He Destroyed Me, Then Begged My Ghost to Stay

After the wedding, Blake Gilbert brought me back to the bridal suite and tormented me through the entire night.

By the next morning, a photo of me kneeling at his feet had gone viral.

When I confronted him in hysterics, he offered no explanation. He simply had his people strip me naked and drag me to my mother's hospital bed.

He watched with a cold smile as my mother convulsed uncontrollably at the sight.

"If your mother hadn't been a shameless homewrecker who drove Agatha's mother insane and got both her parents killed, Agatha never would've ended up an orphan, living off other people's charity!"

"Agatha spent ten years suffering from depression because of what your mother did. Every ounce of pain she endured, every bit of misery she went through — I'm going to make sure you and your mother feel all of it!"

Agatha Pruitt was his adoptive sister, not a single drop of shared blood between them.

So his undying devotion had never been real. It was revenge, meticulously planned from the start.

But what happened back then — my mother was the victim.

My mother vomited blood and died from the shock. He didn't show a shred of remorse. He just smiled and gripped my chin.

"Your mother got off easy, dying that quick. What she owed Agatha? That debt falls to you now."

To treat Agatha's depression, he used me as a test subject for experimental drugs and forced me to serve as her personal blood bank.

Five years of marriage. Five years of a living hell.

Until Agatha slit her wrists again and lost too much blood. She needed emergency transfusions.

He had me strapped down at the hospital. They drained nearly every drop of blood from my body.

When he saw me writhing in agony, he leaned down and held me.

"Elaine, just hold on a little longer. This is the last time."

"Once Agatha's better, we'll start over. You and me."

But what he didn't know was that five years of experimental drugs had destroyed every cell in my body.

I could no longer produce new blood.

The debt he claimed I owed — I would repay it with my life.

There would be no "starting over" for us. Not anymore.

——

I lay on the hospital bed, my body seizing, but my throat couldn't produce a single sound.

When no answer came, Blake stood up, irritation plain in his eyes.

He grabbed my wrist and wrenched me off the bed.

"Elaine Harding, how long are you going to keep up this act?"

"I've seen your medical report. Every single indicator came back normal. It's just a little blood draw. How much could it possibly hurt? Stop pretending to be fragile."

I collapsed face-down on the floor, too weak to even push myself up.

He'd seen my medical report — but he didn't know that every cell in my body had been destroyed.

The doctors had told me all my organs were failing.

Forget drawing blood. A common cold could kill me now.

I tried to explain, but a metallic sweetness flooded my throat.

Every organ inside me trembled with pain.

I gathered the last scrap of strength I had and clutched the hem of his trousers, my eyes begging.

"My mother was innocent. What happened back then — please, just look into it. Please."

I'd said those words countless times before.

Whenever the side effects of the drugs became unbearable, whenever I was rolling on the floor in agony, I would cry and beg him.

Every single time, he cut me off without mercy.

"Elaine Harding, if your mother was innocent, then what about Agatha's mother? Was she not innocent?"

"If your mother hadn't been shameless enough to drug Agatha's father and crawl into his bed, would Agatha's mother have gone mad enough to take him down with her?"

"Stop playing the victim. Agatha has been depressed for years, and it's all because of your family. Your mother is dead, so the debt is yours to pay."

He refused to believe a word I said. He just stared at me with that cold expression and forced me to keep taking the drugs.

Five years. Over a thousand different medications.

My body was covered in needle marks, so many they blurred together.

I'd served as a human blood bank more times than I could count.

After every session, I was so weak I couldn't leave the bed for half a month.

None of it mattered to him.

The only thing he cared about was whether Agatha Pruitt could be cured.