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ONE HUNDRED 13
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2026-01-30 23:20:41
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THE DIVORCED WIFE RETURNS TO TAKE BACK WHAT’S HERS ONE HUNDRED 13
GARRICKThe steering wheel groaned under my grip. I was driving far too fast, the city blurring past me in streaks of steel and light, my jaw clenched so hard it ached. Every red light felt like an insult. Every slow driver felt like an enemy. My mind was locked on one thought and one thought only.Arthur Blake.That man had the audacity to reappear in Elena’s life after decades of absence, stir chaos, drag ghosts out of graves, and now my daughter had vanished without a trace. If there was one constant in Elena’s suffering, it was him. His choices, his shadows, and his past. If Elena was gone, it was because the past had finally caught up.I was halfway to Arthur’s house when my phone vibrated against the console. I ignored it at first, but then it vibrated again, and again. Something in my chest tightened. I glanced down briefly to the unknown number on my screen.My pulse spiked.“No,” I muttered. “Not now.”But my instinct is sharp, brutal, earned through years of running and surv
THE DIVORCED WIFE RETURNS TO TAKE BACK WHAT’S HERS ONE HUNDRED 12
CATHYGarrick arrived like a storm that had been holding itself back for too long. The moment his car pulled into the driveway, gravel scattering beneath the tires, I knew this wasn’t just fear anymore; it was war clawing its way to the surface. He stepped out before the engine even fully died, his eyes already scanning the house, the cars, the open space where Elena should have been.“Start from the beginning,” he said, his voice low, controlled in the way that only meant it was barely restrained.I swallowed hard. My throat felt raw already. “Her cars were still here. All of them. One door was open, her bag was on the ground, and her phone—" My voice cracked. “Her phone was outside. She never goes anywhere without it.”Garrick’s jaw tightened. He walked straight to the car, inspecting it like a crime scene. His fingers brushed over the open door, then the handle, then the interior. I watched his shoulders stiffen.“This wasn’t carelessness,” he muttered. “Someone interrupted her.”
THE DIVORCED WIFE RETURNS TO TAKE BACK WHAT’S HERS ONE HUNDRED 12
CATHY -ELENA’S MOTHERSomething felt wrong the moment I stepped outside. it felt just… wrong. Like when you misplace something important and your body knows before your mind does. Elena’s cars were still there. All of them.I stopped halfway down the front steps, my hand gripping the rail. Elena never left all her cars behind. Never. She was meticulous like that; she was overprepared, always choosing which car suited her mood, her meetings, and her armour for the day.“Maybe she took a ride,” I muttered to myself, the lie thin even to my own ears.I walked closer, and that’s when I saw annd realised that one of the doors was open. Not wide, but just enough like someone had been interrupted mid-motion.My heart stumbled.“Elena?” I called, forcing my voice to stay light and casual, as if I wasn’t already bracing myself.No answer. I circled the car slowly, dread pooling heavier with every step, until I saw her bag lying on the ground, spilled slightly, the strap twisted unnaturally, l
THE DIVORCED WIFE RETURNS TO TAKE BACK WHAT’S HERS ONE HUNDRED 11
ELENA Darkness comes in layers. The first thing I feel is the cold, seeping through my clothes, biting into my spine. The second is the smell of old concrete, dust, and something that just makes my stomach turn even before my mind catches up. Then the panic hits. I bolt upright with a sharp gasp, my scream tearing out of me before I can stop it. “Hello?!” My voice echoes, thin and frantic. “Is anyone there?!” Nothing. My heart hammers violently against my ribs as I scramble back, my hands skidding over rough cement. A single bulb flickers above me, its light weak and unforgiving, revealing just enough to terrify me properly. A bare room with no windows, but just one metal door. I clutch my head as a wave of dizziness crashes over me. My mouth tastes like chemicals, sweet and bitter. The cloth which someone covered my mouth with. Someone planned this. My breathing turns shallow. “No,” I whisper, shaking my head. “No, no, no…” I press my palms against my temples, trying to ste
THE DIVORCED WIFE RETURNS TO TAKE BACK WHAT’S HERS ONE HUNDRED 10
DAMIAN Pain has a rhythm. I discovered that somewhere between the third and fourth time they poured water over my face just to wake me up again. The water dripped on my skin, burning through the wounds, but I could only breathe. My wrists were still bound behind the chair, the rope biting into skin already raw. The room smelled like damp concrete and iron, blood, mostly mine. A single bulb swung overhead, slowly, like it enjoyed watching me suffer. They still hadn’t told me where Elena was. When Elena still hadn’t confirmed that she was going to meet them, they got impatient and the man sent his sheeps to get her. That was the point, but they just wanted me conscious enough to think, to imagine, to rot in the uncertainty. I flexed my fingers, ignoring the sharp protest in my shoulders. I’d been trained for this. Not the fear, but the waiting, the psychological warfare, and the kind that crawls into your head and whispers that the people you love are already screaming. The door c
THE DIVORCED WIFE RETURNS TO TAKE BACK WHAT’S HERS ONE HUNDRED 9
ELENA The fork clinked softly against the porcelain plate again and again so many times. I wasn’t hungry. I hadn’t been all day. The food in front of me might as well have been plastic, neatly arranged, warm, smelling faintly of herbs and comfort I didn’t feel. I nudged a piece of chicken, watched it slide back into place like it hadn’t been disturbed at all. Appropriate. That was my life lately. Everything looking intact while quietly falling apart. My mother was talking. I could tell by the movement of her lips, the gentle cadence of her voice, the way she leaned forward as if trying to pull me back into the room with her words. I nodded once, out of habit, even though I didn’t hear a single sentence. My mind was somewhere else. Damian’s eyes, still defiant even through blood and pain. “Elena,” my mother said again, more insistently. Nothing. I twirled the fork between my fingers, the metal cold, grounding in a way nothing else had been all day. I stared past the wall, past
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