Chapter 8: Ghosts of the Past

Three weeks into Lily's recovery at home, their new routine had settled into something that felt almost normal. Damien arrived every evening after work, trading his boardroom authority for bedtime stories and crayon masterpieces. He'd learned to make Lily's favorite grilled cheese sandwiches, discovered that she preferred her medicine mixed with chocolate milk, and somehow convinced her that taking afternoon naps was actually a secret superhero training regimen.

Elara found herself looking forward to his visits with an anticipation that both thrilled and terrified her. This gentler version of Damien—the man who got down on the floor to play elaborate games with stuffed elephants—was dangerously easy to care about.

She was folding Lily's tiny clothes in the living room when the knock came. Too early for Damien, too sharp to be neighborly. When she opened the door, her blood turned to ice.

Vivienne Ashford stood in the hallway like a vision from a nightmare—tall, elegant, and wearing the kind of dress that cost more than most people's cars. Her platinum blonde hair was swept into a perfect chignon, her makeup flawless despite the late afternoon hour. She looked like she'd stepped out of a magazine spread about how billionaires' wives should dress.

"Hello, Elara." Vivienne's voice was cultured, refined, and sharp enough to cut glass. "We need to talk."

"I'm sorry, do I know you?" Elara kept her grip on the door, every instinct screaming danger.

"Not yet. But I know you." Vivienne's smile was predatory. "I know exactly what you are and what you've done. May I come in? Unless you'd prefer to have this conversation in the hallway where your neighbors can hear."

The implied threat was clear. Elara stepped aside reluctantly, and Vivienne glided into the modest apartment with the casual arrogance of someone accustomed to owning every space she entered.

"How... quaint," Vivienne said, her gaze taking in the secondhand furniture, the cheerful drawings taped to the refrigerator, the medical equipment that still occupied one corner. "So this is where Damien has been spending his evenings."

"What do you want?" Elara crossed her arms, trying to project confidence she didn't feel.

"To save you from making a terrible mistake." Vivienne settled onto the couch without invitation, her posture perfect despite the worn cushions. "You see, I've been watching this little... situation... develop with great interest."

"I don't know what you think you know—"

"I know that Damien Blackwood bought you like a commodity. I know about the contract, the arrangement, the sordid little transaction that brought you into his life." Vivienne's eyes glittered with malicious satisfaction. "And I know about the sick child you used to manipulate his guilt."

Elara's heart hammered against her ribs. "Get out."

"Oh, I don't think so. Not when we have so much to discuss." Vivienne crossed her legs elegantly. "You see, Damien and I have a history. A significant one. We were engaged for two years—would have been married by now if not for some... misunderstandings about prenuptial agreements."

The words hit Elara like physical blows. Engaged. Vivienne had been engaged to Damien.

"I can see you didn't know." Vivienne's smile widened. "How like him to keep his cards close to his chest. Yes, darling, I was going to be Mrs. Damien Blackwood. Until I made the mistake of suggesting he liquidate some assets to fund my foundation work. Apparently, that constituted 'gold-digging' in his twisted mind."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because you need to understand what you're dealing with. Damien doesn't do relationships—he does acquisitions. He saw something he wanted in you and your little girl, so he bought it. Just like he tried to buy me."

"That's not—" Elara started, but Vivienne held up a manicured hand.

"Please. Don't insult my intelligence with denials. I have photographs of you leaving his penthouse. I have credit card receipts showing the wardrobe he bought you. I have hospital records showing mysterious anonymous donations that coincidentally began the day after you signed his contract."

The apartment felt like it was closing in around her. "How did you—"

"Money opens doors, darling. And I have plenty of it. The question is: what am I going to do with this information?"

Elara sank into the chair across from her, her legs suddenly too weak to support her. "What do you want?"

"I want you to understand the precarious position you're in." Vivienne leaned forward, her voice dropping to a whisper. "One phone call to the right gossip columnist, and your sordid little arrangement becomes front-page news. 'Billionaire's Sexual Slavery Contract Exposed.' 'Sick Child Used as Pawn in Twisted Power Game.' Can you imagine the headlines?"

"You wouldn't." But even as she said it, Elara knew she was wrong. The calculating coldness in Vivienne's eyes was familiar—she'd seen it in Damien before he'd learned to care.

"I would. And I will, unless you do the right thing and remove yourself from his life." Vivienne stood, smoothing her dress with casual grace. "You see, I've realized something in these past months. Damien and I are perfectly matched—two people who understand that everything and everyone has a price. This little domestic fantasy he's playing with you and your daughter is just a phase. A midlife crisis, if you will."

"You're wrong." Elara's voice was barely above a whisper. "He's changed."

"Has he? Or has he simply found a new way to exercise control?" Vivienne moved to the window, looking out at the modest neighborhood beyond. "Think about it, darling. He pays for everything—your daughter's treatment, your living expenses, probably your groceries and utilities too. You're completely dependent on him, just like you were under the contract. The only difference is the packaging."

The words hit their mark because they contained a grain of terrible truth. Damien did pay for everything. Had insisted on it, in fact, whenever she'd tried to assert her independence.

"He cares about Lily," Elara said, but her voice lacked conviction.

"He cares about the idea of being a savior. It feeds his ego to play the benevolent billionaire, rescuing the poor single mother and her dying child." Vivienne turned back to her, triumph gleaming in her eyes. "But what happens when the novelty wears off? When your daughter is fully recovered and no longer needs his heroic intervention? When you're just another obligation instead of a fascinating project?"

"Stop." Elara's voice cracked.

"I'm trying to help you see reality before it's too late. Before he discards you the way he's discarded every other woman who got too comfortable in his life." Vivienne retrieved a pristine white envelope from her purse. "I've taken the liberty of drafting a press release. Very sympathetic to your situation, of course. 'Desperate Mother Forced into Degrading Arrangement.' You come out looking like a victim, he comes out looking like a predator."

She placed the envelope on the coffee table like a loaded gun.

"All I have to do is make one phone call, and this goes live across every major news outlet in the country. Your daughter will grow up knowing that her medical bills were paid with her mother's body. That her recovery was built on shame and degradation." Vivienne's voice was gentle now, almost kind. "Is that really what you want for her?"

Elara stared at the envelope, her hands trembling. "What... what would you want me to do?"

"End it. Pack up your daughter and disappear from his life. Move to another city, start fresh, let him go back to his real life." Vivienne sat back down, her posture relaxed now that she had the upper hand. "I'll even help you financially. A generous settlement to ensure you and Lily are comfortable while you rebuild."

"And if I refuse?"

"Then tomorrow morning, every person in Seattle will know exactly what Damien Blackwood is capable of. His business reputation will be ruined, his board will force him out, and your daughter will spend the rest of her life explaining why her mother was featured in a sex scandal." Vivienne checked her diamond watch. "You have until tomorrow evening to decide. After that, the choice is out of both our hands."

She stood and moved toward the door, then paused. "Oh, and Elara? I wouldn't advise telling Damien about our little chat. He can be quite... protective... when he feels his assets are threatened. We wouldn't want your daughter caught in the crossfire of his reaction."

The door closed behind her with a soft click, leaving Elara alone with the white envelope and the weight of an impossible choice.

She stared at the document that could destroy everything—Damien's reputation, their fragile relationship, Lily's peaceful recovery. In the kitchen, she could hear her daughter humming while she colored, blissfully unaware that their entire world was about to crumble.

Elara picked up the envelope with shaking hands. Inside was exactly what Vivienne had promised—a carefully crafted press release that painted Damien as a sexual predator and herself as his victim. The language was sympathetic but devastating, designed to generate maximum outrage and minimum mercy.

Her phone buzzed with a text from Damien: Running late tonight. Emergency board meeting. Kiss Lily goodnight for me?

The casual affection in the message made her chest tighten with something that felt like grief. He had no idea what was coming. No idea that in less than twenty-four hours, he might be facing public humiliation and professional ruin.

Unless she saved him by destroying herself.

Elara sank onto the couch, Vivienne's words echoing in her mind. What happens when the novelty wears off? When your daughter is no longer his fascinating project?

The terrible thing was, she'd wondered the same thing herself. Late at night, when she watched Damien reading to Lily, she'd caught herself waiting for the moment when his interest would fade. When the reality of being tied to a working-class single mother would become more burden than novelty.

Maybe Vivienne was right. Maybe she was just another acquisition, temporarily fascinating but ultimately disposable.

And maybe it was better to end this on her own terms than to wait for him to grow tired of playing house.

In the kitchen, Lily's humming stopped. "Mommy? Is everything okay? You look sad."

Elara forced a smile and walked to the kitchen, where her daughter sat surrounded by crayons and another masterpiece in progress. This one showed a little girl and an elephant flying through clouds, both of them smiling.

"I'm fine, sweetheart. What are you drawing?"

"Me and Peanut going on an adventure. We're flying to see the rainbow birds we talked about." Lily looked up with shining eyes. "Is Mr. Blackwood coming for dinner? I want to show him my picture."

"He's... he's working late tonight, baby."

"Oh." Lily's face fell slightly. "Will he come tomorrow?"

Elara looked at her daughter—this perfect, innocent child who'd been through so much and deserved so much more—and felt her heart break into pieces.

"I don't know," she whispered. "I really don't know."

The white envelope sat on the coffee table like a ticking bomb, counting down the hours until everything they'd built together would explode into nothing.

And somewhere across the city, Damien Blackwood sat in his boardroom, completely unaware that the ghosts of his past had come to destroy his future.