Elliot broke away from Dolly's kiss, his eyes hollow and strange.

He hurriedly muttered something about needing to take a call and left the room, leaving Dolly with a trace of a satisfied smile on her lips, even if it was still part of her act.

His sudden departure confused me. He was playing the role of the devoted fiancé, yet internally, he radiated tension and unease.

He walked straight to the cold, sterile men's restroom in the hospital, splashing cold water on his face over and over again.

He stared at his reflection in the mirror, his gaze burning, almost panicked.

He looked... haunted. Not just tired, but deeply, fundamentally disturbed.

He lit a cigarette, the smoke billowing around him, then pulled out his phone, his thumb flying across the screen.

"Any news on Kayla?" His voice was low. "Don't tell me you've hit another dead end. I need her! Dolly's condition is getting worse. We're running out of time!"

He punched the tiled wall.

The person on the other end must have given him an unsatisfactory answer, because Elliot's face contorted in rage.

He hurled the phone across the room, watching it shatter against the wall.

He was like a dark storm cloud, gathering ominous energy.

He strode back toward Dolly's room, only to see a doctor walking out with a grim expression.

"Mr. Moon, Ms. Haynes's condition has taken a sharp downturn. Her heart is failing rapidly. We need that donor, and we need her now."

Elliot rushed into the room.

Dolly was weeping silently, tears tracking down her cheeks as her hands clutched tightly at her chest.

"Elliot," she sobbed, blindly reaching out to grab him. "I'm scared. I don't want to die. Don't let me leave you." Her words were full of desperate pleading, yet they felt like a meticulously performed display of vulnerability.

He rushed to her side, pulling her into his arms, holding her tightly. "No, Dolly, no. You're not going anywhere. I won't let you go." His voice choked up, carrying a genuine fear and concern for her.

"I will find Kayla. I promise you, I will bring her back. She will save you." His words sent a chill down my spine.

Elliot left the hospital, the fierce glint reignited in his eyes.

He drove straight back to the desolate warehouse where Jaron was being held.

In his hand was a whip, the leather gleaming ominously in the dim light.

At the sight of it, my spectral form was once again gripped by terror.

He found Jaron, who was still slumped on the floor, bleeding but conscious.

"Last chance, Jaron," Elliot growled, his voice thick with menace. "Where is Kayla?"

Jaron slowly lifted his head, his eyes bloodshot, his face covered in bruises.

"She's dead, Elliot," he repeated, his voice so hoarse it was almost a whisper. "She died for you. That is the truth."

Elliot gritted his teeth.

"Lies! All lies!" The whip cracked through the air, landing heavily on Jaron's back with a dull thud.

My brother screamed, his body arching in agony.

Elliot raised the whip again, his face a mask of cold fury, and delivered another brutal lash.

With a flick of his wrist, he pulled out his phone, snapped a picture of Jaron's bloody back, and sent it off.

Moments later, the door was shoved open.

Mom, my frail, heartbroken mother, stumbled in. Her hair was a mess, her eyes bloodshot, her face streaked with tears and dirt.

She looked like a ghost herself; the vibrant woman she used to be was now nothing but a shadow.

My heart—or what was left of it—twisted in agony.

Elliot looked at her, a sneer tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Look what the cat dragged in. The grief-stricken mother. Are you finally going to tell me where your selfish daughter is hiding?"

Mom's gaze fell upon Jaron's tortured form. Her eyes were red-rimmed and sunken.

She let out a silent whimper. Then, trembling, she pulled a crumpled piece of paper from her pocket and threw it at Elliot's feet. Her eyes were filled with absolute despair.

"Here," she whispered, her voice raspy. "You'll find her here. Stop hurting Jaron. Stop hurting everyone." She fought back sobs, her shoulders shaking violently.

Elliot looked down at the paper, then back up at Mom, a flicker of doubt in his eyes.

He bent down, picked up the note, and narrowed his eyes at the hastily scrawled address.

"This better not be another one of your pathetic tricks," he warned softly, his tone dangerous. He glanced at his men. "Grab her. She's coming with us. Let's see if her 'truth' is actually real."

Mom didn't fight back, letting them drag her away roughly.

Elliot got into his sleek black sedan, clutching the piece of paper tightly, his thumb mindlessly tracing the crease.

A suffocating silence filled the car as they sped through the city streets.

The car finally came to a stop—not at a bustling port or an airport, but at the gates of a quiet, sprawling cemetery.

Mom was yanked roughly from the car and pushed to the ground.

"This is it," she murmured, her voice so faint it was barely a whisper, choking on her words. "Kayla is here."

Elliot stepped out, his eyes sweeping over the solemn rows of tombstones.

He looked at Mom, then at the graveyard, a cold sneer forming on his lips. He spotted a simple headstone bearing a black-and-white photograph. It was me.

He let out a laugh of pure disbelief.

"A cemetery? You're telling me she's dead? This is your grand scheme? You want me to believe she's buried here?" He kicked the dirt next to the headstone. "Are we supposed to dig her up now? Is that the plan?"

His tone dripped with bitter sarcasm, every word laced with contempt.

Mom sat slumped on the ground. She looked up at him, her eyes burning with a fierce, heartbreaking conviction.

"It's the truth, Elliot," she said, her voice stronger than before, tinged with a soul-tearing agony. "She's dead. She's been dead for three years. She died for you."

Elliot's face flushed crimson with rage.

He shoved Mom hard, sending her sprawling onto the damp grass.

"Liar!" he roared. "She's not dead! She couldn't be! She's out there right now, living her selfish life, having abandoned me!"

Just then, his phone rang again, snapping him out of his furious tirade.

He snatched the phone, his breathing ragged.

"What is it?" he barked into the receiver.

Then, his eyes—still burning with fury—suddenly went wide. A faint, barely perceptible smile grazed his lips.

"You found a lead on her? You found Kayla?"

He looked at Mom, a flash of triumphant, cruel light in his eyes.

"See? I told you she was still alive. I was always going to find her."

He turned back to the phone, and the triumphant smile on his face slowly froze.

The words from the other end hit him like a physical blow. The color drained from his face in an instant.

His hand began to tremble. He slowly pulled the phone away from his ear as if it were a venomous snake.

His subordinate's words echoed in the sudden silence, tolling like a death knell in the graveyard air.

"Sir... the information is confirmed. Kayla Ashley... she's dead. She passed away three years ago."

Elliot's pupils shrank to pinpricks, his entire body going rigid as if struck by lightning.

He finally spoke, his voice so hoarse it was barely audible.

"Say that again," he commanded, his eyes wide open. "What did you say?"

His subordinate's stuttering voice confirmed the reality.

"Sir... Kayla Ashley... she passed away three years ago. To save you, she donated her corneas and died on the operating table."

"The records... they're all here. Her grave... is at the municipal cemetery. The very one you're at right now."

A muscle in Elliot's jaw twitched violently, the veins on his forehead bulging like thick cords.

He gripped the phone in a death hold, his knuckles turning white, his entire body shaking.

"You're lying!" he roared, his raspy voice shattering the graveyard's tranquility. "You're all lying to me! She's not dead! She can't be dead!"

The subordinate, clearly terrified, insisted, "Sir, the information is irrefutable. We have the official death certificate, the hospital records..." Before he could finish, Elliot let out a gut-wrenching groan, a sound tangled with agony and rage.

Mom remained slumped on the wet grass, staring at him with hollow eyes.

Wave after wave of tears spilled from her eyes, flowing endlessly.

"Oh, Kayla," she sobbed, her voice shattered. "My baby girl. I should have stopped you. Even if it killed me, I should have stopped her from donating her corneas."

The remorse in her voice felt like a crushing weight, suffocating my empty heart.

Elliot snapped his head toward her, his eyes blazing with an ominous fire.

"Shut up!" he bellowed, his voice laced with pure denial. "She's not dead! She abandoned me! It was Dolly who saved me, not her! Don't you dare try to twist the truth now!"

He clung desperately to his distorted reality, refusing to let go of the narrative that absolved him of guilt.

He waved his arms frantically at his men.

"Dig it up! Dig it up! I want to see it with my own eyes! Proof! Prove to me she's dead!"

His command stemmed from a desperate, manic urge to utterly obliterate the truth.

Despite her frailty, Mom scrambled forward, waving her arms.

"No! You can't! Don't you dare desecrate her grave!" she shrieked, her voice ragged.

But it was too late. Two of Elliot's men grabbed her and dragged her away, her protests fading into desperate whimpers.

My soul let out a silent, agonizing scream.

He was desecrating my resting place, my quiet corner of peace.

Watching my family suffer, watching Elliot plunge step by step into this bottomless abyss of madness, the pain was almost too much to bear.

My love for him, which had endured even after death, was now rotting into bitter hatred.

Shovels bit deep into the dirt, tearing open the sacred ground.

Soil flew, clods of dirt scattering across the quiet cemetery. It felt like centuries had passed, though perhaps it was only minutes, before the men unearthed a small, smooth wooden box.

My urn. My final resting place.

Elliot stood at the edge of the open grave, his chest heaving, his face pale and gaunt.

With trembling hands, he reached out and took the urn from his subordinate.

He swayed on his feet, shaking uncontrollably.

He cradled the urn carefully, as if it were something infinitely precious.

"Sir, wait," one of the men said, pointing at something glinting in the freshly overturned earth. "There's a... a pendant down there."

Elliot's eyes widened, his gaze unfocused as he followed the man's pointing finger.

The urn slipped from his grasp, hitting the ground with a dull thud.

His eyes were glued to the small, silver heart pendant, half-buried in the dirt.

My throat choked up, a silent sob rising in my chest.

It was the pendant he had given me, engraved with our initials.

My heart—my foolish, love-filled heart—had prized it above any jewel.

I remembered my final moments, my voice weak, my hand gripping Christian's tightly.

"Promise me," I whispered. "When I'm buried, put this in with me. So a part of him will always be there."

I wanted him to know that even in death, I loved him, and he was forever with me.

What a massive irony.

My love, my eternal promise, had now been dug up, exposed to his freezing, biting rage.

I had thought our love was eternal, that our promises would be etched into the river of time.

Now, watching him stand beside my desecrated grave, it all seemed so laughably pathetic.

Elliot dropped to his knees, completely ignoring the mud. His hands clawed frantically at the dirt, desperate to retrieve the pendant.

His eyes were bloodshot, glowing like burning coals against his ashen face.

He snatched the pendant, clutching it tightly in his palm.

"No," he muttered, his voice hoarse and raw. "No, it's a trick. It has to be a trick. She's not dead. She can't be."

He looked up, his gaze darting between the pendant, the empty grave, and Mom.

Mom was weeping silently now, resigned to her fate.

"You're all lying! All of you are lying! She's playing me! She wants to hurt me!"

Then, he let out a blood-curdling sound.

He laughed—a manic, desperate laugh that quickly dissolved into broken sobs.

He clutched his chest, his breathing ragged and painful, his body shaking violently.

"Kayla," he choked out, my name breaking over his lips like a shattered plea. "Kayla, how could you do this? How could you leave me?"

He had finally, completely broken.

The truth—this terrain long buried beneath lies, hatred, and his own twisted narrative—was slamming into him like a tsunami.

He was collapsing, swallowed whole by the horrific reality he had built with his own hands.

"Get out!" he roared, shoving his men away violently, his voice torn with agony. "All of you! Get out! Leave me alone!"

He rebelled like a child in pain, trapped in a nightmare of his own making.

The sky seemed to share his sentiment, suddenly breaking open.

A freezing torrential downpour unleashed, instantly soaking everything.

Elliot staggered to his feet, looking like a phantom in the heavy rain. His expensive suit clung to his body, his face covered in mud, tears, and rain.

He walked toward his car—or rather, stumbled toward it, his movements slow and stiff, like a marionette with cut strings.

The rain poured down, reflecting the turbulent, violent emotions churning within him.

He was entirely alone, utterly broken, stripped bare beneath the indifferent, unfeeling sky.

He fumbled clumsily for the door handle, finally yanking it open and collapsing inside.

The engine roared to life, and the car sped off, leaving behind a weeping mother.

His destination was clear: the hospital.

The confrontation was coming.

For Dolly, and for him, the moment of truth had arrived.

I watched him go, a chilling premonition tangling deep within the hollow core of my being.

This was it.

Elliot pushed open the door to Dolly's hospital room with trembling hands.

His face was devoid of expression, like a blank canvas just before a storm strikes.

Startled by the abrupt intrusion, Dolly gasped, her eyes flying wide open.

She stared straight at Elliot.

In that split second, her carefully crafted facade vanished completely.

She saw him.

And I saw her.

Dolly's eyes widened in surprise, then quickly squeezed shut, her face twisting into a mask of feigned confusion.

Her body tensed, betraying the flash of panic that had just crossed her features.

"Elliot? Is that you, darling?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly. The master manipulator quickly regained her composure. She reached out, blindly feeling the air for him. "Where are you? I can't see anything."

Soaking wet, Elliot stood frozen in the doorway, his eyes dead and unmoving.

"I'm right here, Dolly," he said, his tone flat. "Come to me."

Sensing the shift in his tone but unwilling to acknowledge it, Dolly hesitantly began to move.

She shuffled out of bed, her bare feet touching the cold floor. With her arms outstretched, she pretended to grope her way forward.

She stumbled slightly, her fingers brushing the wall, before inching slowly toward where she assumed Elliot stood.

Her performance, though clumsy, was remarkably convincing.

She reached out to touch his face, her fingers extending tentatively to confirm his presence.

Elliot caught her arm in an iron grip, stopping her hand before it could make contact.

His hollow, freezing eyes locked onto her face.

An unspeakable tension filled the room; a silent battle of wills was underway.

"Elliot? What's wrong?" Dolly asked, her tone dripping with meticulously feigned concern. "Why are you acting so strange? Did something happen?"

She tilted her head slightly—an innocent gesture that masked a calculating mind.

"Tell me, Dolly," Elliot said softly. "About the cornea transplant. Tell me the truth. Whose corneas did I receive?"

Dolly's body gave a slight shudder. Cold sweat broke out on her forehead, yet her voice remained unnervingly calm.

"Darling, you know they were mine. I told you. I was too worried about you to let you live in darkness. I gave you my sight." She gripped his arm tightly. "Is someone lying to you? Trying to turn us against each other?"

She pulled her hand back, letting out a wounded, theatrical sob.

"Is someone trying to hurt us, Elliot? After everything we've been through? My family... we lost everything. My father is in prison. I have nothing left but you. I gave you my very eyes. How can you doubt me?"

Her voice choked up, building into a pitiful wail.

"Elliot, you know I'm telling the truth," Dolly insisted, her voice rising in pitch, bordering on hysterical.

"I saved you. We grew up together. Yes, I was mean to you sometimes, but that was just childhood foolishness! You know I've always loved you!"

"After all this, how can you question me now? After I gave you my own eyes?"

She clutched her chest, her body shaking.

"Are you going to let someone's vicious lies destroy us? Destroy me?"

She took a wobbly step toward the window, her movements deliberately clumsy.

"If you don't believe me, then what's the point of living? What's the point, Elliot?" Her voice was shrill, scratchy, and laced with a threat. "I... I'll jump right now."

Elliot's cold, merciless eyes widened slightly, a flash of panic crossing his face.

He lunged forward, grabbing Dolly around the waist just as she neared the window.

"No, Dolly! Don't!" His voice was ragged, his body rigid. He pulled her back, away from the glass, holding her tightly.

He scooped her up and carried her back to the bed, his movements almost frantic.

He set her down gently, his hands running over her shoulders as if checking for injuries.

"Don't you ever say that again," he scolded, his voice still shaking. "Don't you ever threaten to leave me like that. You're not going anywhere."

Dolly wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, burying her face in his chest, her muffled whimpers echoing faintly.

"You don't trust me, Elliot," she wailed, her voice smothered by his suit jacket. "You don't believe me. What else am I supposed to do?"

Her manipulation was like a suffocating blanket, completely smothering whatever shreds of doubt he might have had left.

Elliot stroked her hair, his hand trembling slightly.

"Shh, darling. Don't say that. I believe you. I really do. It was just... a misunderstanding. I promise. You're not going to die. I won't let you die. I'll find Kayla, and she'll save you."

His words were a sickening echo, a promise he had no right to make, built on lies and the suffering of my entire family.

I stood in the corner of the room, my spectral form as rigid as iron, my eyes cold and empty.

If I were still alive, the breath would have frozen in my lungs.

He was still so blind, so utterly consumed by Dolly's web.

The last remnants of my love for him shattered like fragile glass.

All that was left was a cold, hard void.

Elliot, I regret it. I completely regret it.

Elliot finally pulled away from her, his face grave but his resolve firm.

"I have to go, Dolly. I need to make some arrangements. But I'll be back. I promise." He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, then turned and left the room.

He didn't return to the warehouse; instead, he headed straight for his luxurious penthouse apartment.

Mom had been taken there after she passed out at the cemetery. I knew she would be waiting. Waiting for him, waiting for the answers and the mercy he was incapable of giving.

As Elliot approached the main entrance of his building, I saw her.

Mom was huddled on the cold marble steps, her frail body curled up, her eyes fixed dead on the revolving doors.

She looked even more haggard than she had at the graveyard, even more profoundly alone.

My heart ached for her, for the agony I had unwittingly brought upon her.

Elliot stopped in his tracks, stumbling slightly. He cleared his throat—a nervous tic I hadn't seen in years.

He walked up to her, plastering a look of concern on his face.

"Barbara? What are you doing outside? You should be indoors." He reached out, as if to help her up.

Mom recoiled violently, her red-rimmed eyes blazing with an icy fury.

She slapped his hand away.

"Don't you dare call me Barbara!" she spat, her voice trembling but resolute. "And drop the concerned act. Let Jaron go. Let him go right now. You have no right to hold him."

Elliot's facade cracked, a flash of annoyance crossing his face. He dropped his hand.

"I can't do that, Barbara. Not yet. Not until Kayla comes back."

He was still drowning in his own delusions, still refusing to face the truth.

Mom glared at him, her eyes first filling with utter disbelief, then shattering into a soul-crushing despair.

"You really are a monster," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "You dug up her grave, Elliot. You saw the urn. You saw her pendant. What more do you want?"

"She's gone! She's gone, and all of this... all of this is happening because of what I did. Because I kept her secret for you."

Tears streamed down her cheeks—tears of profound, bitter remorse.

My ghostly form shuddered. The secret I had kept to protect him was now a dagger plunged straight into my mother's heart.

I had given my life for him, sacrificed everything for his happiness, and in return, he stripped me of everything.

Elliot, I never should have loved you.