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.