Left To Die: Now The CEO Begs
On our third anniversary, my husband Marcus walked out on our dinner because his "best friend" Izzy had a crisis.
That was the ninth time he chose her call over my presence. According to the sick bet I made with her years ago, it was game over.
But the true end didn't come in a restaurant. It happened inside a plummeting elevator.
When the cable snapped and the emergency brakes slammed us to a halt, I lay trapped under debris, my leg fractured and head bleeding. Izzy, terrified but scratched-free, screamed for help.
Marcus didn't even look at me.
He stepped over my broken body to scoop her up.
"I've got you, Iz," he whispered, carrying her out to safety while I lay alone in the dust, gasping his name.
He left me to die in that metal box.
Later, when I confronted him, he called me "unstable" and "jealous." He claimed I was a burden, a placeholder he married just to pass the time until Izzy was ready for him.
He even shoved me into a freezing lake to protect her from a confrontation she started.
He thought I would always be there, the pathetic wife waiting in the shadows. He thought his love was a prize I would endure any torture to keep.
He was wrong.
I signed the divorce papers, threw my ring into the ocean, and vanished without a trace.
Three years later, I returned to New York as a celebrated artist, with a man who treated me like a masterpiece, not a prop.
Marcus, now ruined by Izzy’s lies and stripped of his fortune, found me. He knelt in the rain on the city street, weeping, begging for one more chance to fix us.
I looked down at the husband who had let me drown.
"There is no 'us', Marcus," I said calmly.
Then I turned my back on him and walked into my future.
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Chapter 3
Ellie POV
The pain in my abdomen was blinding, a white-hot agony that felt like someone was slowly twisting a serrated knife beneath my ribs.
I was alone in the emergency room. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, a harsh, sterile rhythm that clashed with the darkness creeping into the edges of my vision. My gallbladder needed to come out. Now.
I had called Marcus three times. Each time, it went straight to voicemail.
*Hi, this is Marcus. Leave a message.*
I didn't leave a message the third time. I didn't have to. I knew exactly where he was. Chloe had told me. Izzy had suffered a panic attack because her cat went missing.
A panic attack over a cat.
Meanwhile, I was lying on a gurney, signing consent forms for emergency surgery with a hand that wouldn't stop shaking.
I woke up hours later, groggy and sore. I turned my head, hoping against logic, but the chair next to my bed was empty.
Two weeks later, at my grandmother's memorial service, the pew next to me was empty, too. Marcus had sent flowers. Lilies.
I hate lilies. They smell like death.
I stood by the grave, the wind whipping my hair across my face, and realized the truth with a heavy, sinking finality: I was essentially a widow. My husband wasn't dead, but he was gone.
Then came the elevator.
It was a cruel joke of the universe. Me, Marcus, and Izzy, all trapped in a metal box at the Thorne Enterprises headquarters. I was there to hand-deliver the signed divorce papers. Izzy was there to... well, simply exist in his orbit.
Then, the cable snapped.
It wasn't like the movies. There was no slow-motion scream. Just a sickening lurch, the ear-splitting screech of metal on metal, and the floor dropping out from under us.
We plummeted two floors before the emergency brakes kicked in. The impact threw us all to the ground with bone-jarring force.
My head slammed against the railing. Pain exploded behind my eyes. My leg twisted at an unnatural angle. I tasted the copper tang of blood.
I lay there, stunned, the world spinning in blurry circles.
"Marcus!" Izzy screamed. Her voice was shrill, piercing the ringing in my ears.
I tried to move, but a jagged piece of the ceiling panel had fallen on my ankle. I gasped, choking on the dust swirling in the confined space.
"Marcus... help me," I whispered. It was barely audible.
Through the haze, I saw him. He was scrambling to his feet, disregarding the blood dripping from his own forehead.
He didn't look at me.
He lunged for Izzy. She was huddled in the corner, not a scratch on her, just terrified.
"I've got you," he said, his voice thick with panic. "I've got you, Iz."
He scooped her up into his arms, checking her face, her hands, shielding her body with his own.
The elevator groaned. It slipped another few inches.
"Marcus," I said, louder this time.
He turned. For a second, our eyes locked.
I saw him register my position. The blood on my face. The debris pinning my leg. He saw the damage. He saw the danger.
And then I saw him look back at Izzy.
"Hold on, Izzy," he said.
He turned his back on me.
He braced himself against the wall, holding Izzy tight, whispering reassurances to her while I lay five feet away, bleeding and broken.
The firefighters pried the doors open ten minutes later.
Marcus carried Izzy out first.
I watched his back recede into the light of the hallway. He didn't look back to see if I was alive.
That was the moment I died. Not physically. My heart was still beating, my lungs were still gasping for air. But the Ellie who loved Marcus Thorne died on the floor of that elevator.
When they finally pulled me out, Julian was there.
I didn't know Julian well. He was Marcus's business rival, the black sheep of the Rossi family. But he was standing there, his face pale, watching the paramedics load me onto the stretcher.
"Where is her husband?" Julian demanded, grabbing a paramedic's arm.
"He went with the other lady," the medic said.
Julian's jaw tightened until a muscle feathered in his cheek. He looked at me. His eyes were storm gray and filled with a terrifying intensity.
"I'm here," he said softly, taking my hand. "I'm not leaving."
I closed my eyes. The physical pain was excruciating, but it was nothing compared to the numbness spreading through my soul.
I didn't cry. I didn't ask for Marcus.
When I woke up in the hospital room, the sun was shining. It felt offensive.
Julian was sitting in the chair. He looked like he hadn't slept.
"Where is he?" I asked. My voice was a ragged rasp.
Julian hesitated. "He's... he's checking on Izzy. She was shaken up."
I laughed. It was a dry, cracking sound. *Shaken up.* I had a concussion and a fractured ankle.
"I need a lawyer, Julian," I said.
He nodded slowly. "I know a good one."
Just then, the door opened.
Marcus stood there. He looked disheveled. He still had dried blood on his forehead. He looked at my cast, then at the bandage on my head.
"Ellie," he said. He took a step forward.
I looked at him. I really looked at him. And I felt... nothing. No anger. No love. Just a vast, empty silence.
"Get out," I said.
He froze. "Ellie, I had to—"
"Get. Out."
I closed my eyes. I heard his footsteps hesitate, then retreat. The door clicked shut.
I was finally free.