Rising From Shadows: The Billionaire's Cold Revenge

Ephram stepped out of the shadows. The motion sensor triggered the automatic doors behind him, but he didn't look back. The wind whipped his hair across his forehead, rain soaking instantly into his cheap grey hoodie.

"Erlene?"

His voice was hoarse, barely a croak over the sound of the downpour.

Erlene jumped. She shoved Andrew's chest, stumbling back in her high heels. Her eyes went wide, reflecting the harsh hospital lights.

Andrew didn't jump. He didn't even look surprised. He smoothed the lapel of his suit, a smirk playing on his lips. He looked at Ephram like one might look at a stray dog that had wandered onto a clean porch.

Ephram didn't scream. He didn't throw a punch. He just pointed a shaking finger upward. "You said you were across the city. Grandma is waiting for you."

Erlene's eyes darted around. She was looking for an exit, a lie, anything. "Ephram, I... Andrew wasn't feeling well. I was just bringing him to the ER. It was an emergency."

Ephram looked at Andrew. The man's skin was glowing with health. He smelled like expensive cologne and aged whiskey.

"He looks healthier than I am," Ephram said.

Andrew stepped forward. He positioned himself between Ephram and Erlene, using his height to loom over Ephram. "Don't be so sensitive, buddy. Erlene is just being a good friend. You know how soft-hearted she is."

Ephram clenched his fists at his sides. His fingernails dug into his palms until he felt the skin break. "This is my family. Erlene, come upstairs. Just for five minutes. That's all I'm asking."

Erlene looked at Ephram. She looked at his wet hoodie, his scuffed sneakers, the desperation etched into his face. The fear in her eyes hardened into something colder. Disgust.

She took a step back, moving deeper under the shelter of Andrew's umbrella.

"I'm not going," she said. Her voice was flat. "I don't like watching people die. It's depressing."

Ephram felt like he had been punched in the throat. "She treated you like a granddaughter."

"Don't push her," Andrew said. He wrapped his arm around Erlene's shoulders again, possessive and firm. "Let's go, Erlene. The air here smells like sickness."

Erlene bit her lip. She turned her back on Ephram. "Tell Grandma I came by. Don't let her die sad."

Ephram took a step forward, his body coiled to move, to grab them, to make them understand.

A security guard stepped into his path. "Sir, please. Keep the entrance clear. No disturbances."

Ephram stopped. He watched the red taillights of the Porsche fade into the curtain of rain. He felt hollowed out. Like someone had reached inside his chest and scooped everything out.

He turned around. He walked back to the elevator. He didn't feel his legs moving.

When he entered the ICU room, the rhythm of the monitor had changed. It was slower. Weaker. Beep...... beep...... beep.

Dr. Miller was checking the grandmother's pupils with a penlight. He looked up and gave a small, sad shake of his head.

Ephram rushed to the bedside. He grabbed her hand again. Tears blurred his vision, hot and stinging.

His grandmother's eyes opened a slit. She looked past him, searching the doorway.

"She's here, Grandma," Ephram choked out. The lie tasted like ash. "She's just outside... she has a cold. She didn't want to get you sick."

She looked at him. Really looked at him. Her eyes cleared for a second, and a single tear tracked through the wrinkles on her cheek. She knew.

She squeezed his hand. It was a faint, fluttering pressure.

"My... little Ephram," she breathed. "Don't... don't live so hard..."

The pressure in her hand vanished. Her fingers went slack.

Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep.

The sound was a flat line that went on forever.

Dr. Miller checked his watch. "Time of death, 2:14 AM."

A nurse moved forward to pull the sheet up.

"Wait," Ephram said.

He leaned down and kissed her forehead. It was already cooling. He stayed there for a moment, his forehead resting against hers.

When he stood up, he took off his glasses. He wiped his face with his sleeve. He put the glasses back on. But behind the lenses, the soft, pleading look was gone. The eyes that looked at the dead woman were dry, dark, and terrifyingly calm.