Chapter 128
No.1
The massive outdoor terrace was partially covered by a glass awning, protecting the seating area from the freezing rain.
In the center of the space, the giant, natural volcanic rock fireplace was roaring. The flames leaped unnaturally high, fueled by something highly combustible.
Standing directly in front of the fire was Tate Mills.The seven-year-old boy was holding a thick,leather-bound book. It was Elisa's private wedding album.
Tate was laughing maniacally. He ripped a glossy photograph from the binding and chucked it directly into the blazing fire.
Sitting on the outdoor sectional sofa a few feet away was Cyprian Thatcher, August's closest friend.August had apparently dragged him back to the penthouse to discuss the impending offshore hedge fund disaster over drinks, leaving Cyprian to 'babysit' while August dealt with Allena inside.Cyprian found the chaos intensely amusing, a perfect payback for the woman who had publcly humiliated his best friend at the gallery. He even subtly encouraged the boy. "Be careful not to burn yourself, little man," he said, his words a veiled,venomous approval. He held a glass of scotch,a
No.2
smirk playing on his lips as he watched the child destroy Elisa's memories. He made absolutely no move to stop him.1
And there, lying discarded in a puddle of dirty rainwater near the edge of the terrace, was the two -meter-tall wedding portrait. The heavy wooden frame was splintered. The canvas was smeared with mud and boot prints.
A blinding,white-hot rage exploded in Elisa's brain.The rational,calculating Faye vanished,replaced by pure,primal fury.
Elisa sprinted across the wet stone tiles.
She lunged at the fireplace. She grabbed Tate by the collar of his expensive jacket and violently yanked him backward, hurling him away from the flames.
No.3
Tate stumbled, his feet slipping on the wet stone,and fell hard onto his backside. He stared at Elisa in shock for one second before opening his mouth and unleashing a piercing, hysterical scream.
Elisa ignored him. She dropped to her knees on the hard stone. She plunged her bare hands toward the edge of the roaring fire, desperately trying to snatch the loose photographs before the flames consumed them.
The intense heat blistered the skin on the back of her left hand. A sharp, searing pain shot up her arm,but she didn't pull back. She watched, paralyzed by agony, as the image of her smiling face in a white dress curled, blackened, and disintegrated into ash
"Are you out of your fucking mind?"
Cyprian slammed his scotch glass down on the table and stood up. He glared down at Elisa with absolute disgust. "He's a child! You don't put your hands on a child!"
No.4
Elisa slowly stood up. She turned to face Cyprian.Her chest heaved. Her black eyes were bloodshot,burning with a terrifying, homicidal intensity.
"You sit in my home, drinking my liquor, and watch a brat burn my property," Elisa roared, her voice tearing through the sound of the rain. "You have absolutely no right to speak to me!"
Cyprian actually took a physical step back, startled by the sheer violence radiating from her small frame.
Before he could respond, the heavy glass doors from the indoor study banged open.
August and Allena rushed out onto the terrace.
No.5
Allena took one look at Tate sitting on the wet floor, crying hysterically. She let out a dramatic,ear-piercing shriek. She ran over and dropped to her knees, pulling the boy into her arms.
"Oh my god, Tate!" Allena sobbed, burying her face in his hair. She whipped her head around,glaring at Elisa with pure, venomous hatred. "What is wrong with you? If you're jealous of me, take it out on me! Don't attack a little boy!"
Tate,realizing he had an audience,buried his face in his sister's chest and wailed louder, secretly
shooting Elisa a smug, victorious smirk.
August strode to the center of the terrace.He wore a dark sweater, his jaw clenched tight. He looked at Tate crying on the floor. He looked at the roaring fire. He looked at Elisa, whose hand was red and blistering, covered in black soot.
No.6
He didn't ask what happened. He didn't ask why his wife was on her knees in the dirt.
August locked his dark, furious eyes onto Elisa.
"Elisa," August demanded, his voice thick with absolute exhaustion and annoyance. "What the hell are you throwing a fit about now?"
The words hit Elisa like a physical bulet to the chest.
What are you throwing a fit about now?
No.7
Elisa's entire body began to tremble. She raised her burned, soot-stained hand and pointed a shaking finger at the blazing fireplace.
"He is burning our wedding photos," Elisa said,her voice cracking,raw with a pain she couldn't hide.She looked August dead in the eye, begging for a single shred of humanity. "In my house. He tore them apart. And you are asking me what I'm doing?"She bit the inside of her cheek so hard she tasted copper. She refused to let the tears fall. She waited for August to turn around, to look at the fire, to scold the boy. To defend the seven years of
her life that were turning to ash.1
August just stared at her, his face a mask of cold
unyielding stone.