The Ghost Who Died For Him

Looking at Elliot's face, my mind drifted back to the past—before the accident, before he went blind, before Dolly spun her insidious web of lies.

I remembered how Dolly used to cling to Elliot when they were kids; her family's mansion sat adjacent to Elliot's estate. When Elliot spoke of her, his tone was a mix of pity and resentment.

"Her family betrayed mine," he confided in me one night. "After my parents died, her father, who was supposed to be my guardian, squandered my family's entire fortune. He left me nothing but a dilapidated house and a disgraced surname."

He said he hated them. He hated Dolly, and he hated the way she looked at him—a gaze filled with both contempt and arrogance, as if he were a pet on her leash.

He used to tell me how Dolly, once the darling of high society, and her friends would laugh at him behind his back, whispering about his family's downfall and treating him like an inferior being.

He despised all of it.

I was the one who helped him rebuild his confidence, encouraging him to channel his anger into ambition.

We fought side by side, working tirelessly from the ground up. With his sharp intellect and my unwavering support, we built his tech empire from scratch.

I thought we were invincible. I thought we were a team destined to spend our lives together, chasing our dreams and achieving greatness.

I used to envision our future—a tapestry woven with love, success, and the quiet solace of each other's company.

I thought we would conquer the world together.

Foolish, naive Kayla.

My kindness, my desperate act to shield him from suffering, had become the very weapon used against my own family.

My selfless lie, a seed planted with so much love, had grown into poisonous vines, strangling everything I held dear.

Now, I watched as Elliot's hands began typing a message to Dolly.

He was arranging to meet her, to bring her flowers, playing the role of the devoted fiancé.

The taste of this irony was like bitter bile in my nonexistent mouth.

He was completely oblivious, blind to the truth right in front of him, even after regaining his sight through my sacrifice.

"Christian, I need those files," I had whispered to my best friend and lawyer from my hospital bed, "the sealed medical records, and the video diaries. Keep them safe. Promise me... promise me you won't show them to Elliot. Let him think I left. It's for the best."

Out of loyalty to me, he did as I asked. And now, that very loyalty had cost my family everything.

As Elliot spoke to Dolly on the phone, a gentle smile curved his lips, his voice as soft as a caress.

"My dear Dolly, don't worry, I'll be right there. I'll always be by your side." He was a completely different person. The brute who had just ordered my brother's torture, the murderer who watched my mother collapse, was gone. In his place was this gentle, considerate lover.

He hung up, the tender expression vanishing in an instant.

He turned to his men. "Take Jaron to the infirmary. Patch him up. But don't let him go. He's still our bait."

The icy aura returned, a chilling reminder of his true purpose.

Elliot left the warehouse and headed straight for the hospital.

He stopped at a florist, carefully selecting a bouquet of pristine white lilies—Dolly's favorite flowers.

But they weren't mine.

My favorites had always been bluebells, petite and exquisitely beautiful. He had once promised to fill our garden with bluebells. That memory pierced my chest like a shard of glass.

He stopped outside Dolly's hospital room, adjusting his tie and smoothing his hair. He even cleared his throat, subtly altering his voice to sound softer, more upbeat. Dolly, inside the room, was clearly prepared as well.

"Elliot? Is that you, darling?" Dolly's voice floated out of the room, cloyingly sweet and somewhat forced.

I saw her lying in bed, eyes tightly shut, covered by a thin layer of white gauze.

She was still pretending to be blind—a calculated move to maintain Elliot's misguided loyalty.

Elliot pushed the door open, his eyes brimming with feigned concern.

"My little darling, how are you feeling?" He walked to her bedside and took her hand.

His hands, which once belonged to me, were now hers.

"Oh, Elliot, it's so dark," Dolly whimpered, clutching his hand tightly. "I wish I could see your handsome face. I'm so lonely without you." Her voice trembled; it was a masterful performance.

"Don't worry, sweetheart," Elliot said softly, stroking her hair. "You're so brave. You're the strongest woman I know."

"You hardly visit lately," Dolly pouted, a hint of mild reproach in her tone. "I miss you."

"I'm so sorry, darling. Work has been crazy lately," Elliot said lightly, "but I brought you something." He gently placed the lilies on her nightstand.

Dolly reached out, her fingertips lightly brushing the petals. "Oh, lilies," she said, a trace of confusion in her voice. "They're... beautiful, Elliot. But I thought you knew... I've always preferred roses."

A crack appeared in her facade; she had slipped up.

She didn't expect lilies.

She was used to Elliot remembering everything she liked.

My ghostly heart clenched. He had always known my favorite flowers were bluebells, but he also knew Dolly loved roses.

The lilies were the first sign of his confusion, his subconscious beginning to unravel the tangled threads of lies.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, darling. I must have been distracted." Elliot quickly recovered his composure, his tone filled with concern. He was even catering to her over such trivial matters. "Don't worry. Next time it will be roses, I promise. Red ones, just for you." He squeezed her hand. "Soon, we'll be together forever. As husband and wife."

My soul felt a piercing chill, more agonizing than any physical wound. It was as if my very spirit was being crushed, the breath stolen from my lungs.

His promises, his sacred vows, now belonged to her.

Dolly's face lit up immediately. Her perfectly manicured hands reached up to cup his cheeks. "Really, Elliot? Do you mean it?"

"Of course, my love," he whispered, leaning in closer.

"Kiss me, Elliot." Her demand was bold and domineering.

He hesitated for a fraction of a second, then pressed his lips against hers.

I couldn't watch anymore. I couldn't bear to witness this twisted affection.

I turned away, covering my spectral ears with my hands, desperate to block out their sickeningly sweet words.

It was a nightmare, and I was trapped within it, forced to observe my own erasure forever.

The memory of our first kiss—the hesitance and the innocence—flashed before my eyes, then shattered into a million pieces.

The man who was once as bright as the moon had now turned into a dark, destructive force. And I was nothing but a forgotten speck of dust, tethered to this place.