The Masked Heiress: His Dead Wife Lives

Elena Vitiello POV: I pulled the oversized lapels of the trench coat tighter around my neck. I forced my spine to lock perfectly straight, ignoring the violent shaking in my atrophied legs. I walked up the white marble steps of my own home, step by agonizing step, refusing to break eye contact. The night wind whipped my dark hair across my face. Despite my skeletal frame and pale skin, I channeled every ounce of the authority I used to wield. Sofia stood on the top landing, looking down at the woman who was legally a corpse. A sickening, triumphant smirk played at the corners of her glossed lips. The heavy mahogany front door opened wider, and Dante stepped out of the shadows of the foyer. He stopped right beside Sofia. His jaw was clenched tight, his dark eyes swirling with a chaotic mix of guilt and anger as he looked at me. The second he appeared, Sofia deliberately shifted her weight, pressing her breasts against his arm and wrapping her hands around his bicep. The diamonds on my grandmother’s heirloom bracelet flashed under the porch lights, blinding me for a second. I stopped three steps below them. I didn't look at Dante. I stared directly at the bracelet on her wrist, my expression turning to ice. "Welcome home, my miracle sister," Sofia purred. Her voice was drenched in that fake, sugary tone American socialites used when they were plotting to stab you in the back. "We’ve been praying for this day." I didn't give her the satisfaction of a response. I looked past them, staring into the brightly lit foyer of my house. Dante let out a tense breath. He pulled his arm away from Sofia and took a step down toward me, reaching out to support my elbow. "Elena, come inside. You shouldn't be standing in the cold—" I shot him a look of such visceral disgust that he froze mid-step, his hand hovering in the air. Before he could speak again, the rapid, light pitter-patter of small feet echoed from the hardwood floors inside. A little boy wearing dark blue pajamas ran out of the hallway and skidded to a halt in the grand entryway. My lungs stopped working. He had Dante’s sharp jawline and dark hair, but the moment the porch light hit his face, I saw my own amber eyes staring back at me. My heart physically ached, a sharp, stabbing pain right behind my ribs. This was my son. This was the baby I had carried for ten months, the child I had practically traded my life to bring into the world. Leo. Every wall of cold indifference I had built over the last two hours shattered instantly. Hot tears flooded my eyes, blurring my vision. I stumbled forward, my knees nearly giving out. I reached both of my trembling hands out toward him. "Leo..." I whispered. My voice broke, thick with desperation and a sob I couldn't hold back. "My baby..." Leo took one look at my sunken, pale face, the dark circles under my eyes, and the bloodstains smeared across the sleeve of my oversized coat. He didn't smile. He didn't run to me. His amber eyes widened in sheer, unadulterated terror. He let out a high-pitched scream, spun around, and sprinted directly behind Sofia, burying his face into the back of her emerald silk dress. He wrapped his little arms around her legs in a death grip. Sofia immediately dropped to one knee. She wrapped her arms around my son, stroking his hair with exaggerated, theatrical maternal affection. Over his small shoulder, she shot me a look of pure, venomous victory. My hands hung suspended in the empty air. The strength drained out of my body so fast I swayed on my feet. My fingertips shook uncontrollably. I forced a gentle, trembling smile onto my face, trying to soften my raspy voice. "Leo, sweetie... please don't be scared. It's me. I'm your mama." The word "mama" acted like a trigger. Leo’s reaction became violent. He shook his head frantically, burying his face deeper into Sofia's skirts. "You're lying!" Leo shrieked, his voice raw and terrified. "You're not my mama!" He peeked out from behind Sofia's waist and pointed a shaking finger at my bloody coat and hollow cheeks. Sofia kissed the top of his head, whispering something in his ear that I couldn't hear, fueling his panic. Leo stepped out slightly, his chest heaving as he screamed the words that would officially end my life. It felt like someone swung a sledgehammer directly into my sternum. I couldn't breathe. "Mama Sofia is right," Leo cried, tears streaming down his face. "You are the monster that crawled out of the ground! You are the Scarecrow Aunt!"