Everest's Guardian Hubby Watched Me Freeze My Ghost Knows Where He'll Burn novel Chapter 21

Chapter 8

Elara waited for what felt like an eternity—three long hours passed, but Nicholas never returned. As the afternoon crept in, a gentle drizzle began to fall, the sky turning a dull gray. Her patience, once steady, now wore thin. With a heavy sigh, she decided it was time to leave the cemetery, to wheel herself back down the steep path that led away from the quiet resting place.

Though the cemetery had been designed with accessibility in mind, the incline was sharp and unforgiving. As she descended, her wheelchair wobbled dangerously. Suddenly, she lost control. The chair slammed against a metal railing and tipped over completely.

She tumbled down the slope, her body scraping against rough stones and dirt. Her hands and face bore the marks of the fall—raw, bleeding wounds both large and small. A deep gash split open her forehead, crimson blood mixing with the rain that began to wash it away.

At the bottom of the hill, she lay motionless, utterly alone. No passerby noticed her plight. All she could do was gaze upward, watching the cold rain fall steadily onto her battered face.

The chill seeped deep into her bones, making her shiver uncontrollably. Her entire body trembled with a mixture of shock and pain. She bit down hard on her trembling lip, fighting back the urge to scream as waves of agony radiated through her limbs.

Time dragged on, each second stretching painfully. She had no sense of how long she remained there, helpless and vulnerable, until just as the cold threatened to claim her, Nicholas Sterling appeared. He came running toward her, an umbrella clutched in one hand, panic etched across his face.

Without hesitation, he scooped her up into his arms, his voice thick with remorse as he poured out apologies. “Elara, I’m so sorry. I never meant for this to happen.”

She looked up at him, her eyes empty and numb, the brightness that once defined her extinguished. “If I still had my legs,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, “I could have left this place on my own today.”

The vibrant, lively Elara Kingston—the girl full of hope and dreams—had died the day she turned eighteen.

Nicholas’s chest tightened painfully. A wave of shame crashed over him, leaving him unable to meet her gaze.

In a moment of self-loathing, he struck his own face. “I’m so sorry, Elara. I swear, this will never happen again.”

In the days that followed, guilt gnawed at Nicholas relentlessly. He hovered around her constantly, bringing her water, adjusting her blankets, responding attentively to every fleeting remark she made. It was almost like old times—like seven years ago, before the accident shattered everything.

But Elara saw through the facade.

Life does not hand out second chances.

This version of Nicholas—so caring, so attentive—was temporary. A performance fueled by guilt.

So she remained silent, watching and waiting, counting the moments until the inevitable final day arrived.

On Christmas Eve, their plane landed in Zurich beneath a sky heavy with clouds. They barely had time to check into the hotel before Nicholas’s phone rang. He spoke on the line for half an hour, his expression growing serious. When he finally reentered the room, he was already grabbing his suitcase.

“Something urgent came up at work,” he said without looking back. “I have to go.”

Elara’s voice was soft, almost hesitant. “Do you really have to leave now?”

Nicholas didn’t hesitate. His tone was firm. “Yes. It’s important. You go see the snow tomorrow, okay? I’ll pick you up then.”

She didn’t try to stop him.

What she didn’t say was that by tomorrow, no one would be there to pick her up.

That night, she sat by the towering window, watching the bleak sky, waiting for the first snow the forecast had promised.

But the snow never arrived.

“Any last wishes?”

“No.”

Her voice was calm, steady. For Nicholas Sterling, she had nothing left to say.

As the staff member prepared the medication, Elara spoke softly, her words barely above a whisper. “After I die, please cremate me immediately. Don’t bury my ashes. When the first snow falls, scatter them somewhere. Anywhere. Thank you.”

The staff nodded solemnly.

Silence enveloped the room.

A small prick in her arm, then nothing.

Her mind began to blur, memories flickering like fading images—a boy running through sun-drenched fields, laughter echoing in classrooms, the warmth of a long-ago afternoon.

Slowly, the sounds and shapes melted into a soft, weightless fog.

She let herself drift into it.

And then, gently, she closed her eyes.

And there was nothing more.