When Love Turned To A Grave

Elara Morgan's POV:

"She has been dead for five years, Christian." Bertram's voice choked up, his grief palpable. "She passed away five years ago. May God rest her soul."

Christian burst into laughter. The harsh, incredulous sound sliced through the quiet air.

"Dead? Stop joking. Elara wouldn't die. She's just hiding, playing some kind of sick prank."

His gaze swept over the rundown little house, then over a group of villagers who had been drawn by the commotion.

"Find her! Tear this place apart if you have to! I want Elara Morgan, and I want her now!"

His bodyguards swarmed the village, their heavy boots kicking up dust, their expressions grim. They barged into homes, rummaging through the villagers' meager belongings, barking orders.

The poor, defenseless villagers scattered like frightened birds. An atmosphere of fear hung heavily over the village, like a thick, suffocating blanket.

As the minutes ticked by, Christian's expression grew darker. His frustration was palpable, rolling off him in waves of barely contained rage.

He couldn't find me. Because I wasn't there. At least, not in any way he could understand.

He grabbed Bertram by the collar, his strong hands twisting the worn fabric.

"Where is she, old man? Tell me where she's hiding herself!" His eyes were manic, the edges rimmed with red.

"I told you," Bertram gasped, struggling against Christian's iron grip. "She is dead."

"Don't lie to me!" Christian roared, his voice shaking the frail old man. "If you don't cooperate, I'll make you regret it!"

Bertram stared back at him, his gaze unwavering despite the pain.

"She is at peace, Christian. You should let her rest."

Christian's patience snapped like a dry twig.

With a sickening crunch, he violently twisted Bertram's arm.

A cry of pure agony ripped from the pastor's throat, echoing in the stifling silence.

Just then, a tiny figure burst from the crowd of terrified villagers.

It was Kaelen. My Kaelen.

"Grandpa!" she cried out, her voice high and childlike. She ran to Bertram's side, tears streaming down her cheeks, her small hands reaching out for his injured arm.

Christian froze. His furious eyes locked onto Kaelen.

A flicker of emotion crossed his face—confusion, a dawn of realization, and hesitation.

Glaring at him with wide, furious eyes, Kaelen bit down hard on Christian's hand. Christian let out a yell of pain.

It was a visceral reaction. Unthinking violence. He kicked her.

Not hard enough to be lethal, but hard enough to send her tumbling to the dusty ground, her small body hitting the earth with a heavy thud.

She struggled to her feet, her little chin trembling, a fire burning in her eyes that surprised even me, her mother.

"You... you big bully!" she screamed, her voice hoarse with pain and anger. "Why did you hurt Grandpa Bertram? Why?!"

Christian's face twisted. His arrogant facade crumbled for a fraction of a second, revealing a raw, unfamiliar emotion.

He stared at her, really looking at her, his eyes darting across her features. The shape of her eyes. Her stubborn jawline. It was as if he could see the ghost of my face reflected in hers.

He leaned down, grabbed her by the arm, and hoisted her up effortlessly until she was dangling in mid-air.

He turned her around, scrutinizing her face and her tiny hands.

"Bastard," he whispered, his voice raspy, laced with a complex mix of shock and disgust. "The illegitimate mutt Elara gave birth to."

His hand tightened around her neck. Kaelen thrashed, her small hands clawing at his fingers, her face turning a deep shade of red.

"My baby!" I screamed.

No! Christian, don't do this!

I lunged at him, my ethereal form phasing right through his solid body.

I couldn't touch him. I couldn't stop him. This powerlessness was a thousand times more agonizing than death itself.

Kaelen's struggles grew weaker. Her breathing became rapid, erratic, and desperate. Her eyes, wide with terror, searched wildly for help.

Despite his broken arm, Bertram tried to stand. "Christian, stop! She is your—"

The heavy boot of a guard slammed into his chest, knocking him back to the ground with a choked cough.

Christian loosened his grip just enough for Kaelen to take a shallow, gasping breath. Her eyes were still wide, still filled with absolute terror.

He dropped her to the ground.

"Elara!" he roared, his voice echoing through the silent village. "Three days! Three days, Elara! If you don't show yourself, I'll be back. And next time, this little bastard won't be so lucky!"

My soul trembled violently. Watching Bertram suffer such brutality, and watching my daughter's innocent life threatened by her own biological father—the pain was unbearable, surpassing even the torment of my own death.

Over the years, my love for Christian had warped and twisted, finally hardening into a deep, bone-chilling hatred.

I regretted every single second I had ever wasted loving him. Every gentle touch, every whispered promise, every shared dream.

He was a monster. A monster who had destroyed my life and was now threatening my child.