Elias
He hurt you with his words
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Rain battered the windows of the cold, empty mansion.
Honey sat alone on the tiled floor, curled up beside the fireplace that had long since gone out. Her fingers trembled as she clutched the hem of her oversized sweater — not from the cold, but from pain.
Upstairs, she could hear the distant footsteps. Heavy. Unforgiving.
He was home.
She had only one thought — don’t cry. Don’t let him see the tears. Not again.
The door creaked open.
Elias stood there, dressed in black, his eyes colder than winter storms. "You didn’t clean the study,” he said flatly.
I—I’ll do it now,Honey whispered, her voice brittle. He didn’t move.
Don’t bother. You’re already useless enough.She didn’t look up. Her chest ached. The weight pressing against her heart wasn’t just the tumor. It was him. His presence. His hatred. And he knew she was dying. He just didn’t care.