Elna POV:

The mansion looked the same, yet everything felt different. My old room was still mine, but Katia's presence was everywhere. Her new things were already placed in the guest suite, a splash of vibrant colors against the muted tones I preferred. Her perfume lingered in the air, a cloying sweetness that made my stomach turn.

Garrison seemed lighter, happier. His business ventures were flourishing, his deals closing left and right. His face, once strained with worry for Corliss, now held a relaxed confidence. He often left early and returned late, his phone buzzing with calls and messages. He was always smiling, always laughing, especially when Katia was around.

One evening, he announced a grand celebration. "A victory party," he called it, his eyes shining. "For Corliss's progress, for my latest deal, for… everything good that's happening." He didn' t mention me. He didn' t mention the "correction facility."

A few days before the party, a package arrived in my room. Inside was a dress. A beautiful, emerald-green gown, shimmering silk. It was stunning. Garrison had left a note with it. Wear this. Come alone. Be on time. No endearment. No explanation. Just an order.

On the night of the party, I dressed slowly, my fingers tracing the delicate fabric. It felt heavy, like a costume. I arrived at the grand ballroom alone, just as instructed. The place was already buzzing with guests, a sea of glittering gowns and sharp suits. I felt like a ghost, drifting through the opulent crowd, invisible.

Then, the murmurs started. A hush fell over the room as the main doors swung open. Garrison stood there, radiant in a tailored suit, a dazzling smile on his face. And beside him, her arm linked proudly through his, was Katia.

She was wearing the exact same emerald-green gown.

My breath caught in my throat. My hands clenched, crumpling the silk of my dress. It wasn't a mistake. It was a deliberate, calculated humiliation. Her eyes met mine across the crowded room, a flash of malicious triumph in their depths.

The whispers grew louder, rising like a tide. "Oh, my god, they're wearing the same dress!" "How embarrassing for Elna!" "Is that Garrison's new girlfriend? She's stunning!"

Garrison and Katia swept into the room, a power couple, bathed in the spotlight. They didn't even glance my way. I was a mere shadow, a poorly executed duplicate. The humiliation washed over me, hot and stinging.

I heard snippets of conversation as people passed. "She always was a bit… off," one woman murmured. "Emotionally stunted, you know." Another chuckled. "Poor Garrison, he deserves someone vibrant, not a blank slate."

A wave of nausea hit me. I felt my face flush, a rare heat consuming my cheeks. An unknown emotion, sharp and painful, pierced through my usual numbness. It felt like… deep, profound shame. And a searing rage. For the first time in a long time, I felt something akin to true anger.

I needed to leave. I had to get out. I pushed through the throng of guests, my eyes scanning for an exit. But the doors were blocked, people jostling for a glimpse of the celebrated couple. I couldn' t move. I was trapped.

The ballroom was too warm, the air thick with perfume and chatter. I spotted a small, secluded terrace door and slipped outside, needing a breath of fresh air. The night was cold, the wind biting through the thin silk of my gown. I shivered, but the chill was a welcome distraction from the burning humiliation inside.

After a few minutes, the cold became too much. I re-entered the ballroom, seeking refuge in a quiet corner, trying to blend into the shadows. From my vantage point, I watched Garrison and Katia at the main table, holding court. They looked every inch the perfect couple.

A reporter approached their table, microphone in hand. "Mr. Crawford, rumors are swirling. Who is this beautiful woman by your side tonight?"

Garrison chuckled, a smooth, practiced sound. He glanced at Katia, who smiled demurely. "Katia is… very important to me. To my family. She's been a rock, a source of incredible strength." He evaded the direct question, leaving her status ambiguously elevated.

"She fills out that dress wonderfully," another guest whispered nearby, a woman I didn't recognize. "Not like… the other one. Always so stiff, so cold."

The words were like daggers. I felt small, insignificant. My past, my entire being, reduced to a whisper. This was my life now, wasn't it? A discarded thing, watching the man I loved build a new, shinier world with someone else. A world where I was the inconvenient, unfeeling ghost.

The party finally reached its crescendo. Garrison raised a toast, acknowledging his family, his success, and "the bright future ahead." He didn' t look at me. He didn' t once acknowledge my existence.

Suddenly, a loud creak echoed through the ballroom. A massive crystal chandelier, hanging precariously from the high ceiling, swayed. People looked up, murmuring nervously. A few crystals detached, clinking to the marble floor.

Then, with a terrifying groan, the entire structure began to fall.

It happened so fast. Pure instinct, a primal surge I hadn't known I possessed, took over. Garrison was standing directly beneath it, his back to the descending danger. Katia was next to him, her eyes wide with terror. Without thinking, I lunged forward, pushing Garrison with all my might.

He stumbled, falling away from the direct path of the chandelier. Katia screamed, pulling him further back. I felt a tremendous impact, a blinding flash of white pain. The world went black.

The last thing I saw, before the darkness consumed me, was Garrison's face. He was looking at Katia, his eyes filled with fear and concern, not for me, but for her.

I woke up to the sterile smell of antiseptic. My head throbbed, my body ached. I blinked, disoriented. Hospital. I was in a hospital. The room was stark white, silent. No one was there. No Garrison. No family. Just me. Alone.

My throat was parched. My tongue felt like sandpaper. I tried to sit up, but a sharp pain lanced through my side. I gasped, falling back against the pillows. Finally, with a monumental effort, I managed to reach the glass of water on the bedside table. My hand shook so violently, half of it spilled before I could bring it to my lips.

The door creaked open. Garrison stood there, his face grim. My heart gave a strange lurch. He was here. He remembered me.

But then, he threw something onto my bed. A crumpled piece of paper, a small, intricate spring, and a tiny, almost invisible wire. His eyes were cold, hard as chips of ice.

"What is this, Elna?" he demanded, his voice low and menacing. "What were you trying to do?"

"I… I don't know what you're talking about," I whispered, confused and weak. My head was still fuzzy.

"Don't play innocent!" he snarled, taking a step closer. "The security footage. It shows you, Elna. Right before the chandelier fell. Messing with the wiring. Trying to sabotage it."

Sabotage? My blood ran cold. "No! I didn't! I pushed you out of the way, Garrison! I saved you!"

He laughed, a bitter, humorless sound. "Saved me? You tried to kill Katia! You were jealous, weren't you? You wanted to hurt her, to get rid of her. Because she's important. Her family. Her connections. Everything."

"That's not true!" I cried, tears welling up in my eyes. "Katia… she's the one who hurt me! She wore the same dress, she humiliated me!"

"And what a tragic coincidence that everything you claimed she did can't be proven, while your actions are crystal clear," Garrison sneered. "We found this near the chandelier. The wiring was tampered with, Elna. And your fingerprints are all over it."

He held up a tablet. A grainy video played. It showed a figure, indistinct but clearly me, standing on a chair near the chandelier, her hands reaching up. It was a perfect, damning frame.

"This is impossible," I whispered, shaking my head. "I didn't… I wouldn't…"

"You always were an enigma, Elna," Garrison said, his voice laced with disgust. "Always so quiet, so devoid of emotion. But underneath that calm exterior, you're a viper, aren't you? A jealous, manipulative viper."

"I am not!" I pleaded, the unfairness of it all a searing pain in my chest. "Katia is the manipulative one! She lied to you! She's cruel!"

"Enough!" he roared, slamming his hand on the bedside table. The glass of water jumped, rattling. "You will not speak ill of Katia! She is a kind, selfless woman who has helped my family immensely. She is innocent! You, Elna, are the one consumed by bitterness and envy."

He stared at me, his eyes filled with a loathing that twisted my insides. "You will pay for this, Elna. You will apologize to Katia, and you will understand your place. You will learn to control yourself. Or believe me, the consequences will be far worse than a few weeks in a facility."

He turned to leave, but paused at the door. "You know, Elna," he said, his voice dangerously soft, "I used to think that beneath your… unusual nature, there was a good heart. A pure one. But I was wrong. You're just empty. A void. And frankly, I'm tired of trying to fill it."

His words hit me harder than any physical blow. Empty. A void. He saw me as nothing. The tears I had been holding back finally broke free, streaming down my face. My body shook with silent sobs. It felt like my chest was being ripped open.

I watched him go, the door clicking shut behind him. The sound was final. Irrevocable.

Empty. A void.

He was right. I was empty. Empty of hope, empty of love, empty of everything I thought we had. But also, empty of him. And with that realization, a cold, hard resolve settled deep within me.

I would leave him. I would leave this life. I would leave it all behind.

Elna POV:

Garrison' s words echoed in the sterile silence of the hospital room: Empty. A void. They were a branding iron, searing themselves into my very being. Yet, a strange calm settled over me. He saw me as nothing. If I was nothing, then I had nothing to lose.

I closed my eyes, and against my will, memories surfaced. Not of the recent horrors, but of a time before. A softer time.

"Elna," Garrison murmured, his fingers tracing the line of my jaw. We were on the balcony of his penthouse, the city lights twinkling below like scattered diamonds. "You' re so beautiful."

I had just blinked, confused by the intensity of his gaze. I didn' t understand 'beautiful' in the way he meant it. To me, it was just a word. But his eyes, so warm, so full of… something, made my chest feel a little less tight.

"I' ll always protect you," he' d whispered, pulling me closer. "You' re mine, and I' ll never let anyone hurt you."

He' d bought me a delicate silver locket, engraved with my initial. "This," he' d said, pressing it into my palm, "is a symbol of my promise. Of my love. Keep it close."

His words, his gestures, they had been so convincing. He had pursued me relentlessly, patiently chipping away at my protective shell, trying to understand my alexithymia. He' d read books, sought advice, always saying, "I want to learn your language, Elna."

He' d once spent an entire afternoon trying to explain the feeling of joy, drawing diagrams and making analogies, just to see a flicker of understanding in my eyes. He' d called my quiet nature "serene," not "empty." My emotional struggles, "a unique perspective," not "damaged."

Where had that man gone? When had his patience turned to disgust, his understanding to judgment? Was it Corliss? The kidney? Or was it always there, lurking beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment to emerge?

The questions spun in my head, a dizzying carousel. I lay there all night, unable to sleep, piecing together the broken shards of our past, trying to find the precise moment when the cracks had started to show. I found none. Only a sudden, brutal shattering.

The next morning, the hospital released me. I returned to the mansion, a sense of dread settling in my bones. I knew what awaited me.

As I stepped into the foyer, Garrison and Katia were there, locked in an embrace. Katia' s arms were wrapped around his neck, her head tilted back, a triumphant smile on her face. Garrison held her close, his eyes closed. It was an intimate, possessive tableau.

Then Katia saw me. Her smile didn't falter. Instead, she tightened her grip on Garrison, pressing herself even closer to him. She rubbed her cheek against his, a deliberate, taunting gesture.

A strange, hot flush spread through me. It wasn' t the burning shame from the party. This was different. A primal, raw sensation that made my hands clench. My chest felt tight, my breath shallow. It was… jealousy? The word felt foreign on my tongue, sharp and unfamiliar.

"What are you doing?" I heard myself ask, the words cutting through the air, surprisingly steady.

Garrison' s eyes snapped open. He disentangled himself from Katia, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face. Katia, however, remained rooted to the spot, a smug smirk playing on her lips.

"Elna, darling," Katia purred, her voice sweet as poison. "Just comforting Garrison. He's been so worried about me, you know, after that dreadful chandelier incident. And your… unfortunate involvement." She sighed theatrically. "It truly was a traumatic experience, even for me, just standing by."

She paused, then added, "It' s so good to see you' re recovering, though. We were all so concerned." The words were an olive branch coated in thorns.

"Elna," Garrison said, his voice sharp, cutting through Katia' s feigned sympathy. "Must you always cause a scene? Katia is still recovering. She doesn' t need your… drama."

My jaw tightened. "Drama? I'm not causing anything. I just walked in."

"And your very presence seems to upset her," he retorted, glancing at Katia, who had subtly flinched and clutched her arm. "I'm warning you both. I won't tolerate any more squabbling. This is my home. You will both behave."

He turned back to me, his voice hardening. "Now, apologize to Katia for your behavior at the party and for upsetting her just now."

My breath hitched. Apologize? For being framed? For being humiliated? The anger flared, hot and sharp. "I won't apologize. I did nothing wrong."

Garrison' s eyes narrowed. He took a step towards me, then stopped. His gaze fell on the small, framed photograph on the side table. It was a picture of me, smiling faintly, holding the silver locket he' d given me. The locket that was still around my neck.

He reached out, his finger tracing the silver. A subtle threat. He knew how much that locket meant to me. It was the only physical reminder of his promise, of a time when he had claimed to love me.

The anger drained out of me, replaced by a cold, numbing fear. He would take it. He would destroy it. He would erase every last vestige of our shared history.

"I… I'm sorry," I choked out, the words tasting like ash. "I apologize, Katia."

Katia' s smile widened, a triumphant flash of white teeth. "Oh, Elna, it's quite alright," she said, her voice dripping with false magnanimity. "I understand you've been through a lot. I forgive you. Truly." She turned to Garrison, fluttering her eyelashes. "See, Garrison? She's not so bad. Just a little… misguided."

"Now that that' s settled," Katia continued, her voice gaining an edge, "Garrison, darling, I'm feeling a bit faint. The shock, you know. Could you perhaps take me shopping? I need a distraction. Something pretty to lift my spirits." She leaned into him, her gaze sliding to me, a silent challenge.

Garrison hesitated for a fraction of a second. "Of course, sweetheart." He pulled out his wallet. "Here, take this card. Buy whatever you need. Anything to make you feel better." He handed her a black card. "Elna, you will accompany Katia. Help her. Make sure she has everything she desires."

My blood ran cold. Accompany her? Serve her? The humiliation was endless.

I remembered a time, not so long ago, when Garrison would ask for my opinion, respect my choices. "What do you want, Elna? Your happiness is all that matters." His words, once filled with such warmth, now felt like a cruel mockery. He was forcing me. Reducing me to a subservient role.

"Well, Elna? Are you going to stand there all day?" Garrison' s voice was sharp, impatient. "Katia is waiting."

I sighed, a deep, weary sound that felt like it came from the very depths of my soul. "Yes, Garrison," I murmured, my voice devoid of emotion. "Of course."

As we walked towards the car, Katia still clinging possessively to Garrison' s arm, I watched their interaction. Katia was laughing, her head thrown back, her hand resting on Garrison' s chest. He looked down at her, a soft smile on his face. My chest tightened again, that unfamiliar, burning sensation returning.

"You know, Garrison," Katia purred, just loud enough for me to hear. "I prefer to sit next to you in the car. Elna can ride in the back. She's so quiet, she won't mind."

Garrison chuckled, giving her shoulder a squeeze. "Whatever you want, my dear." He glanced at me, his smile fading. "Elna, you understand, don't you? Katia is still fragile. She needs comfort."

"She' s always so fragile, isn't she?" I thought, a bitter taste in my mouth. My lips, however, remained closed.

"Besides," Garrison continued, his eyes hardening, "you don' t tend to express much, do you? Katia, on the other hand, is so full of life, of emotion. It' s a joy to be around her." He paused, a cruel glimmer in his eyes. "You really should try to be more like her, Elna. Learn to… feel."

Katia giggled, a triumphant, mocking sound.

I felt a surge of something hot and sharp, a pain so intense it made my vision blur. Feel? I wanted to scream. I wanted to tell him that I was feeling more than he could ever imagine. That his words were tearing me apart, piece by agonizing piece. But the words wouldn' t come. They never did. My emotions were a tangled, silent mess inside me.

The Garrison who had patiently tried to teach me to feel, now mocked my inability to do so. The irony was a bitter pill. I slid into the back seat, the locket around my neck feeling heavier than stone.

Elna POV:

Garrison's words about my lack of "feeling" were a dull throb in my awareness, a constant reminder of his casual cruelty. But something had shifted inside me. The void he spoke of wasn' t empty anymore. It was hardening, solidifying into a core of quiet defiance. He hadn't noticed. He was too consumed by Katia, by his own inflated sense of self-importance.

He dropped Katia and me off at a high-end shopping district, a wave of his hand dismissing us. "I have a meeting," he curtly stated, speeding off without a backward glance.

The moment his car disappeared, Katia' s sweet façade dissolved. Her eyes, once fluttering with feigned fragility, snapped open, sharp and predatory. She turned to me, a sneer twisting her lips.

"So, the little stray is back," she drawled, her voice dripping with contempt. "Still haunting Garrison, are we? Don't you ever get tired of being a charity case?"

Her words were a prelude. Suddenly, a group of women emerged from a nearby boutique, their laughter echoing through the street. My blood ran cold. I recognized them. Katia's clique from college. The girls who had made my life a living hell.

"Well, well, if it isn't Elna Martin," one of them, a tall blonde named Tiffany, smirked. "Still looking like you crawled out of a gutter, I see."

They encircled me, their eyes raking over me with disdain. I instinctively recoiled, my body tensing, pressing against the cold plate glass of a shop window.

The memories hit me like a tidal wave, a sudden, suffocating rush. The school hallways, the whispers, the mocking laughter.

"She' s so weird," they' d say, their voices loud enough for me to hear. "Doesn' t talk. Doesn' t react. Is she even human?"

They called me a ghost, a mute, a freak. I was invisible, yet constantly under their scrutiny. Isolated. My meticulously organized locker would be emptied, my books thrown into the garbage. My art supplies, the only thing that brought me a semblance of peace, would be ruined. My lunch money would mysteriously vanish.

I tried to tell the teachers, the counselors. "They' re picking on me," I' d whisper, my voice barely audible. But they would just nod, their eyes distant, then say, "Elna, dear, are you sure you' re not imagining things? You' re so sensitive." Or worse, "Perhaps you need to make more of an effort to fit in."

I went home, hoping for solace. My parents, practical and emotionally reserved themselves, listened with blank faces. "Don' t make trouble, Elna," my mother would say. "Just ignore them. They' ll get bored." My father would add, "You' re too sensitive. You need to toughen up."

So I learned to ignore. I learned to numb. I learned to make myself smaller, invisible. I learned that seeking help only led to further disappointment, further isolation.

Anyone who dared to show me kindness, a fleeting moment of connection, would become their next target. A shy boy who offered me a shared umbrella in the rain found his locker vandalized. A girl who complimented my drawings was ostracized. I watched, helpless, as my attempts at connection brought suffering to others. It was easier to be alone.

They made me the class pariah, their preferred target. It started with taunts, then escalated. They' d trip me in the hallways, "accidentally" spill drinks on my clothes. One time, they dragged me into the girl' s locker room, forcing me to listen as they discussed my body, my "flat chest," my "odd eyes." Katia, always the ringleader, reveled in my discomfort.

"Look at her," Katia would sneer, "she doesn' t even cry. Is she even alive?"

They' d spread vicious rumors about me, unfounded stories about my family, my past. Messages filled with crude drawings and threats would appear on my phone. My home phone would ring, only to hear heavy breathing on the other end. I became an expert at dodging, at disappearing. I missed so many classes, hiding in the library, in empty classrooms, anywhere I wouldn' t be found.

One particular memory, sharper than the rest, flashed through my mind: Katia, whispering to a group of boys, pointing at me. Later that day, I was cornered in an empty stairwell, hands grabbing at me, crude words thrown in my face. I remembered the cold fear, the utter helplessness. Katia had orchestrated it all.

The blonde girl, Tiffany, reached out, shoving me roughly. "Still so boring, Elna? Haven't you learned your lesson?"

My body swayed, but I didn't fall. My gaze, however, was fixed on Katia. Her eyes, once again, held that familiar triumphant glint. This was her show.

"The usual, Elna," Katia said, gesturing grandly at the boutiques. "You're paying."

My mind snapped back to the present. Paid? I had no money. They wanted to humiliate me again.

"Come on, girls!" Katia chirped, linking arms with Tiffany. "Let's show Elna what real shopping looks like. She's loaded now, isn't she? Garrison's little pet."

They marched into a high-end boutique, a store full of impossibly expensive clothes. I followed, my heart pounding. They began to pull clothes off the racks, designer dresses, cashmere sweaters, silk scarves, tossing them into a growing pile.

"This one, Elna!" Katia held up a sequined gown. "It'll look divine on me. What do you think?" She didn't wait for my answer. "And these shoes! And that bag!"

The sales assistants, impeccably dressed and poised, watched with cautious smiles. They recognized Katia. They recognized the Crawford name. They also recognized the uncomfortable tension.

"Anything I can help you with, Miss Smith?" one of them ventured, her voice polite but wary.

Katia tossed her hair, a dismissive flick of her wrist. "Just making selections, darling. My… friend here will be taking care of the bill. She has excellent taste, don't you, Elna?" She turned to me, her eyes glittering. "And Garrison always ensures she has unlimited funds."

A collective murmur rippled through the staff. Garrison Crawford. The name carried weight. A name that opened doors, smoothed over unpleasantness, and silenced questions. A name that now, apparently, authorized my financial ruin.