Left for Dead Came Back for Everything novel Chapter 112

Eliza stared at the message history, deeply impressed by Gwen's sheer combat effectiveness.

Every time she saw Gwen let loose like that, it was undeniably cathartic!

Then, both she and Gwen promptly left the group chat, leaving Zander alone to digest that brutal wall of text.

—

After Gwen finished her tirade, the two of them couldn't help but complain for another ten minutes.

"Tell me, how can one person be so stupid, so awful, and yet so blissfully unaware of it?" Gwen sighed.

"Because he doesn't think he's stupid. He genuinely believes he's a savior," Eliza's voice was as cold as ice. "Zander's biggest problem has never been malice. It's his sheer arrogance."

"He truly, from the bottom of his heart, believes that every single choice he makes is right."

"Saving Yvonne was right, throwing that wedding was right, getting drugged was excusable, and now giving my brother money—he thinks he's a godsend."

"He's forever living in his own script, and everyone else—including me—are just supporting characters meant to follow his stage directions."

Gwen fell silent for a moment.

"Eliza."

"Yeah?"

"When you talk about him now... you don't sound upset at all."

Eliza froze for a second.

"Yeah."

She looked down at her left leg, unconsciously rubbing her knee.

"It really doesn't hurt anymore. Not even a little."

—

Late at night.

2:14 AM.

Out on the apartment balcony, Eliza wrapped a thin fleece blanket around her shoulders and sat in the wicker chair.

The screen of her phone's calculator app glowed in the dark.

She tallied up all her available funds one more time.

Bank balance: $3,200.

The hospital account for her father's chemotherapy: enough for one more round. Next month's renewal would be twenty thousand.

Loan sharks: $470,000. Due in three days.

Her credit cards had been maxed out by Miriam ages ago.

The deposit from Director Andrews for the choreography project hadn't cleared yet, and that would take at least ten days.

Her paycheck from Chelsea wouldn't arrive until the end of the month, and even at full hours, it would only be $5,800.

She added and subtracted the numbers over and over again, but the conclusion was the same every time—

It wasn't enough.

"Thanks."

Staring at that single word, she felt it was too stiff, so she deleted that too.

Finally, she opened her emojis, tapped a simple little smiley face, and hit send.

After sending it, she placed the phone face down on her knee.

He was always like this.

He remembered every casual comment she made on the island.

He knew she hated cilantro.

He knew she loved her steak cooked medium-rare.

He knew what time she got off work, and he knew exactly when she needed her medicine.

This feeling of being held so carefully in someone's mind made her feel warm.

But it also terrified her.

Because she didn't deserve it anymore.

A woman saddled with $470,000 in debt, a toxic mother, a gambling-addicted brother, an awful ex-husband, and a damaged leg—what right did she have to accept someone else's kindness?

"Alright then. Open the door."

"The scones are here."