Chapter 17
30 vouchers
That flicker of displeasure wasn’t for him or Isabella. It was a memory, sharp and cold–the last words she’d overheard in another life.
In her final moments, they had stood just like this, father and son, circled around Isabella. The thought still made her blood run cold.
She’d spent three years in that past life unraveling, screaming into a void. Her hysterics earned no sympathy, only pity and scorn, pushing her deeper into isolation.
It’s hard to see the path when you’re trapped in the maze. Thank God she was out of it now.
“Ms. Lyons! You’re just in time. Why not join us?” Eliana’s foot was on the first stair when Isabella’s voice, sugary and proprietary, floated from behind. She sounded like the lady of the house already,
Eliana almost laughed. She didn’t bother to stop her. Just kept climbing,
Being utterly ignored, Isabella turned her wounded–puppy look on Logan. “Logan, did I say something wrong? Does Eliana not want me here? Maybe I should go.”
“No need,” Logan said, his voice softer than it ever was for her. “I’ll talk to her.”
Isabella was good at this–playing the understanding one, painting Eliana as the jealous, petty wife without saying a word.
Logan used to buy it. Lately, though, things felt off. Now that Eliana was back, he just wanted the tension gone. If she’d stop making a scene, he’d even let the past arguments slide.
He sat at the dining table, eyes fixed on the staircase, waiting. Finally, footsteps. He looked up. And saw the suitcase in her hand. “Eliana.” His voice was low, tight. “What is this?”
“It’s the cooling–off period,” she said, her tone flat as she wheeled the suitcase toward him. “My staying here isn’t appropriate. I’ve come to get the rest of my things. I’ll be at my parents”
She stopped in front of him. “You can check. It’s only my stuff.” Watching Logan’s face darken, Isabella jumped in, her voice a careful blend of concern and subtle blame.
“Ms. Lyons, is this because of me? I can explain. Samuel wasn’t eating well with Sophie cooking, so I offered to help.
“Honestly, if you’d been here, I wouldn’t have needed to come at all. But if you use this to pick a fight with Logan now… isn’t that a little unfair?”
“Logan…” Eliana repeated the name, letting the irony drip. “You and your ex are on pretty cozy terms. If you had a few more ex–girlfriends, you could fire the whole staff. One ex per chore.”
“Eliana!” His temper snapped. “You’re back. Can’t we just have a calm conversation? Isabella explained. She’s just here to cook for Samuel. Why can’t you let it go?
“If you make a big deal out of this now, how are you going to walk back in here later? Don’t you think that’ll be embarrassing?”
Eliana’s grip on the suitcase handle tightened until her knuckles were white. She forced a thin, brittle smile. “Don’t worry, I won’t be walking back in.”
She didn’t wait for a reply. Turning on her heel, she walked out, the click of the door behind her sounding more final than any slammed door ever had.
1/3
2:24 am P
Chapter 17
The drive to her parents‘ house was quiet. Her eyes stung, but she refused to let the tears fall.
20 vouchers
Six years. She’d lived in that mausoleum of a house for six years. And when she finally left, everything that was truly hers fit into one half–empty suitcase,
She’d poured every bit of herself into Logan and Samuel, believing that sheer effort guaranteed love. Dying once had been the brutal price for learning who really deserved that devotion.
In the days that followed, Eliana shut out all thoughts of Logan and Samuel, focusing entirely on her parents,
Sarah had suspected the truth the moment Eliana returned home with her suitcase. Still, it wasn’t until a quiet evening that Eliana sat them down and said the words aloud: “Mom, Dad, I’m filing for divorce.”
She braced herself. For disappointment, for the societal shame, for the pressure to just “make it work” that so many parents placed on their children. It never came.
Sarah cried, but they were tears of heartache for her daughter. Her father, Charles, simply placed a steady hand on her shoulder. “Eliana, we support any decision that leads to your happiness.”
The relief was so profound it left her shaky. With their backing, a weight she hadn’t fully acknowledged lifted. She threw herself into the next task: understanding the real state of Lyons Group.
In that other life, while she was drowning in her marriage, her parents‘ company had been sinking too.
A failed investment, mountains of debt, the slow, humiliating slide toward bankruptcy. She’d begged Logan for help. He’d lectured her about “boundaries,” saying her parents‘ troubles weren’t his.
And her parents, to protect her fragile marriage, had stubbornly refused to ask the Eliots for a cent. They held on for over a year before everything collapsed.
From respected business owners, they were reduced to setting up a street stall, working extra jobs long after dark.
When she’d tried to slip them a little money from her own household allowance, Logan had refused, reminding her she hadn’t earned a salary in years.
And she, idiot that she was, had accepted it, too broken to fight for them. The memory was a fresh wound. She’d been a terrible daughter.
Not this time. If there was still a chance, she would help them save the company. That tragedy would not repeat.
After a week shadowing her father at the office, the grim reality was undeniable. Lyons Group was on the brink.
The only asset that could possibly turn things around was that land in Westridge–the land she’d brought into her marriage as part of her dowry, the land Logan’s company was now “developing.”
The divorce papers were signed. She needed that land back, and fast. As collateral, as leverage–it was their only lifeline.
After much thought, she decided to go to Eliot Group. She’d talk to Logan, get the transfer process started. She just hadn’t counted on running into a ghost from a much more distant past.
2/3
Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
