HAUNTED BY THE PAST.

Chapter 0007

HAUNTED BY THE PAST.

ELENA,

The door slammed shut with such force that the sound seemed to reverberate through the very foundation of the building. The vibrations traveled through the walls, creeping into my bones, leaving behind an eerie, lingering silence that stretched on far too long. It was the kind of silence that didn’t just fill a space—it consumed it, suffocating any possibility of escape.

I flinched at the abruptness of it, but I didn’t move. My fingers tightened around the edge of my desk, gripping the solid wood with a desperation that bordered on pathetic. In that moment, it felt like the only thing keeping me upright, the only thing anchoring me to reality. If I let go, I wasn’t sure what would happen.

My gaze remained fixed on the door, staring at the empty space where she had stood just moments ago. It was absurd how quickly she had vanished, how swiftly her presence had been erased, as if she had never been there at all. And yet, despite her absence, the room still felt full—filled with the weight of her words, with the suffocating energy she had left behind, with the undeniable truth she had forced upon me.

"Leave him."

The command had been spoken with such certainty, such venom, that it left no room for argument. She had not pleaded or reasoned; she had simply declared it as an inevitability, as if she knew with absolute confidence that she was in the right and that I was nothing more than an obstacle in her perfect love story.

But wasn’t that exactly what I was?

The thought struck me like a slap, sharp and humiliating.

Had I really believed, even for a second, that Ryan could be mine? Had I truly allowed myself to entertain the idea that a boy—a college student, someone with his entire future ahead of him—could love me in the way I longed to be loved? Had I convinced myself that he could be more than an escape from the crumbling ruins of my reality?

The answer was clear now.

I had been a fool.

A bitter laugh threatened to claw its way up my throat, but I swallowed it down before it could escape. There was no humor in this, only shame.

My hands trembled as I pressed my palms against the cool surface of my desk, forcing myself to focus, to steady my breathing, to find some semblance of control over the chaos unraveling inside me. But it was useless. The past had already begun to drag me under, its grip relentless, its whispers inescapable.

I could see it so vividly.

The memory of that night crashed over me like a wave, sweeping me back to the doorstep of Ryan’s house.

I had stood there, gripping the straps of my bag so tightly that my knuckles turned white. My heart had been pounding, but not with fear—not yet. At that moment, it had been something softer, something more fragile. Hope.

I had knocked on the door, my breath uneven, my mind racing with possibilities. I had told myself that it would be okay, that when Ryan saw me, he would understand. He would listen.

But when the door had finally swung open, it was not Ryan who had been standing on the other side.

It was her.

And in that instant, I had known.

I had seen it in her eyes—the raw, unfiltered disgust, the sharp, instinctive intake of breath, the way her fingers curled tightly around the edge of the doorframe as if she had to physically restrain herself from slamming it in my face.

She had not needed to scream. She had not needed to call me names.

The revulsion in her gaze had done all the damage.

And then, as swiftly as she had appeared, she had ended it.

The door had slammed shut.

It had been final.

It had been enough.

I had not been wanted. Not by Ryan. Not by anyone.

And now, here she had been again, standing in front of me in my own office, staking her claim with the same certainty as before. She had told me to leave, but the truth was, I already had. I had been cast aside long ago.

A cold, merciless voice whispered through my mind, How pathetic, Elena.

I let out a slow, shaky breath and forced my attention back to my desk, to the scattered papers that should have provided me with some sense of normalcy. If I could just focus on work, if I could bury myself in deadlines and responsibilities, maybe I could silence the suffocating noise in my head.

But as I stared at the documents before me, the words blurred together into an unreadable mess. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t force my mind to cooperate. I couldn’t ignore the weight pressing down on me, the suffocating realization that Ryan had never truly been mine to begin with.

Maybe he had always belonged to her.

Maybe I had always been the intruder.

I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms, but the past refused to let me go.

The night I had returned home after Ryan had turned me away replayed in my mind with agonizing clarity.

The moment I had stepped inside, I had felt it—the tension in the air, thick and oppressive, suffocating in a way that made my skin crawl.

And then his voice had cut through the silence, sharp and knowing.

"Where did you go? And what’s with all the bags?"

I had frozen, my pulse skyrocketing, my mind scrambling for a response that wouldn’t betray me. Lying to Evan had always been a dangerous game, one I had played far too often, one I had never truly mastered.

"It’s a package," I had said, my voice barely above a whisper. "I just received it."

Even as the words left my lips, I had known they wouldn’t be enough. Evan had always seen through my lies before I even spoke them.

His gaze had darkened, his expression unreadable as he took a slow step forward. The space between us had grown razor-thin, suffocating in its intensity.

"Open it."

The demand had sent a cold shudder down my spine.

I had reached for the zipper of my bag, my fingers trembling, my mind desperately searching for a way out.

Then, salvation had come in the form of a sharp, piercing ringtone.

Evan’s phone had buzzed violently in his pocket, cutting through the moment like a blade.

I had barely dared to breathe.

That had been my saving grace.

But even then, I had known the truth.

There was no escape.

Not from Evan.

Not from this life.

Not from the ghosts that refused to stay buried.

Blinking rapidly, I forced myself back to the present, dragging my attention back to my desk. But as I did, something shifted.

The air changed.

The room felt different.

A slow, creeping unease crawled up my spine.

My eyes fell to the papers before me, and my breath hitched.

Scrawled across the crisp white pages, in thick, dripping red letters, was a message that made my blood turn to ice.

"No one is going to want you, Lena. You are mine."

A whisper slithered through the silence, barely audible, yet deafening in its intent.

My entire body locked in place.

A suffocating chill wrapped around me, pressing into my skin, sinking into my bones.

I wasn’t alone.

Then I saw him.

A hooded figure stood in the far corner of my office, half-shrouded in darkness. His face was mostly concealed, but his eyes—cold, gleaming, unnatural—bored into me with something twisted, something monstrous.

My breath caught in my throat.

I couldn’t move.

I couldn’t scream.

A slow, predatory smile curled across his lips.

"Did you miss me, Lena?"

The voice sent a bolt of pure terror through my body.

I knew that voice.

It was impossible.

It couldn’t be real.

Because I had buried him.

I had killed him.

And yet, he was here.

Smiling.

The room tilted. My vision swam. My knees gave way beneath me.

And the last thing I heard before the darkness consumed me was his laughter.