The Fiancé Who Stole My Life

My fiancé, Garrison, told me his family would love me. He said I was perfect. But at our engagement dinner, I overheard their real plan: to harvest my kidney for his sick sister, Corliss, and then discard me.

They framed me for pushing Corliss, causing her to have a "stress-induced episode." Garrison, believing their lies, had me thrown into a brutal "behavioral correction facility."

When he finally came for me, it wasn't to save me. It was to show off his new woman, my old rival, Katia. He humiliated me at a party, forcing me to wear the same dress as her, then accused me of sabotaging a chandelier that nearly killed them-a chandelier I had actually pushed him away from.

In the hospital, broken and bruised from a car crash Katia orchestrated, Garrison showed me faked evidence of my "crimes." He called me an empty void, a monster, and told me he was done with me.

He believed I was a jealous viper trying to destroy his family. He never saw that they were the ones who had systematically destroyed me.

Lying in that hospital bed, alone and in agony, I finally understood. The man I loved was a stranger, and his family were my tormentors.

As he walked out of my life for good, a cold peace settled over me. I was finally free. And I would never look back.

1

Elna POV:

The limo stopped in front of the Crawford estate, a mansion so grand it looked like it belonged on a postcard. My stomach churned, a familiar knot of nerves tightening in my chest. This was it. The engagement dinner. Garrison's hand found mine, his thumb stroking my knuckles.

"Nervous?" he asked, his voice a low rumble.

I just nodded. I couldn't quite name the feeling. It wasn't fear, not exactly. More like a dull ache, a heavy weight. Garrison always said I struggled with emotions, that they were a foreign language to me. He leaned in, his breath warm on my ear.

"Don't worry," he whispered. "My family will love you. You're perfect."

He kissed my temple, a fleeting touch that usually calmed me. Today, it did nothing. The heavy doors swung open, revealing a glittering foyer. Laughter and music spilled out. Garrison led me inside, his grip firm.

Then I saw her. A young woman, delicate and ethereal, with Garrison' s dark hair and piercing blue eyes. She was leaning against a marble pillar, a picture of fragile beauty. Garrison' s face lit up, a brighter, more genuine smile than the one he' d given me. He pulled his hand from mine, almost instinctively, and moved towards her.

"Corliss!" he exclaimed, his voice filled with an adoration that made my chest tighten.

The girl, Corliss, turned her head slowly, a faint smile gracing her lips. She looked tired, pale. She was Garrison' s younger sister. I knew she had a chronic illness, something serious, but Garrison rarely spoke about it. He enveloped her in a gentle hug, his large frame careful around her. He whispered something in her ear, and her smile widened.

Then, he remembered me. "Corliss, this is Elna. Elna, my sister, Corliss."

Corliss offered a small wave, her movements almost imperceptible. "It's so lovely to finally meet you, Elna. Garrison talks about you all the time." Her voice was soft, like rustling leaves.

A strange warmth spread through me. They seemed so... normal. So welcoming. Maybe my worries were just my usual emotional awkwardness blowing things out of proportion. This wouldn't be so bad.

Then, Mrs. Crawford, Garrison's mother, swept towards us. She was a formidable woman, impeccably dressed. Her gaze was sharp, assessing. She embraced Garrison, then turned her attention to me. She smiled, but her eyes held a calculating glint.

"Elna, dear," she began, her voice smooth as silk. "Garrison has told us so much about you. You look... very healthy."

The compliment felt odd, out of place. It wasn't about my dress, or my hair, but my health. I mumbled a thank you, feeling that familiar knot in my stomach tighten again.

"Such a pity about Corliss," Mrs. Crawford continued, her hand gently touching her daughter's arm. "So fragile. We' re hoping for a breakthrough soon. A swift, successful procedure, perhaps."

Procedure? The word hung in the air, heavy and ambiguous. I glanced at Garrison, but he was deep in conversation with Corliss, his back to me. Mrs. Crawford' s eyes stayed on me, unwavering.

"It will be a wonderful thing," she murmured, almost to herself. "For everyone involved."

The conversation shifted then, blurring into a cacophony of polite smiles and meaningless chatter. But Mrs. Crawford' s words, her intense scrutiny of my health, echoed in my mind. I felt a chill that had nothing to do with the cool evening air.

Later, Garrison and Corliss excused themselves, heading upstairs for what Garrison called "a quick catch-up." He squeezed my hand before leaving, but his eyes were already on his sister. I watched them go, a hollow feeling spreading through my chest.

Mrs. Crawford suddenly turned to me, her smile unwavering. "Elna, dear, would you be so kind as to fetch my... heirloom brooch from the attic? I simply must have it for tonight." She gestured vaguely towards a winding staircase. "It's in a small, carved wooden box. You can't miss it."

The attic? Now? I nodded, a mute puppet. Anything to escape the suffocating politeness.

The attic was vast and dimly lit, filled with forgotten treasures and decades of dust. I fumbled for the light switch, a single bulb flickering to life. As I searched for the brooch, a voice drifted up from below, clear and distinct. Garrison' s voice. And Corliss' s. They hadn' t gone far. They were in the room directly below me, a large unused guest suite. The floorboards were thin.

"She' s a perfect match, Garrison," Corliss whispered, her voice surprisingly strong, devoid of its usual fragility. "The doctors confirmed it. A rare blood type, just like mine. It's a miracle."

My breath hitched. A match? For what?

"I know, Corliss, I know," Garrison' s voice was strained, laced with a desperate hope I' d never heard before. "But... Elna... I don't know how to tell her. How to ask her. She struggles with things like this. She' s... not like us."

"She won't feel it the same way, darling brother," Corliss replied, a hint of steel in her tone. "She' s always so blank. She won't understand the gravity, the beauty of this sacrifice. Just tell her it' s what' s best for us. For our family. She'll accept it."

My hands started to tremble. Sacrifice? What were they talking about? Then Corliss said the words that shattered my world.

"A kidney, Garrison. It's just a kidney. And once it's done, she'll be out of our lives, and you can finally marry someone who truly understands you. Someone who isn't... damaged."

My knees buckled. I leaned against a dusty chest, the air knocked out of my lungs. A kidney. My kidney. They weren't planning an engagement dinner. This was a "Hush-hush Party" to coerce me into donating an organ. My organ. To save Corliss. And then, dispose of me.

The perfect, healthy Elna. My rare blood type. Mrs. Crawford' s "procedure." It all clicked into place, a horrifying puzzle. The dull ache in my chest intensified, twisting into something cold and sharp. Betrayal. It was pure, unadulterated betrayal.

A voice cut through my horrified thoughts. "Elna, dear? Did you find it?" Mrs. Crawford' s voice, from the foot of the attic stairs.

Panic seized me. I had to get out. I had to get away. I stumbled away from the floor vent, the carved wooden box forgotten. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic bird desperate to escape its cage. I don't think they saw me. I hope they didn't.

I navigated the rest of the evening in a daze, my body moving on autopilot. The smiles, the laughter, the clinking of glasses-they all felt distant, muffled. My mind raced, trying to process the enormity of what I'd heard. I felt hollowed out, empty.

My phone buzzed, a message from an unknown number. A single word: Run.

My blood ran cold. Someone else knew. Someone else knew their plan. The knot in my stomach tightened, this time with a new, icy fear. I needed to escape. Now.

"I... I don't feel well," I mumbled, clutching my stomach. "I need to use the restroom."

Garrison glanced at me, a flicker of concern in his eyes. "Are you alright, sweetheart?"

I nodded frantically, desperate to get away. "Just a little dizzy."

I rushed towards the powder room, my legs feeling like jelly. I locked the door behind me, leaning against it, trembling. The word Run flashed in my mind, stark and terrifying.

A soft knock. My heart leaped into my throat. "Elna? Are you in there?" It was Corliss. Her voice was no longer fragile. It held a chilling edge.

"I heard you," she said, her voice clear through the door. "Up in the attic. You heard everything, didn't you?"

My blood ran cold. She knew. She had known all along. I stood frozen, unable to move, unable to speak.

The door clicked open. Corliss stood there, her face devoid of its usual delicate sweetness. Her eyes, so like Garrison's, were now hard and cold. "Don' t bother denying it, Elna. It's useless."

"W-what are you talking about?" I stammered, my voice barely a whisper.

"The kidney, of course," she said, a cruel smile twisting her lips. "You heard us. And you know what? It' s true. You are a perfect match. And you will give it to me."

My mind reeled. The sheer audacity. The cold-blooded planning. "You... you can't force me."

Corliss laughed, a brittle, humorless sound. "Oh, Elna, you still don't understand, do you? Garrison cares about me more than anything. More than you. He will do anything for me. And if you don't cooperate... well, things will get very unpleasant for you." Her eyes narrowed. "You really think he loves you? You, with your blank face and empty eyes? He just tolerates you. For now."

Her words sliced through me, sharp and precise. They hurt more than I thought anything could. I felt a strange burning sensation behind my eyes, a feeling I rarely experienced. It was... anger? Or was it just another form of that dull ache?

Suddenly, Corliss gasped, clutching her chest. Her face contorted in pain. She sank to the floor, gasping for air. "Garrison!" she choked out. "Elna... she... she pushed me!"

My head spun. No. I hadn't touched her. This was another lie. Another manipulation.

Footsteps pounded down the hallway. Garrison burst in, his face etched with alarm. He saw Corliss on the floor, gasping, and me standing over her, frozen in shock.

"Corliss! What happened?" he cried, rushing to his sister's side.

"Elna... she... she got angry... tried to... to hurt me," Corliss whimpered, her voice weak and trembling, a perfect imitation of fragility.

Garrison looked up at me, his eyes now filled with a stony disbelief. "Elna? Is this true?"

I shook my head, unable to form words. The betrayal was a physical blow. He believed her. He always believed her.

"We need to get her to a hospital!" Mrs. Crawford suddenly appeared, her face a mask of concern.

Garrison scooped Corliss into his arms, her head nestled against his shoulder. He didn't spare me another glance. He carried her out, his footsteps echoing down the grand staircase. Mrs. Crawford followed, casting a venomous glare at me before disappearing.

I was left alone in the opulent powder room, the silence deafening. My mind was a whirlwind of confusion and despair. What just happened? How could he?

I found my way out of the house unnoticed, a phantom amidst the chaos. I followed their car to the hospital, a strange compulsion driving me. From a distance, I watched as they wheeled Corliss into the emergency room.

Hours later, a doctor emerged, his face grave. "Corliss is stable," he announced to the anxious Crawfords. "But she had a severe stress-induced episode. Her kidney function is rapidly declining. She needs a transplant, and soon. Otherwise..." He trailed off, the unspoken threat hanging heavy.

My heart sank further. This was their game. Their cruel, elaborate game to get what they wanted.

Corliss was eventually moved to a private room, still looking pale and weak. But her eyes, whenever they met mine, held a malicious gleam. Garrison returned to the mansion that night, his face drawn. He looked exhausted, but his anger was palpable.

"How could you, Elna?" he demanded, his voice low and dangerous. "After everything Corliss is going through, you tried to harm her?"

"I didn't push her, Garrison," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "She's faking."

He laughed, a harsh, humorless sound. "Faking? The doctors confirmed her condition! Her kidney is failing, Elna! And you, you tried to attack her! You're a monster!"

"She needs a kidney, Garrison," Mrs. Crawford interjected, her voice dripping with venom. "And you, Elna, you are a perfect match. A rare match. It' s almost divine intervention. Yet you are so selfish."

"Selfish?" I repeated, the word tasting like ash in my mouth. "You want me to undergo major surgery against my will? You want to take my organ?"

"It' s not just an organ, Elna," Mrs. Crawford hissed. "It's a chance for Corliss to live. A chance for our family to be whole again. You have no idea what we've been through. All these years, suffering in silence. And you, you bring more chaos. You ruined Corliss's last chance."

Garrison looked at me, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. Doubt? Guilt? It vanished quickly, replaced by a cold resolve.

"You're right, Mother," he said, his voice flat. "Elna needs help. She can't stay here. Not like this."

He walked towards me, his gaze distant. "I'm doing this for your own good, Elna," he said, his words devoid of any warmth. "You need to learn. To change. Until you do, you can't be near us."

The next morning, two burly men arrived at the mansion. They escorted me into a black car. I didn't resist. I was too numb. They took me to a place that felt like a prison, a "behavioral correction facility." It was brutal. The days blurred into weeks, filled with harsh discipline, forced labor, and constant humiliation. They claimed to be "correcting my emotional deficiencies." They told me I needed to learn empathy, selflessness.

I often lay awake at night, staring at the ceiling, trying to understand Corliss's hatred. What had I ever done to her? Why did she want to destroy me? The confusion gnawed at me, a constant, dull ache. Sometimes, the despair was so overwhelming, I thought about ending it all. Just one peaceful sleep. No more pain. No more confusion.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, Garrison came for me. He stood at the entrance of the facility, looking pristine and powerful, a stark contrast to my worn, hollowed-out self. Hope, a fragile, unfamiliar feeling, flickered within me. Had he finally seen the truth? Had he come to rescue me?

But then I saw her. A woman standing beside him, her arm linked casually through his. She was beautiful, with a confident, almost predatory air. My blood ran cold. It was Katia Smith. A girl from my past, a long-time rival. The one who always seemed to want what I had, who always tried to diminish me.

Garrison smiled, a tight, forced smile that didn' t reach his eyes. "Elna," he said, his voice strangely flat. "You're... well, you're back." He gestured towards Katia. "This is Katia. She's been a great help to our family during this difficult time. A true benefactor."

Benefactor. The word echoed in my empty mind. Katia looked at me, her eyes gleaming with triumph. A silent, cruel victory. Garrison's hand rested on her back, a possessive gesture. The message was clear. I had been replaced.

I walked past them, my gaze fixed straight ahead. The flickering hope died, replaced by a profound, chilling emptiness. He had not come to save me. He had come to flaunt his new life, his new woman.

I remembered his words, whispered under the starry sky during one of our first dates. "Elna, you're the only one for me. I' ll never betray you. I promise."

The promise felt like a cruel joke now. It was over. Everything was over. My heart, which had just begun to stir with unfamiliar emotions, now felt like a block of ice.

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.