Left for Dead Came Back for Everything novel Chapter 183

Eleanor's lips pulled downward into a sneer.

"Look at this," she muttered, her voice dripping with judgment.

"Not a soul in sight. I knew it—Eliza didn't even have the guts to show up, did she? All bark and no bite, but when it actually comes time to sign the papers, she cowers!"

She shot a glare into the car at Zander, her tone hardening.

"If she really tries to back out, I'll march right over to her apartment and drag her out myself!"

"I have her address anyway—the Lawrence family passed along some excuse about her 'resting', but if you ask me, she's just guilty!"

Zander looked up, squinting, his heart taking a brutal, sickening hit.

Because he saw her.

Through the second-floor glass, sitting on a row of plastic chairs against the wall—there she was.

A slender figure in a soft, ash-gray sweater, her hair pulled back into a low ponytail, her head bowed as she looked at her phone.

Completely alone.

No Gwen, no Miriam, nobody.

Just her, sitting there waiting for him.

A sudden, suffocating ache flared in Zander's chest.

His Adam's apple bobbed violently, his grip tightening and loosening on the steering wheel over and over.

It felt like his heart was being shredded.

No, worse than that.

—He never wanted this.

He never wanted it to come to this.

Everyone had forced his hand.

Yvonne pushed him, his parents pushed him, those bottomless pits in the Shaw family pushed him—that degenerate gambler Miles!

And Miriam, that absolute lunatic! What had they driven Eliza to?

Twenty-seven years of bleeding her dry, draining every ounce of her strength until she was pushed so far into a corner that her only option was to leave him.

Yes.

She was protecting him.

It wasn't that she had stopped loving him; she was just terrified of dragging him down.

She was terrified her family's toxic mess would ruin him, that it would destroy his career, that Yvonne and his parents would drive him over the edge—so she forced herself to act cold and heartless.

That was exactly why she was getting so close to Julian.

To make him give up.

To push him away.

Right. That had to be it.

When Gwen called him a psycho, he should have realized it.

When Gwen told him 'You don't deserve her', he should have understood—she was reminding him of everything Eliza had endured for his sake.

He hadn't even known she was allergic to chestnuts.

He had confused her allergies with Yvonne's.

He was such a fool.

This world was just too cruel to him.

"Zander!"

Eleanor's voice cut through his grief like iron pliers.

She had already circled to the driver's side and was rapping her knuckles against the glass.

"Stop staring into space and get out! We don't have all day!"

Zander's mind was completely hollow as he stepped out of the vehicle like a zombie.

His boots hit the concrete, the chill of the morning wind slicing down his collar and making him shiver.

He had spent the entire night huddled in his car, and now he looked like a wrung-out rag—his jaw rough with stubble, his eyes deeply sunken, his lips cracked and dry.

"You are the sole heir of the Roth family. Your father's clinic, my retirement, this entire family—sooner or later, everything falls on your shoulders."

"If you don't clean up this mess today, if you let people grab hold of this scandal and point fingers at your father and me, what are we supposed to do? Do we just shut the clinic down?"

Zander's lips trembled.

Eleanor stepped closer, resting a heavy hand on his shoulder.

The suffocating weight of a mother's guilt bore down on him like an avalanche.

"You're already at the finish line. Just get the divorce."

"Give your child a legitimate name. It's basic decency."

"If you won't think of yourself, at least think of your father. His heart is failing, he was in agony all night. He was literally hooked up to oxygen this morning—"

Her voice began to shake, tears springing to her eyes.

"Zander, have a little mercy on us. We're getting old. This isn't easy."

Zander closed his eyes.

The wind swept across the parking lot, sending a flurry of dead ginkgo leaves skittering over his shoes.

He stood frozen, his shoulders slumping in defeat.

Like a bamboo reed bending under impossible pressure, groaning beneath the strain—but refusing to snap entirely.

It just bent.

And bent further.

"Fine."

The word was dragged through his gritted teeth, barely a whisper.

Eleanor's fingers slipped away from his shoulder.

"Go on, Zander."

....