On my birthday, I married Damien Thorne, a billionaire thirteen years my senior. “Why did you marry me?” I once asked. His eyes would soften as he pulled me close, like I was something fragile and rare. “Because you’re Eleanor.” My heart would begin to lift, but his next words froze my blood. “Because you’re the daughter of the woman who abandoned me ten years ago. Your mother owes me a debt. And you will repay it.” That sentence became a chain, locking me inside his marriage. On our anniversary, he made me watch him making out with other women. When I was hospitalized, weak and fevered, he rolled dice to decide how many spoonfuls of food I was allowed each day. Finally, broken in body and spirit, I slid into a bathtub and opened my wrists. As the world dimmed, I pushed out one last, ragged breath of a question. “My mother died twelve years ago. So who was it you really loved ten years ago?” Damien’s answer never reached me. I died before the words could take shape. But when I opened my eyes, I was ten years in the past. The moment I woke, I saw Damien, young and desperate, being beaten by a pack of men over unpaid wages. Without thinking, I lunged to shield him and took the blow meant for his chest. The impact stole my breath; blood rose in my throat and spilled from my lips. His eyes widened in shock. He carried me straight to a hospital. “My name is Damien Thorne. What’s yours?” I did not dare give my real name. He chuckled. “Feisty little thing, aren’t you?” The casual nickname stung, sharp as a needle. Instantly, I remembered his future secretary, Chloe, in his bed. I snapped, a desperate lie ripping from my throat. “I’m not little! I’m older than you!” But I had nothing. No ID, no proof. I could not find Vicky, my future adoptive mother. I could not even call the police. When he realized I had nowhere to go, he took me to his apartment. The 25-year-old Damien, his eyes held none of the ruthless glint I knew from the future, only endless, pure tenderness. “You can stay. It’s old, but it’s safe here.” He turned his face, a slight flush rising. “Don’t worry about me. I have other places to stay.” He was lying. I’d secretly followed him. A man over six feet tall, curled up in a cramped storage room where he couldn’t even stretch his legs. Damien didn’t push me to find a job, never once questioned my past. He’d grown up in an orphanage, under the cold, disdainful gaze of others, becoming a solitary, guarded soul. Before 25, he’d always licked his wounds in silence, alone, until I burst into his world. For the first time, he tasted protection, a sensation utterly new. My constant presence and reliance, my refusal to leave the house, made him feel desperately needed. He thought this was love. He gave me everything he had. He worked two grueling jobs to support me, accumulating more and more injuries, his frame growing alarmingly thin. He broke a bone doing manual labor, skipped the hospital to save money, yet still managed to bring home flowers every single day. The kinder he was to me, the deeper the thorn in my heart dug in, a constant, agonizing reminder. I couldn’t stop thinking about how cruelly he would treat me in the future. The future’s chilling cruelty and the present’s overwhelming tenderness tore at my very soul, leaving me breathless, suffocating. Days bled into weeks, and I still didn’t know who he truly loved. Until that day, when he found me, his face alight with excitement. “I know your name!” My heart lurched. “My colleague saw your picture and said you were his old neighbor, the older girl who moved away years ago. He said you’d blossomed, almost didn’t recognize you.” Someone here knew me? He ruffled my hair. “So you really are older than me, huh? Sarah?” Sarah. That was my mother’s name. My name was Eleanor. In that shattering instant, everything clicked into place. I hadn’t just gone back in time; I had become history. I was living out the past. The person he fell in love with, the one he thought was my mother, was actually me-the time-traveling me. So all the torment I endured, all the pain… what was it for? This cruel, twisted joke of fate made bile rise in my throat, a wave of sickening disgust. Hot, heavy tears streamed down, each one a hammer blow against my chest. I fell ill for days, and he nursed me tirelessly, never leaving my side. In a haze of fever, I felt him slip a ring into my hand. “I saved for three years to get this.” “Sarah, when you got better, will you marry me?” Yes. But I couldn’t wait. An invisible force seized me and dragged me back through time. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the night I tried to kill myself. This time, Damien wasn’t beside me. Blood choked my throat, burning as I gasped. I thrashed, desperate to claw my way out of the tub, but the door was locked, bolted from the outside. Sounds came from beyond the door. A sliver of hope ignited in me, then died as I heard Damien and a woman, their muffled moans and gasps echoing through the thin walls. I was plunged back into that icy despair. I remembered. Last time, when I learned I was just a stand-in for my mother, every tender memory, every ounce of sweetness, turned to dust in my hands. After the ninety-ninth time I found him with someone else, I demanded a divorce. He locked me up instead. Broken, I chose to end it all. But now, knowing the truth, the bitterness wasn’t cold ash-it was a raw, living wound, screaming to be spoken. I couldn’t die. I had to tell him the truth. I screamed his name, the sound tearing my throat, as the darkness began to pull me under… The door finally opened. When I woke in the hospital, my eyes immediately found Damien. I tried my best to ignore the fresh hickeys on his neck, desperate to speak. But he grabbed me, his hand closing around my throat. “You want to die? I told you, Eleanor. Until you repay what your mother stole from me, I’ll make sure you crave death but can never reach it.” “If you want to hate, hate her-your mother, who stole my heart and my money, then just vanished.” The stark disgust in his eyes made my own burn, blurring with unshed tears. He scoffed, a chilling sound. “What are you playing at? Don’t think for a second that your resemblance to her will soften me.” I tried to speak, but no sound came out. He sneered. “Who told you to try and take your own life? Enjoy being speechless now, do you?” I’d choked on my own blood during the suicide attempt, screamed until my throat was raw and useless. He leaned closer, his voice a cruel whisper. “I knew you were throwing a little tantrum in the bathroom earlier. Too bad she was so… insistent. I couldn’t resist. We went for another round.” I bit down hard on my lip, the metallic taste of blood filling my mouth. The memory of 25-year-old Damien’s tenderness still lingered in my mind. The harsh reality slapped me across the face, a brutal awakening. Stubbornly, I reached for my phone, desperate to type out the truth, but Damien, impatient, just turned his back and walked away. “Don’t bother me with these dramatics again, Eleanor. Do it too often, and I’ll get bored.”
After I was discharged, I found Damien had blocked me everywhere, every single way I could reach him. When I went to find him, Damien was playfully feeding a cherry from his lips to Chloe’s. He said impatiently, “Last time, you kept blowing up my phone with texts while I was on a date. It was annoying, so I just blocked you.” I plastered on a weak smile, trying to convince myself. He was like this because I’d left without a word. I believed that if I just told him the truth, the man who once had eyes only for me would return. But watching him and Chloe, their intimacy like a cruel dance, my chest felt like a gaping wound, cold air rushing in, freezing me from the inside out. Only in dreams could I find the phantom warmth that lingered from the past. As the sounds of their pleasure seeped through the walls from next door, I dreamed of my first encounter with the 35-year-old Damien. My friend and I were hiking when a sudden hailstorm hit. She complained I was too slow and just abandoned me. I walked, crying, until I encountered Damien, who was also hiking. His eyes locked on mine, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. Then he chuckled, amused by my pathetic, tear-streaked face. He gave me all his supplies, every last bit, leaving himself vulnerable. He suffered severe frostbite, leaving him with permanent damage. Before we married, he was everything gentle and attentive. I just had to wish for something, and he’d make it happen. Even when work was hectic, he’d make time to celebrate every holiday with me. He said, “Eleanor, I’m thirteen years older than you. I’ll wait for you to come around at your own pace.” He said, “Eleanor, I know you lost your parents. From now on, I’m your family. You’ll never be alone; you’ll have everything with me.” My parents died in a car crash when I was ten. I was adopted by Vicky. When I was in college, Vicky and her family moved abroad, leaving me alone. Having never been in love before, his sincerity shattered my defenses. Feeling utterly unworthy of him, I could only express my love in my own clumsy ways. I wrote him letters, folded paper cranes, even bought him a tie with two months of summer job earnings. I poured my entire being into him, gave him everything I had. He’d rent out all the major billboards across the city to wish me a happy birthday. He’d even jet off to the Southern Hemisphere to buy a limited-edition collectible, all because I’d casually mentioned liking it. Even though our age difference drew whispers and gossip, when we were together, when I was truly in love, I felt like the happiest woman alive. But after we were married, that beautiful dream… it shattered into a million painful pieces. On my birthday, simply because Chloe was in a bad mood, he left me stranded on the highway. I walked ten kilometers in a torrential downpour, then came home with a raging fever that lasted three days. While I was suffering from a bleeding ulcer with no money for treatment, he bought Chloe an $880,000 designer bag and tossed me a scratch-off lottery ticket. “Whatever you scratch, that’s what you get. If it’s not enough, figure it out yourself.” Dreaming this, my tears streamed down. In the fuzzy space between sleep and waking, I felt arms wrap around me. I looked up, my gaze locking with Damien’s bloodshot, raw eyes. His voice was thick with unshed tears, a guttural choke. “Eleanor,” he choked out, “I searched for her for ten agonizing years. How could she be so heartless? She left no trace, no clue. She even hid the fact that she was married when we were together.” “So, all these years… did she ever mention me? Did she ever once say she was sorry?” His cold tears trickled onto my neck, chilling me. But it was a burn, a shiver that ran through me. I couldn’t hold back anymore. A torrent of tears burst forth. The raw bitterness that had festered within me for days seemed to wash away with each sob, each tear. I wrapped my arms around his waist, clinging to that long-lost warmth, desperate for it. The next second, his breath, laced with hatred, ghosted across my ear. “You hate her too, don’t you?” “Hate her for abandoning you, hate her for tearing your family apart.” When I froze, unable to respond, he let out a bitter laugh. “Forget it. Asking you is useless.” His voice sharpened, cutting through the air. “Because you’re just as pathetic as your mother! I’ve treated you like this, and you still won’t leave.” He spat, “No one in this world loves you. Not your mother, not me. You’re nothing but your father’s mistake.” His kiss was brutal, crushing. I gasped, a sharp stab of pain. He sneered. “Didn’t you used to beg me to touch you? What are you pretending now?” My stomach churned, a knot of revulsion tightening in my throat. My nails dug deep into my palms, leaving crescent marks. All the pain, the suffocating suppression, the unspeakable emotions… they wrapped around me, a thick, impenetrable cocoon. Leaving me utterly drained, even of the strength to cry out. The next day, when I saw him again, I averted my gaze. But then he pulled out a letter, holding it carefully, and gently, unbelievably, wrapped his arms around me. I shivered, staring at him in disbelief. After losing my voice, I’d tried desperately to write down the details of what had happened ten years ago, hoping to tell him the truth. But he’d been too busy sleeping with other women, never even glancing at what I’d written. But now, his tears, hot and heavy, landed on my shoulder. “I’m sorry. All of it… it’s all my fault.”
Today was my birthday, and our wedding anniversary. He said he’d make it up to me, that he had a surprise planned. I pushed open the private room door at the karaoke bar, and the lights flickered on. Balloons, streamers, and a magnificent three-tier cake burst into view. His gaze was earnest, unwavering. “Eleanor, I truly, truly know I was wrong.” “Please, just let me make it up to you. Please?” “I’m a bastard, I know. You can hit me, scream at me, curse me to hell-just don’t ignore me, Eleanor. I can’t bear it.” His words, laced with what sounded like genuine remorse, seemed to temporarily soothe the raw sting of yesterday’s pain. As I leaned in to blow out the candles, the lights abruptly flickered off. His lips claimed mine, a rough kiss, and his hand roamed possessively along my waist. But when he tried to go further, I frowned, a gut instinct screaming, and pushed him away. He wiped his mouth, a smirk playing on his lips, a hint of frustration in his eyes. “It’s fine, that’s enough for now.” Chloe pushed the door open and sauntered in, settling herself immediately onto his lap. And then I saw the photos she held in her hand, neatly arranged. The tender affection on his face vanished like smoke, replaced by a cruel, mocking smirk. “Eleanor, I call you pathetic, and you truly are. A single cake is all it takes to buy your forgiveness?” “You truly didn’t inherit an ounce of Sarah’s cunning.” “If you had half of her ruthless decisiveness when she abandoned me back then, you wouldn’t have been played for such a fool.” He held up the letter, the one I’d poured my heart into. “This kind of pathetic love letter… did you honestly think I’d even bother to open it?” “Sarah would never have stooped to such childish displays. If you were even a fraction like her, perhaps I wouldn’t have to be so cruel.” He waved the photos menacingly. “You haven’t graduated college yet, have you? Imagine if these photos found their way to your university…” “Tell me, if your precious mother saw how I treated you, would she be so enraged she’d claw her way out of her grave just to strike me down?” As he spoke, his eyes welled up, his voice cracking with a raw, ugly sob. “Then let her come back to life! What good is she doing, dead, leaving me to suffer alone!” In his twisted, broken mind, it seemed that the more cruelly he tortured me, the more he could soothe that raw, consuming hatred he couldn’t place. And then, in front of my very eyes, he started making out with Chloe, right there on the couch. I stood frozen, a statue carved from ice, watching in numb horror. It wasn’t until Damien’s final thrust-and the moment Chloe let go, letting the photographs of me, disheveled and exposed, flutter to the floor-that the scream finally ripped its way out of my throat. A raw, electric shriek of pure revulsion. Disgusting. Filthy. After the scream, I stumbled to the nearest trash can, convulsing with violent dry heaves. Tears streamed down, mixing with my humiliation, and I wretched everything, my soul included, into the filth. I wanted to purge every last vestige of feeling I ever had for him, to cleanse myself completely. My calves trembled uncontrollably, my stomach twisting with agonizing cramps. Under Damien’s stunned gaze, a defiant spark ignited within me for the very first time. I slapped him. Hard. The sharp crack of my hand against his cheek seemed to echo in the room, shattering every last illusion, every fragile bond we had. I turned and walked away, not looking back. But before I could even make it out the door, his men blocked my path. His eyes blazed with a terrifying fury as he glared at me. “This woman is insane. Get her to a mental institution. Make sure she never sees the light of day again.”
I was forcibly dragged and shoved into the waiting car, destined for the psychiatric hospital. My phone was confiscated. Vicky’s name flashed frantically on the screen, but I couldn’t answer. Gritting my teeth, I lunged, slamming my body into the driver’s seat. The world spun, a violent kaleidoscope of metal and glass. I could almost taste death. He rushed to the hospital, only to see my bloodied, battered form being wheeled into the operating room. The letter I had once poured my heart into, the one he’d sneered at, was clutched in his shaking hand, almost crumpled beyond recognition. He turned, and saw a familiar face. Damien let out a cold, hollow laugh. “What are you doing here? This is between me and your sister. It’s about a debt Sarah owes me.” Vicky’s face was a mask of icy fury. “I’m here to see Sarah.” Damien went utterly still. “What the hell are you talking about? Sarah died in a car crash twelve years ago.” Vicky raised a shaking hand, her finger aimed like a blade at the ominous red light above the operating room doors. Her voice sliced through the silence, cold and absolute. “The woman fighting for her life in there…is your Sarah.”
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