Chapter5
Eleanor's POV
For five years, I'd left the lamp burning. Tonight, I left him nothing.
I heard the key turn, heard his footsteps pause in the entryway. Through my lashes, I watched his silhouette cross the bedroom.
Don't touch me. Please, God, don't—
But he sat on the bed anyway, brushing hair from my forehead.
His fingertips met my skin. Those same hands that had been in her hair hours ago. The revulsion crawled up my spine.
"Eleanor?"
I held perfectly still, tears soaking into my lashes. I pulled the duvet over my head.
Go away. Go back to her.
His hand fell away. Footsteps retreated down the hall.
Only then did I breathe. Only then did the tears come—silent, endless.
I lay there replaying the hospital scene. Selena's arms around his waist. His hand in her hair. That bracelet on her wrist—identical to mine.
We're interchangeable. He can't even tell us apart.
Around four AM, I heard him on the phone in his study. That gentle tone he never used with me.
That's what love sounds like. And he's been giving it to someone else all along.
Something inside me didn't break—it calcified. Hardened.
I can't do this anymore.
But I was trapped. Dad's medical bills. Sebastian's tuition. The debt Arthur had cleared.
Ten million dollars. That's what my freedom costs.
So I'd stay. For now.
But I was done hoping.
Morning came too soon. Arthur stood in the closet doorway, already dressed.
"Eleanor. Your bracelet?"
My heart stopped.
He held up the broken Cartier bracelet. "I found this at the hospital. Seventh floor."
He knows. Oh God, he knows.
"I went to see Dad after dinner." The lie came easily. "Sebastian mentioned you were there. I tried to find you. The bracelet must have fallen."
Please believe me. I'm not ready for this fight.
Arthur studied me like a balance sheet.
"I see." He sat closer. "I had the clasp repaired."
He reached for my wrist.
I jerked back, my body reacting on instinct. Don't touch me with the same hands that held her.
The nausea was immediate.
"I don't want it."
"You're upset about dinner—"
"I don't care about dinner!" The words came out raw. "I just don't want the bracelet. Please leave."
I made it to the foyer before he caught my wrist.
"We need to talk."
"Let go." I tried to pull away. His fingers tightened.
"Sebastian said you were looking for me on the seventh floor." His voice went cold. "Which room?"
He's checking my story.
My pulse hammered against his thumb.
"I don't remember. I asked at the nurses' station. They said you'd left."
Arthur's jaw tightened. He pulled out a Cartier box.
Of course. Throw money at the problem.
"There's a piece at Sotheby's next week. One of a kind." That transactional tone. "I thought you might prefer something unique."
Unique.
I thought of Selena's wrist, the identical bracelet.
"I don't want your jewelry." My voice broke.
"Eleanor—"
"I don't want your gifts. I don't want your apologies." Five years erupted. "If it's not unique, if he's not unique, I don't want any of it!"
He leaned in to kiss my forehead.
I shoved him away. "Don't touch me! You make me sick!"
His grip on my wrists turned bruising.
"Eleanor. Enough." "You're being hysterical."
Hysterical.
"You know what you've done!" I was crying now. "Go to her! Go be with your son!"
His phone buzzed. S. Selena.
Something snapped.
I lunged for the phone. "Give it to me!"
Arthur held it above his head. I clawed at his arm, nails drawing blood.
"Eleanor, stop—"
I bit down on his hand. Hard. Copper flooded my mouth.
What are you doing? This isn't you—
But I couldn't stop. Five years of being perfect—for what? So he could love someone else?
Arthur jerked back. I stumbled, shoulder striking the marble table.
Then my head hit the corner.
A sickening thud.
Darkness.
I came to briefly, the world swimming.
Arthur stood over me.
Help me, I tried to say. My tongue wouldn't work.
He crouched beside me. "Eleanor?"
Please. I'm hurt. I'm really hurt.
But I couldn't make the words come.
I saw the moment he decided.
She's faking. She always fakes.
No. This time it's real—
But darkness was already pulling me under.
Arthur stood. "When you're ready to have a rational conversation, we'll talk."
He grabbed his coat and left.
Don't leave me. Please—
But the words stayed trapped as darkness swallowed me.
I'm dying and he left me.
I don't know how long I was unconscious.
I woke to Isabella's voice, sharp with panic.
"Eleanor! Oh my god—" Her hands on my face. "Can you hear me?"
I tried to nod. White-hot agony lanced through my skull.
"Don't move. I'm calling 911."
"Arthur—" I whispered.
"I tried him. He's not answering." Her voice shook with fury. "What did he do to you?"
He left me. I needed him and he left.
Darkness claimed me again.
The next time I woke, everything was white.
White lights. White walls. Antiseptic.
"Don't move." Mom's voice, thick with tears. "You have a concussion."
Mom gripped my hand. Isabella stood by the window, furious.
"What happened?" I whispered.
"You tell me. I found you unconscious. Bleeding. You've been out for hours."
The memories flooded back: The phone. S. The blood. Falling—
He left me there.
"Where's Arthur?" Mom asked.
My laugh came out broken. "He's not coming."
"What—"
"He left me on the floor, Mom. He thought I was pretending."
Isabella's phone buzzed. "It's him."
She answered, icy. "Your wife has a concussion. She's been unconscious for six hours. Where are you?"
Silence.
"She fell during a fight. Why did she bite your hand hard enough to draw blood?"
More silence.
"That's what I thought." She hung up. "He's on his way."
"Tell him not to bother." My voice was flat. "I don't want to see him."
Not now. Not ever.
I thought of Arthur holding Selena, promising to always come when she needed him.
But when I needed you, you walked away.
Beneath the grief, something else stirred:
Cold certainty.
I'm done hoping. I'm done trying. I'm done breaking my heart over a man who never wanted it.
I heard his voice in the hallway. Calm, rational.
"Mild concussion... should recover fully..."
The door opened.
I kept my eyes closed. I can't do this.
"Eleanor. The doctor says you're awake."
I didn't respond.
"I know you're not asleep. We need to talk."
You left me unconscious on the floor.
"Get out." My voice came out dead.
Silence.
"I didn't realize you were actually hurt. I thought—"
"You thought I was faking." I opened my eyes. "Because that's what you always think."
Something flickered across his face.
"I'm sorry. I should have checked."
You should have cared.
"Just leave," I whispered. "Please."
He stood there, uncertain for the first time in his controlled life.
"I'll come back tomorrow."
Don't bother.
But I didn't say it. I waited until the door clicked shut.
It's over. Whatever we had, whatever I hoped we could be—it's over.
The tears came, but they felt different. Cleaner.
He left me.
And somewhere in the grief, I felt something else:
Relief.
It hurt like nothing I'd ever felt.
The bracelet was gone. The illusions were gone.
All that remained was the truth: I'd been loving a ghost.
And ghosts can't love you back.
