some. Why don’t you whip something up for her?”

I had never cooked in the Jefferson household.

It was always beneath me, or so I thought.

But once, Louis said he missed the taste of home. So, I humbled myself. I learned to cook to make him happy.

Now, with my hands still bandaged and too raw to even touch water, I let out a cold, bitter laugh.

“I can make it if you’re not afraid I’ll poison it.”

Louis’s expression darkened.

He leaned back in his chair, his voice turning cold. “Still not done with the confinement room? Do you want to go back in?”

I pulled out the chair across from him and sat down, steady and deliberate.

Meeting his eyes, I said, “Louis, I’m giving you one last chance. While there’s still time, sign the divorce papers. You’ve already fallen for someone else—let’s end this cleanly.”

Louis's gaze narrowed, fury flickering just beneath the surface. “Did you sabotage my projects? Is this your way of getting back at me?”

The accusation struck like a slap, yet I couldn’t hold back the bitter laugh that escaped.

“Louis, you locked me in a room for three days. How exactly do you think I pulled that off from there?”

He snorted, full of contempt.

“You’d better not try anything,” he snapped. “And forget about divorce—it’s not happening. If you hadn’t lied to me back then, I never would’ve mistaken you for Nicole. I wasted all these years on you, and now she’s paying for it.”

I furrowed my brow, trying to make sense of his twisted reasoning.

“What did I lie to you about?” My voice was steady, a direct challenge to his insanity.