My Love Buried Me, My Return Will Bury You

When I finally regained consciousness, the white ceiling of a hospital room hovered above me.

A tight bandage pressed against my forehead, throbbing with every heartbeat. My ankle wasn’t the only thing injured anymore — fresh bruises bloomed across my arms, shallow cuts burned along my skin, and every time I shifted, pain sparked through my bones like broken glass grinding together. It felt as though my body had been torn apart and poorly stitched back together.

I tried to sit up, but before I could, the door swung open.

The sharp click of heels echoed across the floor.

Mrs. Sterling swept inside, her posture rigid, her presence suffocating the room without a single word.

“I told you to get out of this country,” she snapped. “So why are you still here? Are you still foolish enough to think you’ll marry into our family? Is one hundred million not enough to buy you out?”

Her accusations struck like knives, yet my voice remained level.

“That isn’t the reason. My documents aren’t ready yet. Once the visa is issued, I’ll leave — somewhere far away, somewhere Sebastian will never be able to find me.”

Her lips curved in faint amusement, like she was already watching me vanish.

“Make sure you do. Otherwise, I’ll have someone make you disappear for real. Consider this your final warning.”

The door opened again, and Sebastian entered. He was limping slightly, but otherwise he looked unharmed.

The air in the room shifted instantly — heavy, oppressive, as though the space had shrunk the moment he arrived.

“Leaving?” he asked, suspicion flickering in his eyes as he glanced between us. “Who’s going anywhere?”

I dropped my gaze and forced steadiness into my tone.

“Your grandmother just stopped by to see how I was doing. I told her I’m fine. She can go now.”

Mrs. Sterling instantly changed her expression, offering a hollow wish for my recovery before sweeping out, her heels snapping like distant gunfire.

Now it was only Sebastian and me.

He stood awkwardly near the bed, uncertain, restless.

“About the crash earlier… it happened too fast. I didn’t even have time to think.”

I nodded faintly. “I understand.”

“You’re not upset?”

“No.”

He searched my face, clearly expecting anger or resentment, but all he found was emptiness. I had already burned through every emotion I once had for him.

He stepped closer, reaching toward my cheek.

“Don’t look at me like that, I—”

“I’m not angry,” I interrupted gently, turning my head aside. My voice was soft, but it left no room for argument. “I just need rest. Miss Rutherford was hurt too. You should stay with her.”

A long pause followed.

Then he left.

---

The days that followed blurred into one another. He visited every morning and every evening, bringing work documents into my room as if this were his office. He’d ask whether I was in pain, and every time I shook my head.

But when night fell and the ward sank into silence, his chair beside my bed was always empty.

From the hushed conversations of the nurses outside, I learned what I wasn’t meant to know.

“The girl in the VIP suite… her fiancé stayed overnight again.”

“They say he’s the Sterling heir. Handsome. Attentive.”

I closed my eyes, pretending to sleep, pretending those words meant nothing.

When I was finally discharged, Sebastian came to pick me up.

I hobbled toward the car — and stopped.

Bianca was already seated in the front, dressed elegantly, like we were attending a celebration instead of leaving a hospital. She smiled pleasantly.

“I hope you don’t mind me coming along, Miss Monroe. I get motion sickness, so I can only sit in front.”

Sebastian’s jaw tightened, clearly wanting to say something.

I spoke before he could.

“It’s fine.”

I slid into the back seat, quiet and unseen, like a shadow.

He glanced at me through the rearview mirror, words hovering unspoken. The engine started instead.

---

The car stopped before a vast, glittering villa, its gates glowing beneath golden lights.

My heart sank.

This wasn’t home.

This was a banquet — the golden anniversary celebration of Mr. and Mrs. Sterling.

The whispers began the moment we stepped inside.

“Isn’t that Young Master Sterling? Why did he bring two women?”

“The one in white… that’s Aurelia, right? The girl from the slums. No family, no status. Just look at her clothes.”

“Miss Rutherford and Young Master Sterling… now that’s what you call a match.”

They weren’t even trying to be discreet.

I stood slightly apart, invisible, while Sebastian never once left Bianca’s side. He poured her wine, draped his jacket over her shoulders, gazed at her like nothing else in the room mattered.

Then Bianca turned, all sweetness, and looped her arm through mine.

“Come, Miss Monroe. Let me introduce you to some friends.”

Before I could refuse, she pulled me into a group of impeccably dressed women.

“This is Aurelia,” she announced cheerfully, her voice loud enough to draw attention. “Sebastian’s… poor girlfriend.”

Then she seamlessly switched to Spanish, chatting and laughing as though I weren’t even present. The others joined in, replying in German, their conversation forming a wall I couldn’t breach.

Stranded, I stood there smiling stiffly, alone in the middle of their laughter.

Suddenly Bianca turned back to me.

“What do you think, Miss Monroe?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Oh, right.” She tilted her head apologetically. “I forgot you don’t speak French.” Then she laughed softly and added to the group, “She never learned foreign languages. Don’t mind her.”

The laughter that followed was light — and razor-sharp.

“It’s alright,” Bianca added kindly. “You can always start now.”

My fingers curled into my palm until I finally lifted my chin.

“Actually,” I replied smoothly in perfect French, every syllable crisp,

“Je comprends parfaitement tout ce que vous venez de dire.”

I understand every word you just said.

The laughter died mid-breath.

Bianca’s smile stiffened.