The mansion blazed with lights all night.
Gloria sat rigid on the sofa, nails cutting into her palms until they bled. She didn’t even feel it, just stared at the clock as it ticked from midnight to seven AM.
When the clock struck seven, footsteps thundered down the hall. Elijah appeared, his eyes black with rage, holding a leather belt. Every step toward her sent ice through her veins.
“You almost killed them both, Gloria. Jenna and the baby.”
Baby?
Jenna was pregnant?
The shock hit her, then understanding followed. Of course–in her past life, Jenna had gotten pregnant at exactly this time. Since Jenna had been with Elijah that night instead of her, naturally she was the one carrying his child.
Facing Elijah’s fury, tears spilled down her cheeks. “I didn’t tamper with the dress. I’d never hurt her. Think about it–the kidnapping, the letters at the party, now this? If I were behind it all, how could I possibly succeed every single
time?”
She thought her logic might reach him–he was usually so careful, so analytical.
But rage had consumed him. “So you’re saying Jenna set you up? I love her. I’m marrying her. Why would she
bother?”
“I don’t know-”
Pain exploded across her back as the belt struck. “You never learn, do you?”
Gloria’s face went white. Of course he wouldn’t believe her–Jenna was his everything.
She tried to run, but security grabbed her, forcing her down.
“Are you going to admit what you did?”
The belt cracked down again. Gloria shook with pain but refused to make a sound.
Her silence earned another strike. “Last chance. Confess!”
But she kept her lips sealed. She was innocent–why should she confess?
Elijah’s control snapped. The belt came down again and again until her back was a mess of welts and blood. Still, she wouldn’t break.
Finally, the housekeeper grabbed his arm. “Sir, you’ll kill her if you don’t stop…”
Time I Chaco To Reclaim My Own Life
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Chapter 7
Elijah threw the belt aside. “Don’t ever try anything again.”
Gloria slumped to the floor, consciousness fading.
The next few days passed in a haze of pain. Elijah never came home, while Gloria lay in bed, unable to move without agony shooting through her back. The housekeeper secretly tended to her wounds, applying ointment and changing bandages when no one was watching. Even breathing hurt–each movement pulled at the welts crisscrossing her skin.
She spent days drifting in and out of consciousness, the pain keeping her awake at night. The staff whispered around her, some pitying, others judgmental. None dared help openly, fearing Elijah’s reaction.
Finally, after nearly a week, she could walk again, though every step sent daggers through her back. That same day, her residency paperwork came through.
With her permanent visa in hand, she had no reason to stay. She packed her last belongings, wincing as she lifted her suitcase, and headed for the door–only to run straight into Elijah.
“Really, Gloria? Running away like a teenager? How many times do I have to tell you to get over this obsession? You keep going after Jenna–and you think I was wrong to punish you?”
Gloria felt bone–tired. How many times did she have to say she was over him before he’d believe her?
Her silence darkened his expression. He rubbed his temples. “Whatever. Maybe some time away is good. Jenna’s pregnancy is high–risk, and I’m busy with wedding plans. Who knows what you might try next if you stay.”
He grabbed her suitcase. “I’m driving you to the airport.”
Gloria followed silently to his car, each movement careful to avoid aggravating her barely–healed wounds. They drove to the terminal in silence until he finally asked, “Where’s your flight to?”
Before she could answer, he cut in coldly: “Stay somewhere nearby. Just until the wedding’s over. Then I’ll bring you
home.”
This time, Gloria just nodded. “I understand.”
She took her bag and walked into the airport under his watch, hiding her pain with each step. Only when his car disappeared did she block his number on her phone and head for her gate, biting back tears as her suitcase pulled at her injuries.
Bring her home?
No thanks, Elijah.
She was never coming back.
Since she was so sick of that same old so–called love.
- Own I ife
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