The Fiancé Who Stole My Life

Elna POV:

Garrison' s words echoed in the sterile silence of the hospital room: Empty. A void. They were a branding iron, searing themselves into my very being. Yet, a strange calm settled over me. He saw me as nothing. If I was nothing, then I had nothing to lose.

I closed my eyes, and against my will, memories surfaced. Not of the recent horrors, but of a time before. A softer time.

"Elna," Garrison murmured, his fingers tracing the line of my jaw. We were on the balcony of his penthouse, the city lights twinkling below like scattered diamonds. "You' re so beautiful."

I had just blinked, confused by the intensity of his gaze. I didn' t understand 'beautiful' in the way he meant it. To me, it was just a word. But his eyes, so warm, so full of… something, made my chest feel a little less tight.

"I' ll always protect you," he' d whispered, pulling me closer. "You' re mine, and I' ll never let anyone hurt you."

He' d bought me a delicate silver locket, engraved with my initial. "This," he' d said, pressing it into my palm, "is a symbol of my promise. Of my love. Keep it close."

His words, his gestures, they had been so convincing. He had pursued me relentlessly, patiently chipping away at my protective shell, trying to understand my alexithymia. He' d read books, sought advice, always saying, "I want to learn your language, Elna."

He' d once spent an entire afternoon trying to explain the feeling of joy, drawing diagrams and making analogies, just to see a flicker of understanding in my eyes. He' d called my quiet nature "serene," not "empty." My emotional struggles, "a unique perspective," not "damaged."

Where had that man gone? When had his patience turned to disgust, his understanding to judgment? Was it Corliss? The kidney? Or was it always there, lurking beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment to emerge?

The questions spun in my head, a dizzying carousel. I lay there all night, unable to sleep, piecing together the broken shards of our past, trying to find the precise moment when the cracks had started to show. I found none. Only a sudden, brutal shattering.

The next morning, the hospital released me. I returned to the mansion, a sense of dread settling in my bones. I knew what awaited me.

As I stepped into the foyer, Garrison and Katia were there, locked in an embrace. Katia' s arms were wrapped around his neck, her head tilted back, a triumphant smile on her face. Garrison held her close, his eyes closed. It was an intimate, possessive tableau.

Then Katia saw me. Her smile didn't falter. Instead, she tightened her grip on Garrison, pressing herself even closer to him. She rubbed her cheek against his, a deliberate, taunting gesture.

A strange, hot flush spread through me. It wasn' t the burning shame from the party. This was different. A primal, raw sensation that made my hands clench. My chest felt tight, my breath shallow. It was… jealousy? The word felt foreign on my tongue, sharp and unfamiliar.

"What are you doing?" I heard myself ask, the words cutting through the air, surprisingly steady.

Garrison' s eyes snapped open. He disentangled himself from Katia, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face. Katia, however, remained rooted to the spot, a smug smirk playing on her lips.

"Elna, darling," Katia purred, her voice sweet as poison. "Just comforting Garrison. He's been so worried about me, you know, after that dreadful chandelier incident. And your… unfortunate involvement." She sighed theatrically. "It truly was a traumatic experience, even for me, just standing by."

She paused, then added, "It' s so good to see you' re recovering, though. We were all so concerned." The words were an olive branch coated in thorns.

"Elna," Garrison said, his voice sharp, cutting through Katia' s feigned sympathy. "Must you always cause a scene? Katia is still recovering. She doesn' t need your… drama."

My jaw tightened. "Drama? I'm not causing anything. I just walked in."

"And your very presence seems to upset her," he retorted, glancing at Katia, who had subtly flinched and clutched her arm. "I'm warning you both. I won't tolerate any more squabbling. This is my home. You will both behave."

He turned back to me, his voice hardening. "Now, apologize to Katia for your behavior at the party and for upsetting her just now."

My breath hitched. Apologize? For being framed? For being humiliated? The anger flared, hot and sharp. "I won't apologize. I did nothing wrong."

Garrison' s eyes narrowed. He took a step towards me, then stopped. His gaze fell on the small, framed photograph on the side table. It was a picture of me, smiling faintly, holding the silver locket he' d given me. The locket that was still around my neck.

He reached out, his finger tracing the silver. A subtle threat. He knew how much that locket meant to me. It was the only physical reminder of his promise, of a time when he had claimed to love me.

The anger drained out of me, replaced by a cold, numbing fear. He would take it. He would destroy it. He would erase every last vestige of our shared history.

"I… I'm sorry," I choked out, the words tasting like ash. "I apologize, Katia."

Katia' s smile widened, a triumphant flash of white teeth. "Oh, Elna, it's quite alright," she said, her voice dripping with false magnanimity. "I understand you've been through a lot. I forgive you. Truly." She turned to Garrison, fluttering her eyelashes. "See, Garrison? She's not so bad. Just a little… misguided."

"Now that that' s settled," Katia continued, her voice gaining an edge, "Garrison, darling, I'm feeling a bit faint. The shock, you know. Could you perhaps take me shopping? I need a distraction. Something pretty to lift my spirits." She leaned into him, her gaze sliding to me, a silent challenge.

Garrison hesitated for a fraction of a second. "Of course, sweetheart." He pulled out his wallet. "Here, take this card. Buy whatever you need. Anything to make you feel better." He handed her a black card. "Elna, you will accompany Katia. Help her. Make sure she has everything she desires."

My blood ran cold. Accompany her? Serve her? The humiliation was endless.

I remembered a time, not so long ago, when Garrison would ask for my opinion, respect my choices. "What do you want, Elna? Your happiness is all that matters." His words, once filled with such warmth, now felt like a cruel mockery. He was forcing me. Reducing me to a subservient role.

"Well, Elna? Are you going to stand there all day?" Garrison' s voice was sharp, impatient. "Katia is waiting."

I sighed, a deep, weary sound that felt like it came from the very depths of my soul. "Yes, Garrison," I murmured, my voice devoid of emotion. "Of course."

As we walked towards the car, Katia still clinging possessively to Garrison' s arm, I watched their interaction. Katia was laughing, her head thrown back, her hand resting on Garrison' s chest. He looked down at her, a soft smile on his face. My chest tightened again, that unfamiliar, burning sensation returning.

"You know, Garrison," Katia purred, just loud enough for me to hear. "I prefer to sit next to you in the car. Elna can ride in the back. She's so quiet, she won't mind."

Garrison chuckled, giving her shoulder a squeeze. "Whatever you want, my dear." He glanced at me, his smile fading. "Elna, you understand, don't you? Katia is still fragile. She needs comfort."

"She' s always so fragile, isn't she?" I thought, a bitter taste in my mouth. My lips, however, remained closed.

"Besides," Garrison continued, his eyes hardening, "you don' t tend to express much, do you? Katia, on the other hand, is so full of life, of emotion. It' s a joy to be around her." He paused, a cruel glimmer in his eyes. "You really should try to be more like her, Elna. Learn to… feel."

Katia giggled, a triumphant, mocking sound.

I felt a surge of something hot and sharp, a pain so intense it made my vision blur. Feel? I wanted to scream. I wanted to tell him that I was feeling more than he could ever imagine. That his words were tearing me apart, piece by agonizing piece. But the words wouldn' t come. They never did. My emotions were a tangled, silent mess inside me.

The Garrison who had patiently tried to teach me to feel, now mocked my inability to do so. The irony was a bitter pill. I slid into the back seat, the locket around my neck feeling heavier than stone.