Chapter 2

2

Jasper's words felt like a plunge into a lake of ice. It was true. The man who had me kidnapped and brought to that table was my own husband.

I clutched my chest, though my heart was no longer beating. I couldn't understand it.

Why did he hate me this much? Why did my soul still feel the phantom sting of a broken heart?

I looked at him with nothing left but bone-deep disappointment.

The memories of my final moments rushed back like a violent flood.

The sheer terror was suffocating. I remember being held down, my limbs strapped tight to the cold metal of the table.

A black cloth was tied over my eyes, and a gag was shoved into my mouth to drown out my screams. All I could hear were footsteps and the clinical clinking of steel instruments.

Then, the torture began.

I felt the life leaving my body. I felt every agonizing slice of the scalpel as it tore through my skin.

It hurt so much. It was a pain that transcended the physical.

I don't know who hated me enough to do this. I don't know why my body was strong enough to stay conscious through a surgery with no anesthesia.

In the haze of agony, I heard someone making a phone call.

"Mr. Emerson, we are transporting the healthy liver to the other room now."

"Good. Do it quickly," came the reply.

That voice. It was so familiar. It was the voice that had whispered in my ear for five years.

The fog in my mind cleared for a moment after they left. The staff had moved on, seemingly forgetting I was even there.

I used every ounce of my remaining strength to pull my phone from the hidden pocket of my sleeve.

It rang for what felt like an eternity before Jasper finally picked up.

"Elara, don't you know today is the day of Rosalie's surgery? You wouldn't even help her, and now you're calling me to throw a tantrum?"

He sounded like he was burning with rage on the other end.

My throat felt like it was filled with glass. I couldn't find my voice, and when I did, it was a broken rasp.

"Jasper… was it you? Did you send me here?"

There was a pause on the line. Then, his voice came back, dripping with impatience.

"I didn't send you anywhere. Stop bothering me. Rosalie is about to go under, and I don't have time for your drama."

He hung up. The line went dead.

In that moment, the last thread holding my soul to this world snapped.

I lay there, helpless and fading. My body felt heavier than lead.

Even as my consciousness blurred into darkness, I couldn't stop thinking about him.

The man I loved, my husband, told me not to disturb him in my final minutes of life. He was too busy playing hero for his goddess.

The irony was sickening. My life was ended by the very hand I used to hold.

When I opened my eyes again, I was a ghost. And for some cruel reason, I was stuck by his side.