Bound by lies Trapped by Desire novel Chapter 77

Chapter 77

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Elena’s POV:

The rain came down in soft sheets, tapping against the metal roof of the bus stand like a metronome marking the seconds of my spiraling thoughts. The

air was damp and cold, the kind that settles into your bones and whispers that you’ll never quite be warm again.

The streetlights cast long shimmering shadows on the glistening pavement, turning the world into a wash of amber and gray.

I stood beneath the overhang, arms wrapped tight around myself, soaked from the knees down, trembling not from cold but from the sheer chaos tearing my thoughts to pieces. The dull thrum in my chest, a ghost of the panic attack that had threatened to claw its way out minutes ago, still lingered.

Dmitri stood before me spouting bullshit. But I cut him off before he could complete his nonsense.

“Dmitri…” My voice was low, brittle. “Who’s going to protect me from you?”

He looked up, startled.

I didn’t give him time to respond. “I’ve had enough of your bullshit. If I end up kidnapped or dead, that would still be better than living a life chained to someone like you.”

The words snapped between us like a whip. I meant every syllable. I wanted it to sting.

Dmitri flinched. Just barely. But it was enough. His mouth opened slightly, but he didn’t speak. His gaze dropped to the wet sidewalk, and for once, silence poured out of him like smoke.

“Alright,” he said after a long pause, the word brittle, empty. “Fine. Suit yourself.”

He turned, his coat catching the wind as he walked away, his footsteps swallowed by the hiss of tires on wet road. I didn’t watch him go.

My skin prickled from the cold. My dress now clung to my legs, soaked and pathetic. Strands of wet hair stuck to my cheeks. I didn’t care. I stood there, blinking through raindrops, waiting.

Eventually, a taxi slowed and pulled up to the curb.

I slipped inside wordlessly, curling into the corner of the seat as the warmth inside fogged up the windows. The driver glanced back at me through the mirror, awaiting my destination.

“Seabrook Lane-,” I murmured, but then paused halfway through the sentence.

My mother.

God. I couldn’t face her right now. Not like this. Not looking like I’d walked through hell. Not when the only thing standing between me and a breakdown was the paper–thin strength of my silence. If I saw her–if I even heard her voice–I would break down sobbing in her arms. I would unravel completely. How would leven explain everything to her once she sees the news?

“I“I swallowed, clutching the wet silk of my dress. “Sorry. Actually… take me to the nearest decent hotel. Nothing fancy. Three stars is fine.”

The driver gave me a side glance but didn’t question it. I appreciated that. He nodded and drove.

The city blurred outside the windows–lights smeared into neon ribbons, and storefronts passed in a daze. I felt detached from it all, as if I were floating above my body, watching someone else fall apart.

When we reached the hotel, I paid by card, barely looking at the keypad as I tapped the total. The man at the front desk raised a brow when he saw me- soaked, smeared mascara, gown clinging to my skin–but thankfully didn’t say a word. I didn’t need pity. Just a place to disappear.

My room was on the second floor, a standard single with beige walls, dull green carpet, and one queen bed with an iron headboard. A lamp buzzed faintly in the corner. I didn’t care about any of it.

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Chapter 77

The moment the door closed behind me, I slipped the jewelry off one by one–the earrings, the ring, the bracelet. I tossed them onto the side table with trembling fingers, unclipping the floral combs still tangled in my wet hair.

I peeted off the gown and dragged myself to the bathroom. The shower hissed to life, and I stepped under it without waiting for the water to warm up. My skin burned, but the numbness stayed. I cried there, silent and hunched over, letting the water hide my tears, scalding or freezing I couldn’t tell.

I wrapped myself in the hotel robe, wet hair dripping onto the floor, and collapsed onto the bed. A strange quiet consumed me now, like the storm inside had passed, leaving only debris. I curled around the pillow like it was a lifeline and wept into it until exhaustion took me.

And then came the past.

My memory cracked open like a wound.

I was fourteen again. Having a heart attack in the middle of the classroom. The student’s yelled, the teacher scolded. Someone called the ambulance.

Fluorescent lights. A red and white ambulance. My mother’s voice breaking as she shouted my name. Sirens wailing like a dirge as they sped me down the highway.

The pain had been unbearable–sharp and sudden, like my chest was being crushed from within. My limbs refused to move. My vision blurred into a tunnel, and every breath felt like drowning.

Hypertrophic Cardiomyopathy.

That’s what they called it.

The bills followed quickly. Each month brought new ones. Echocardiograms. Emergency visits. Heart rhythm monitors. Genetic testing. Medications that cost more than our rent.

George, my stepfather–the man who’d always smiled no matter how bad things got–had tried to stay calm. But I saw the worry lines deepen around his eyes. Theard the whispered arguments behind closed doors. I heard the words “mortgage” and “overdue” and “no options.”

Mom had lost her job that winter. She’d reported her manager for sexual harassment, thinking the company would protect her.

They didn’t.

With no savings and no safety net, desperation had driven them to that place.

Omerta Credit Services.

A name like poison. A wolf in sheep’s clothing. They didn’t ask many questions. Didn’t require credit scores or employment history. Just a signature. And a promise to pay.

ནང་

They were the only ones who had said yes. That should have been the first red flag. A warning for my parents to be careful.

At first, it felt like a miracle.

Then the payments started.

Ten percent interest. Weekly. On the new total. It didn’t take long before the math stopped making sense.

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