The CEO's Regret: You made me your lie, I become your Loss-Chapter 66: Threat
"Mummy, I’m cold," Seren whispered, shivering in her thin jacket.
"Hush, baby," Elara said, her eyes fixed on the sliding metal doors. "We’re almost there. We’re going to see the princess in her castle."
The elevator dinged. The doors opened to a carpeted hallway that smelled of expensive lilies and vanilla. Elara stepped out, her grip on Seren’s hand tightening. She didn’t have a plan yet, but she had the rage. And in a place this quiet, a scream could travel for miles, but she hadn’t taken two steps before a figure blocked the light.
A member of the security staff stood there, his posture rigid, shoulders broad enough to fill the hall. He didn’t move. He didn’t blink.
"Hello, Ma’am," he said, his voice dropping into the quiet space like a stone. "You can’t be here. This floor is private."
Elara’s heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic rhythm she forced herself to hide. She tilted her head, softening her gaze, letting a mask of confused innocence settle over her features.
"Really?" She let out a breathy, embarrassed laugh, her mind spinning, weaving a thread of a lie in real-time. "My room is... it seems I’ve gotten myself lost."
The guard didn’t buy it, but he didn’t challenge her either. He leaned in just an inch, his eyes scanning her face with practiced scrutiny.
"That’s okay," he countered, his tone professionally cold. "You can tell me your room number. I’ll be happy to direct you."
"Oh, you are so kind. Thank you so much." Elara began to back away, her heels clicking rhythmically against the marble, retreating toward the safety of the steel lift. "But don’t worry. I can find my way from here."
The doors began to slide shut, sealing them back into the mirrored box. Amara had been lucky today, a ghost of a chance survived. But luck was a finite resource. It wouldn’t last until tomorrow.
"Mummy? You’re hurting me."
The small, cracked voice broke Elara’s trance. She looked down to see Seren’s face twisted in pain, her tiny hand turning white under the crushing pressure of Elara’s grip.
Elara recoiled, instantly loosening her hold. "I’m sorry, baby," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I’m so sorry."
--
The first morning at the Ice Villa was a dream painted in white. Julian was determined to see Amara smile again, and for a few hours, it worked. They spent the morning ice skating on the private rink, the blades cutting sharp, musical lines into the frozen surface. Julian held her waist, his laughter echoing against the mountains, and for the first time in weeks, Amara felt light.
But the feeling didn’t last.
When they returned to their suite to change for dinner, Amara noticed something. Tucked into the heavy gold knocker of their door was a small, crumpled piece of paper. It looked out of place against the polished mahogany.
She swiped it before Julian could see. As he went inside to start the shower, Amara unfolded it with trembling fingers. Inside was a single, dried flower, a dead lily, the petals brown and brittle, and a scrawled note in jagged handwriting:
You had a perfect life. Why did you have to ruin my life?
Amara’s blood turned to water. Her heart hammered a frantic rhythm. She looked frantically down the long, empty hallway, but there was only the sound of the wind whistling against the glass. She shoved the note into the deep pocket of her coat, her face pale.
"Amara? Are you going in?" Julian asked.
"Yes, I’m going inside. See you later!" she said back, her voice high and brittle. She couldn’t tell him. Not yet. This was their peace, and she wouldn’t let a ghost ruin it.
The next two days were a blur of forced happiness and hidden terror. Julian took Amara snowshoeing through the pines and arranged a private dinner under the stars, wrapped in fur blankets. To Julian, it was the perfect recovery. To Amara, every shadow behind a tree looked like a person. Every rustle of a curtain was a threat.
She caught glimpses. A flash of a dark coat behind a marble pillar in the lobby. A reflection in the dining room window of a woman standing far back in the gloom, watching them eat their expensive steak.
Elara was there, a silent shadow on the edge. She watched them from the staff stairwells, her eyes burning as she saw Julian press a kiss to Amara’s forehead. She watched them laugh while Seren huddled in a corner of a maintenance closet, eating cold crackers.
Elara wasn’t just watching; she was calculating. She was waiting for the one moment Julian would leave Amara’s side.
On the third night, it finally happened.
"I forgot the vintage wine in the car," Julian said, grabbing his keys with a grin. "The cellar service is closed, but I tucked a bottle of that 1990 red in the trunk. I’ll be back in five minutes. Don’t move."
He kissed her cheek and stepped out, the door clicking shut.
The silence of the suite was sudden and deafening. Amara stood in the center of the room, her hands shaking. I’m fine, she thought. I’m safe.
A soft, rhythmic scratching started at the door. Not a knock. A scratch, like a fingernail on wood.
The scratching at the door stopped. Amara didn’t flinch. The fear that had been simmering in her gut for days suddenly hardened into something cold and sharp. She was tired of being the victim, tired of looking over her shoulder.
She walked to the door and flung it open.
Elara stood there, her face gaunt, her eyes wild with a mixture of hatred and exhaustion. Behind her, tucked into the shadows of the hallway, little Seren stood shivering.
"Amaara," Elara spat, her voice a jagged whisper. "Living in luxury while I’m in the dirt. You took my life, Amara. You took my husband, my home, my dignity. Do you feel good, sleeping in silk while my daughter is cold?"
