Chapter 4I Died. Then He Saw Me Again

Elara Vance POV

Time seemed to freeze at that moment.

A flicker of panic crossed my eyes. I reached down to pick it up immediately, but Ethan was faster.

He held the white powder, his gaze on me filled with a brewing storm. "What is this?"

My face was grim. I reached out and snatched it back. "None of your business."

With that, I turned to leave.

But the next second, his tall frame pressed against me, pinning me against the wall.

"Elara Vance, don't tell me you've fallen that low."

Ethan stared at me, his bloodshot eyes radiating a sharp chill.

At such close proximity, I could see my own reflection in his eyes.

I looked as disheveled as I had on the day of our divorce four years ago.

I pushed Ethan away forcefully. "Don't forget, on the day we divorced, you said my affairs would no longer concern you."

Throwing out that last sentence, I hurried down to the basement, slamming the door shut.

Back in the basement, even the familiar dimness couldn't alleviate my discomfort.

My head throbbed harder and harder, the nerves in my brain twisting like red-hot knives.

I sat down at my computer, dumped all the powder into my mouth, then pulled out my phone and dialed a number.

After a few rings, a clear male voice answered.

"Ms. Vance, what's wrong?"

My face was white as I rubbed my head. "Dr. Derek, my headache is getting worse."

Dr. Derek sighed. "Since you fainted four years ago and came for treatment, I told you the blood vessel was pressing on your brainstem, and surgery isn't possible."

"I can only prescribe morphine powder for the pain, but given your current condition, you're likely in life-threatening danger at any moment..."

Hearing this, a pang of pain flashed in my eyes. I said "got it" and hung up.

I slumped onto the table, letting the sorrow consume me.

I wondered if fate just couldn't bear to see me happy: first, my parents died young, then my marriage shattered, and finally, I was struck with a terminal illness...

Thinking about it, I gave a bitter laugh.

If life were a novel, my plot truly sucked.

Night deepened. As before, I drifted into a heavy sleep, only to be woken by pain.

This cycle repeated until dawn.

I woke up at 8 AM. The pizza on the table was stone cold.

I rubbed my head, and dragging my exhausted body, I washed up and walked out of the basement.

Before my eyes could adjust to the light, I smelled the familiar aroma of breakfast.

Ethan stood in front of the counter, which barely reached his hip, deftly flipping a fried egg in a pan with one hand.

Our eyes met. After a moment of surprise, I remembered Ethan had become my tenant yesterday.

I said nothing, making myself coffee as usual.

In the morning stillness of the house, we were both busy with our own things.

But I noticed many storybooks on the table.

Looking closer, they were all fairy tales I had written years ago.

"Leo really likes those books. He insisted on bringing them."

Ethan paused, his voice deepening. "He keeps asking me when you'll write new stories."

I didn't answer immediately, just stared intently. Each book cover had the publisher's "NO.1" mark.

I had intended these to be gifts for my and Ethan's future children.

But our story wasn't a fairy tale. The gifts I'd meant for *our* children, he had ultimately given to his child with someone else.

I took a sip of the bitter coffee. "I won't be writing them anymore. Fairy tales are all lies."

Ethan understood my hidden meaning but said nothing more.

Suddenly, a loud bang from outside made the window frames rattle.

Almost instantly, Ethan pulled me into a corner, shielding me tightly.

His heartbeat was close, and his distinct minty scent made me momentarily disoriented.

But as I regained my composure, I immediately pushed him away. "This is Detroit. Such disturbances are common."

The alertness in Ethan's eyes faded, replaced by a questioning look. "Why did you choose to come to this chaotic city?"

I couldn't answer. My throat felt tight. "I just wanted a change of environment."

Ethan pressed, "Then what was that packet of powder that fell out yesterday?"

Our eyes met. Seeing him in full interrogation mode, I gave a self-deprecating laugh.

I pulled out a cigarette, expertly lighting it. "You know, great works always require some forbidden methods for inspiration."

The wine-scented smoke blurred the distance between us. Ethan frowned, his gaze turning sharp.

"If I ever get the chance, I'll arrest you myself."

After delivering that flat warning, he carried Leo's breakfast upstairs.

Listening to his footsteps fading, I looked at the table full of brightly illustrated fairy tales, my eyes welling up.

Don't worry, Ethan.

Neither I, nor the past, can ever go back.