Erasing the Woman He Promised Forever

The low hum started again.

A familiar, phantom ringing in her right ear.

It was the price for a life that wasn't hers to save. Five years ago, she'd given up her neural interface, the ghost of it now replaced by a cheap, unstable substitute.

Elizebeth Rice pressed the heel of her palm against her ear, trying to silence the sound.

It didn't work. It never did.

The hum was a constant reminder of Floyd Meyers.

Of the car crash, of his coma, of the doctors who said only a direct neural transplant could save him. It was a reminder of her, without a second thought, signing the consent forms.

Her interface for his life. A fair trade, she had thought then.

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand. Not her phone. The one he'd given her, a leash his people could always tug.

A message from his assistant.

Mr. Meyers requests your presence in the main study. Miss Ryan is with him.

Jaylah Ryan. His new fiancée.

Elizebeth's fingers went cold.

She sat up, the silk sheets pooling around her waist. She had lived in this house for five years, first as his fiancée, then as his devoted caretaker, and now... now she was something else.

A relic. A ghost of a promise he'd made when he first woke up, his hand gripping hers.

"I'll cherish you forever, Elizebeth. I'll make you happy."

The memory was ash in her mouth.

She stood and walked to the closet, her movements mechanical. She pulled on a simple gray dress. Plain. Unobtrusive. The uniform of a person who wished to be invisible.

The main study was at the end of the long hall, its mahogany doors slightly ajar. Laughter spilled out, bright and sharp. Jaylah's laughter.

Elizebeth paused, her hand hovering over the doorknob.

She could hear their voices.

"Floyd, darling, are you sure about the invitations? I think the gold foil is a bit much."

"Whatever you want, Jaylah. The party is for you." His voice was a low murmur, laced with an indulgence she hadn't heard in years.

Elizebeth's breath hitched.

This was it. The official announcement of their engagement. The final, public erasure of her.

In her past life, a past she now relived in nightmares, she had stood in this exact spot. She'd heard these exact words and her world had shattered. She had stormed in, tears streaming, demanding an explanation.

He had looked at her with cold, merciless eyes.

"Are you insane?" he had roared, the memory so vivid it felt like a fresh wound. "I am your benefactor! Our engagement was a mistake. A psychic told me you're the source of my bad luck. I should have listened sooner."

A psychic. A paid liar to justify his greed. He wanted the Ryan family's corporate holdings, and Jaylah was the price.

This time, she wouldn't cry. She wouldn't scream.

This time, she had a plan.

She pushed the door open.

They turned, their smiles freezing on their faces. Floyd sat behind the massive desk, a portrait of power. Jaylah was perched on the edge, her red dress a slash of color in the muted room. She looked like she belonged there.

"Elizebeth," Floyd said. His tone was flat, impatient. "You're here."

"You asked for me," she replied, her voice even.

Jaylah's eyes, sharp and assessing, scanned her from head to toe. A small, smug smile played on her lips. She was holding a thick, cream-colored card. An invitation.

"We're finalizing the guest list for our engagement party," Jaylah said, her voice sweet as poison. "We just wanted to make sure we had your... current address."

The implication was clear. She wouldn't be living here much longer.

"Of course," Elizebeth said. The tinnitus in her ear spiked. She focused on the pain, letting it ground her.

Floyd's gaze was heavy. He was studying her, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. Was it guilt? Or just annoyance?

In her past life, she had spent every moment trying to decipher his expressions. Now, she felt nothing. Just a vast, hollow emptiness.

"I've also been thinking about my future," Elizebeth said, forcing a casual tone. "I've been looking at graduate programs. Maybe something in New York."

It was the lie she had prepared. The plausible excuse.

Jaylah scoffed softly. "Art history? How quaint."

Floyd leaned forward. "New York is a good idea. A fresh start." He was encouraging her to leave. Making it her idea. He was already writing her out of his life.

"I'll need some time to get my application materials together," she said, her eyes fixed on a point just past his shoulder.

"Take all the time you need," he said. Dismissal.

She nodded once, turned, and walked out of the room, her back straight. She didn't let herself falter until she was back in her own room, the door locked behind her.

She sank onto the floor, her body trembling.

She pulled out her personal phone, the cheap one she had bought with her own money. She opened an email she had received that morning.

New York University - Tisch School of the Arts

Subject: Congratulations on Your Acceptance!

Her acceptance letter. A secret hope in her past life, a last-ditch effort that had come too late.

This life, it was her escape route.

She ignored the acceptance and scrolled down to another email chain.

Subject: Re: Apartment Viewing - West Village

Elizabeth, just confirming your appointment for the 15th. The landlord is eager to meet you. Best, Sarah (NYC Homes Realty).

Her fingers trembled as she typed a reply.

Sarah, Confirmed. I'll be there. Thank you.

She hit send.

It was done. An irreversible step.

She was leaving. Not because he was pushing her out. But because she was choosing to go.

She would not be a victim in this life. She would not let him break her again.

The hum in her ear felt less like a phantom and more like a countdown.