My Faked Death, His Endless Torment

Ela Campbell POV:

King was gone. Isabel was gone. My parents, after a brief, exasperated glance, followed them, leaving me stranded in the deserted ballroom, the echoes of their disdain still ringing in my ears. Isabel's night. Always about you, Ela. Attention-seeking.

I let out a shaky breath, a weak, humorless laugh escaping my lips. Annul the contract, I had said. As if a piece of paper could sever the twisted roots that bound us. But it was a start. A final, desperate attempt to reclaim what little dignity I had left before the end.

The family lawyer, Mr. Thompson, a portly man whose loyalty lay strictly with the Campbell and Hayes empires, appeared moments later, summoned by some unseen force. He looked at me with a mixture of pity and annoyance. "Miss Campbell. Are you quite sure about this?"

"Never more sure," I said, my voice stronger than I felt. "Make it happen. Tonight. I want nothing from them."

He gave a sigh, a puff of resignation. "Very well. I will initiate the proceedings. But understand, this is… unprecedented."

I didn't care about unprecedented. I just wanted out. I signed the preliminary documents, my hand trembling slightly, leaving a faint blood smudge on the pristine parchment. The ink felt cold beneath my fingertips, a chilling finality. I told him I would be unreachable after midnight. By then, it wouldn't matter.

Mr. Thompson left, his footsteps echoing in the cavernous hall. I watched his retreating figure, then glanced out the window. The city lights glittered indifferently, a million tiny stars mocking my pain. King and Isabel were probably in a taxi by now, heading to some exclusive club, celebrating her promotion and my spectacular public meltdown. While they reveled, I would be quietly erasing myself from their lives.

I walked out of the ballroom, the cool night air a welcome relief against my flushed skin. My designated driver was already gone, dismissed, no doubt, by King's orders. I hailed a cab. "The old Hayes estate," I instructed, giving the address for the property King and I had shared, the place I supposed I still called 'home.'

I needed to collect my things. What few things were left for me, anyway.

When the cab pulled up to the sprawling estate, the house was dark, silent, a mausoleum. I let myself in with a key card that probably wouldn't work again after tonight. The grand foyer, usually buzzing with staff, was empty.

My steps echoed as I made my way to what used to be my room, the master suite. But when I pushed open the heavy oak door, a jolt went through me. It wasn' t my room anymore. The familiar minimalist decor had been replaced by vibrant colors, plush fabrics, and a distinct feminine scent that wasn't mine. Isabel's belongings were everywhere. Her silk scarves draped over a chair, her makeup scattered on the vanity, her glittering shoes lined up neatly in what used to be my closet. My heart sank. They hadn't even waited for me to leave.

My things, all of them, had been relegated to a small, dusty guest room at the back of the house, a room usually reserved for distant relatives or forgotten staff. My antique jewelry box, a cherished gift from my grandmother, was shoved haphazardly onto a shelf, its contents spilling out. My favorite books, once neatly arranged, lay in a disordered pile on the floor.

A wave of emptiness washed over me. Even my space had been taken. My identity systematically erased.

I started to gather my belongings, my movements slow and deliberate. My fingers brushed against a small, velvet-covered box. Inside, nestled on a silken cushion, was a delicate silver locket. It was a gift from King, given to me on our first anniversary. He had engraved it with our initials, intertwined. E.C. + K.H.

I picked it up, feeling the cool metal against my skin. A faint memory stirred-a younger, happier King, his eyes full of affection, placing it around my neck. "To remind you, Ela, that you're always with me."

I ran my thumb over the engraved letters, now faded and worn. The irony was a bitter pill. He had forgotten. Forgotten me, forgotten us.

I placed the locket into a small, nondescript travel bag. This wasn't a home anymore. It was just a house, and I was merely a fleeting guest.

As I surveyed the desolate room, the phone on the bedside table rang, startling me. I hesitated, then answered. "Hello?"

"Ela Campbell?" A professional, sympathetic voice on the other end. "This is Willow Creek Memorial. We're calling about your… arrangements. We have a beautiful plot available, overlooking the valley. Would you like us to finalize the details?"

Arrangements. My funeral arrangements. They were calling about my last resting place. A cold shiver ran down my spine, despite the fever. "How much… how much does it cost?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

There was a pause. "Miss Campbell, the package we discussed is quite extensive. It includes…"

"No," I interrupted, a sudden surge of defiance. "No, thank you. I don't need it." I hung up before they could protest. I wouldn't spend my last penny on a beautiful plot for a body that had been so unloved in life. I would disappear, unmourned, unremembered.

Just then, the door creaked open. King stood there, his shadow long and menacing in the dim hallway light. He had followed me.

His eyes swept over the cramped, dusty room, then landed on me, standing amidst the scattered remnants of my life. A flicker of distaste crossed his face. "What is this stench?" he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. He sniffed the air, as if searching for something familiar, something that belonged to the woman he thought he knew. "It smells like… decay."

He stopped himself, then seemed to push down his discomfort. "Who was that on the phone?" His voice was cold, accusatory. "Were you trying to stir up trouble again, Ela? Playing the victim for attention?"

My heart clenched. Even now, he thought the worst of me. "It was the funeral home," I said, my voice flat. "They were calling about my arrangements."

His eyes widened slightly, a flicker of something unreadable passing through them. "Don't be absurd. You're not going anywhere." He strode towards me, his jaw clenched. "This contract, Ela, it's not simply an engagement. It's a merger. It binds our families, our companies. You think you can just annul it because you're having another one of your episodes?"

"I'm not having an episode," I said, my voice rising. "I'm dying, King. And I won't spend my last days tied to a man who despises me, to a family that sees me as a burden."

"Despises you?" He scoffed, a harsh, humorless sound. "Don't flatter yourself. I simply have no time for your dramatics. You were a means to an end, Ela. A necessary alliance. Nothing more." He took another step, closing the distance between us. "But you're not getting out of it. Not now, not ever. You belong to me, Ela Campbell. And everything you have belongs to me too."

His words slammed into me, knocking the air from my lungs. Belong to him. He had claimed my body, my name, my future. Now, he wanted to claim my past, my present, my very right to cease existing on my own terms. There was nothing left for me to lose.

"What about our child, King?" My voice was barely a whisper, ragged with the pain I had suppressed for so long. "Did that belong to you too?"