To Love a Shadow, To Be the Sun novel Chapter 16

Elara drew in a shaky breath and asked, her voice rough around the edges.

Nanette's face lit up with a mock realization, as if she'd just remembered why she was there. "Weren't you fighting with my daughter over a man? Well, you lost again. I came to bring you a consolation prize."

With that, she sauntered right up to Elara's hospital bed and pulled out her "gift."

It was a photograph, beautifully framed—a wedding portrait of Brian and Lina.

But anyone with eyes could see it was a poorly photoshopped fake.

Still, Elara's anger only twisted tighter inside her.

Nanette hissed through clenched teeth, "Here's hoping you die soon."

"Madam—" Mrs. Archer started.

"Shut up!"

Nanette snapped before turning her attention back to Elara.

"Sure, this one's edited," she continued, waving the frame. "But soon enough, their real wedding picture will be hanging in the old house for everyone to see. As long as Brian wants my daughter, that old hag's objections won't matter."

"Elara, face facts. The moment Brian boarded that plane, you were already out of the game."

The storm in Elara's eyes abruptly settled into stillness.

She pointed at a spot on the photo, her tone flat and emotionless. "What's this?"

"Where?" Nanette leaned in to look, and Elara's hand shot out, grabbing Nanette's head and slamming it against the glass.

It wasn't hard enough to do real damage, but it landed right on the spot where Nanette had recently gotten a nasty cut.

Nanette shrieked in pain, but Elara didn't let go.

"You crazy—let go—!"

Before Nanette could finish her curse, Elara coughed up a mouthful of blood, spattering it across Nanette's face.

"She's dying!"

For a split second, Nanette froze—then bolted from the hospital room, wild with panic.

Mrs. Archer was stunned, but Elara just waved her hand dismissively.

"I drank seawater. Messed up my stomach. I'll be fine by tomorrow."

Mrs. Archer hovered at her bedside, torn between heartache and exasperation. "Why on earth would you drink seawater?"

"Billionaire Soap Opera! SiliconCrest Group CEO Caught Abroad With Mystery Woman—Devoted Husband Image Shattered. Is the Wife Just for Show?"

Less than a minute later, her former friend sent the photo from the article.

It showed Brian's car pulling up to a villa late at night, a woman in the front passenger seat. The lighting was poor, her face obscured.

But Elara knew. That was Lina.

Hadn't Lina been so ill that even Dr. Calloway couldn't help her?

Yet here she was, out on the town with Brian.

A sharp pain stabbed through Elara, as if someone had driven a knife straight into her heart.

Her friend's message followed: "Your husband's clever, but what good is it to suppress the trending news? Everyone knows he cheated. Now they're all wondering who the mystery woman is—and how long until you're out. How does it feel, giving up your dreams for love only to become a laughingstock?"

After that, her friend posted a series of photos in their alumni group chat, showing off her thriving company and sharing platitudes about women's ambition. She never mentioned Elara by name, but Elara could hear the mockery between the lines.

She ignored the childish jabs and clutched her phone tight.

In just a few days, the happiness she'd once held so carefully had shattered like glass in her hand—cutting so deep, she barely had time to cry out before being shoved back into the abyss.

Fighting to steady her nerves, she glanced at Yves Caldwell, who was driving, and asked—too casually—"How's Lina doing?"