Discovered His Will, Faked My Death

Elyse POV: The front door slammed shut so hard, the whole house shook. I heard the roar of his car engine, then silence. He was gone. Again. I walked back into the living room, my eyes falling on his desk. The divorce papers were gone. Replaced by a crumpled mess in the wastebasket. He had torn them to shreds. Why? Why couldn't he just let me go? What was left for him here? My phone buzzed, vibrating against the polished wood of the table. A message. From Kira. Again. It was a photo. Kira, smiling, her head nestled against Grayson's shoulder. His arm was around her, possessive. The caption read: "Grayson is finally mine now. You really tried, honey. But some things are just meant to be." My stomach clenched. This wasn't new. For months, sometimes even years, she' d been sending me these little 'updates.' Casual photos of them at dinner, a subtle mention of a weekend getaway, a childish doodle he'd drawn for her. She always played the innocent, fragile artist, but her messages were laced with venom. She' d even tried to 'vent' to me about him once, pretending to be my confidante. "He's so demanding, Elyse," she'd whined, "always putting his work first. I wish he'd just relax, be more fun, like he is with me." The phone buzzed again. Another message, another photo. This one, a close-up. Grayson, asleep, his head on her pillow. And he was wearing… my silk pajamas. The ones I' d bought for him, for our anniversary, just last month. "He's so sweet when he sleeps," Kira's message read. "And so protective of me. Don't worry about the will, Elyse. It's just a silly little thing Grayson did to make me feel secure. He loves me. He's always loved me." Then, the lines that sent a jolt of ice through me. "He said you have dimples, just like I do. And our baby... he hopes the baby has a dimple too. For me." My blood ran cold. Dimples. My distinctive dimples. The ones Grayson had always admired. The ones he said made my smile light up a room. It wasn' t about my untamed spirit, or my charming smile. It was about my dimples. Because Kira had them too. He wanted a child with my dimples, for her. My stomach heaved. I ran to the bathroom, clutching my mouth. I threw up, bile burning my throat. But it wasn't just physical nausea. It was pure, unadulterated disgust. Disgust for him, for her, for myself for being so utterly blind. I looked in the mirror, my own dimples mocking me, twisting my face into a grotesque mask. He hadn't loved me. He had cultivated me. Chosen me. Because I resembled her. I was a breeding vessel. A surrogate. A placeholder for a woman who couldn' t carry a child, but who could carry his name, his love, his fortune. A raw, guttural cry tore from my throat. My heart felt like it had been ripped from my chest, leaving a gaping, bloody hole. My fingers flew across the keyboard, trembling. I typed a single message back to Kira: "Enjoy your second-hand clothes, you pathetic excuse for a human being." Almost immediately, my phone rang. Grayson. His name flashed on the screen. I remembered how he'd once screamed at me for even daring to whisper a complaint about Kira, accusing me of jealousy, of being petty. Without a second thought, I tapped "block." And then "delete." My hands were still shaking, but a strange calm settled over me. I booked a moving truck online. For tomorrow morning. I didn't have much. Just a few boxes of books, some clothes, a collection of old photographs. Nothing that reminded me of him. Nothing that belonged to us. I walked through the vast, empty rooms of the mansion one last time. This extravagant house, this gilded cage. It was never home. It was a stage for his elaborate charade. I took a deep, shuddering breath. The air, heavy with his deceit, suddenly felt lighter. I was free. I picked up a dusty old plant pot I' d found in the conservatory, a forgotten fig tree struggling for light. I carried it out to the car, gently placed it in the passenger seat. This was my new focus. New life. Back at my new apartment, the stark white walls felt… clean. Empty, yes, but clean. I repotted the fig tree, placing it by the window where the afternoon sun poured in. It looked small, vulnerable, but determined. Just like me. The phone rang again. A discreet private number. I hesitated, then answered. It was his assistant. "Mrs. Graves," his voice was clipped and formal. "Mr. Graves would like to speak with you." Then, Grayson's voice, cold and furious, cut through. "Elyse. What the hell do you think you're doing? Why are you trying to provoke Kira? She's delicate, you know that! Her heart condition makes her highly susceptible to stress." He mentioned her heart again. Always her heart. Never mine. Never the life growing inside me. "Go home, Elyse," he continued, his voice softening, a manipulative edge creeping in. "Come back, and we can forget all this. I'll even forgive you for your outburst. Just come home. And give me my child." My grip tightened on the phone, my knuckles white. He didn' t care about me. He only cared about the child, about the heir he needed for Kira. He always had a plan, a calculation. I was just a pawn in his game. "Elyse? Are you listening to me?" His voice was impatient now. I didn't answer. I just pressed the "end call" button. Then I blocked his number again. And deleted the contact. I wouldn't provoke Kira. I wouldn't disturb them. I would just disappear.