Chapter 3: Burn It All Down.

~Elena’s POV~

(At Los Angeles International Airport)

“I need a ticket to New York.” I say to the blonde airline attendant who blinks at me as she takes in my tear stained face with pity written all over her face. She must be wondering what happened to me. If I was robbed or running away.

She wouldn’t be wrong. I was robbed of my husband, though I'm not so sure now if he was ever mine.

“Give me a minute, ma’am.” Her voice is polite, but I can hear the concern underneath. I must look like a wreck to get this reaction from her.

I bite down on the inside of my cheek to keep my emotions at bay, gripping the handle of my suitcase so tightly my knuckles turn white.

The taxi ride here had been unbearable. Every mile away from that house should have been a relief, instead, the silence suffocated me and my mind kept replaying everything on a loop, each memory another knife to my chest.

From Damian and Sophia together, to the news of the engagement and the baby. He even allowed her moan and say dirty words to him, something he never let me do.

I tried so hard not to cry. I refused and tried not to let my emotions consume me.

But the second I slid into that taxi, the dam broke. And I let it.

I clench my jaw as the anger, pain and rage come rushing back, hot and consuming.

“Ma’am,” the attendant says, drawing me back to reality, “the earliest flight to New York is Volaris Airlines. Would you like to book a ticket?”

I nod immediately and reach into my purse, fumbling for my card. But I couldn't find my card. I rubble through the contents of my purse but still no card.

I blink as the realization slams into me. I left my damn credit card at home. Or rather in that house. But then I remember that our bank account was joint. Every damn dollar in it was tied to him.

A bitter laugh bubbles up in my throat, but I swallow it down. Of course, he would still have control, even after everything.

I glance at the cash I had thankfully withdrawn the day before. Thank God for small mercies.

I place the cash on the counter.

“Economy,” I bite out. It’s all I can afford if I don't want to be completely broke by the end of the week, but I don’t care. I just need to leave.

With my ticket in hand, I shove past the crowd, making a beeline for security. I don’t stop. I don’t think.

I can’t. Because if I do, I might just turn around and burn that entire fucking house to the ground.

After clearing immigration, I look up at the nearest flight information panel. My eyes scan the massive screen until they land on the red letters beside my flight details.

VOLARIS AIRLINES

12:00 PM – New York – ON 997

I exhale shakily. 'Thank God'. Just an hour for me to escape from this hell of a place. There is nothing here for me anymore.

I tighten my coat around me, suddenly aware of the stares from strangers. I need a minute.

Spinning on my heels, I search for the restroom. In luck, I spot the sign for the women’s restroom and slip inside, locking the stall behind me. My breathing is uneven as I press my back against the cold metal door, willing my emotions to stay buried.

But then, I make the mistake of looking up. And my reflection destroys me.

I look awful. A clot of blood has dried at my hairline from where I hit the table. My cheeks are flushed an angry red, and my blue eyes that were once so full of life are now so dull.

I squeeze my eyes shut, gripping the sink for support. My phone feels like dead weight in my hand as I pull it out, my fingers trembling as I press Isa’s contact.

She picks up on the second ring. “Babe,” Isa drawls, her voice laced with mischief, “back so soon? What happened, did Damian give you a quickie?”

The words hit me like a physical blow. My breath hitches.

And Isa being Isa notices. “Elena…” Her voice drops, the teasing edge vanishing. “Why do you sound like that?”

I inhale shakily. “Can I… can I come crash at your place for a few days?”

She is silent for a moment. “ Elena, what happened?” her voice returns, both sharp and concerned.

“I’ll explain later,” I whisper. “I just—please, Isa. I need somewhere to think.”

“Of course, babe, always,” she says immediately, but I hear the steel beneath her words. “If this is about Damian being an asshole, I swear to God I’ll book a flight to LA right now and bury his sorry ass."

I let out a weak laugh, but it quickly changes into a sob.

"Shit,” Isa mutters, her voice is softer now. “Where are you?”

“I’m at LAX. My flight is in an hour.”

“Okay. Send me your details. And Elena?”

“Yeah?”

"Breathe. Whatever it is, we’ll burn it all down together.”

I exhale, some of the crushing weight lifting off my chest. “Thanks, Isa.”

“Anytime, babe,” She pauses. “and Elena?”

“Yeah?” I reply.

“Next time I see Damian, I’m bringing a knife.”

The line goes dead.

I let out a weak laugh, wiping my face. Isa is a damn menace. She’s reckless. And right now? That is exactly what I need.

A notification pops up on my screen.

'Reservation at La Cuisine – 8PM.'

I had this booked for me and Damian. Before I saw him with her. Before he ruined everything.

My lips curl into a snarl as I hit delete. “Fucking bastard,” I mutter, shoving my phone back into my bag.

I turn my attention back to the mirror, washing my face quickly. I clean up my wound as best as I can. Then, I apply a little powder and lip gloss, enough to make me look slightly less than a walking disaster.

I don't look perfect. But I look better than I was a few minutes ago.

Leaving the restroom, I make my way to Starbucks, ordering an iced tea because coffee would only make the anxiety worse.

As I turn to head towards my gate, someone collides into me. Hard.

The impact sends me stumbling back, my drink slipping from my grasp. Ice cold liquid drenches my shirt.

My patience? Long gone.

“What the hell?” I snap, grabbing the stranger’s jacket as he tries to walk away.

The man stills. Then, slowly, he turns. And my breath catches.

Gray eyes. Tousled dark hair. A sharp jawline.

‘Elena, stop.' A voice screams in my head.

But he has to apologize even if he thinks he's some handsome devil.

His eyes size me up in a slow, assessing, bored manner.

“Excuse me?” His voice is deep, edged with something almost amused.

“You heard me,” I bite out as I run my hands through my hair. “did you lose your damn manners, or did you never have any to begin with?”

A muscle ticks in his jaw. He lifts a brow, smirking. “Careful, sweetheart. You’re looking at a man who doesn’t apologize.”

I take a step closer to him, tilting my chin up. “And you’re looking at a woman who doesn’t give a damn about your shitty attitude. Apologize now.”

For a second, I think he’s going to snap back, but then he just shrugs off my grip, walk around me, turns, and walks away.

Like I’m not even worth arguing with.

I watch his retreating figure, my rage returning full force. “Jerk!” I yell after him, my voice hoarse from all the screaming today.

He doesn’t even turn around.

I glare daggers at his back, then glance down at my soaked clothes. Could my day get any worse?

With an exhausted sigh, I stomp back to the restroom to clean up, ignoring the amused stares from the airport crowd.

Minutes later, as I step out of the restroom, a voice echoes through the terminal. “Passengers for Flight ON 997 to New York, please proceed to Gate 11 immediately.”

My stomach tightens. This is it.

With a steady breath, I adjust my bag and make my way towards the gate.

As soon as I’m seated in the plane, I send my flight details to Isa, then switch off my phone. As the plane takes off, I stare out the window, watching LA disappear beneath the clouds.

I should feel relief.

But all I feel is rage. Sadness. And nerve splitting pain.