Chapter 61 To Pull The Trigger?
I felt like I had been ripped open from the inside out.
Every heartbeat hammered against my ribs as if trying to escape the prison of my chest.
Betrayal.
The shock didn’t make me crumble immediately; somehow, I carried it with the precision of a soldier holding a line but underneath, chaos clawed its way through and tears slipped down my cheeks before I even realized it.
I didn’t wipe them away. Why would I?
This was the embodiment of everything I had believed in, everything I had trusted, being dismantled before my eyes.
Then I spun around suddenly, almost on instinct, and my hands closed around the cold, heavy metal of a shotgun that one of Richard’s bodyguards had carelessly slung at his side.
My fingers wrapped around it and then I pointed it directly at Richard.
His eyes widened, disbelief flashing across his face like a reflection of my own internal chaos. He stumbled back slightly, the faint scuff of his shoes on the gravel the only sound beneath the tension that now hummed like electricity in the air.
“Elena…” Jack’s voice broke through. I ignored it.
I didn’t need him nor did I trust him.
“What’re you doing?” Richard’s voice wavered, a tremor betraying his surprise—and maybe a hint of fear. “I just told you the truth. If anything, you should be pointing that gun at Jack…”
I froze for a second, the words sinking in like shards.
My mind reeled—Jack had been hired... A man I had let into my life and my heart had once been tasked with ending me.
My grip on the shotgun tightened. The cold steel seemed to burn through my gloves, through my fingers, and through the layers of disbelief and betrayal.
Every part of me wanted to fight and not fall apart but with Jack's betrayal, I didn’t know who the enemy was anymore.
My mind raced with flashbacks: betrayal, survival, rage, grief, the echo of Layla’s death, the years and months of manipulation...
Richard’s eyes flicked to Jack, then back at me, his own confidence dissolving as my stare pinned him.
But I didn’t waver.
I could feel Jack behind me, the tension in his shoulders, the way his chest expanded and contracted like he was trying to steady himself—or maybe trying to think of a way to make me drop the gun.
The air and the tension between us felt thick, almost viscous, pressing against my ears and lungs, and every instinct I had screamed to act, to defend, to hold on to something tangible.
My pulse rattled in my ears, loud enough that I half expected it to drown out the city around us. And one thing clouded my head:
That I shouldn't show weakness.
A gust of wind whipped across the street, carrying with it a faint smell of rain and exhaust.
“Move your car,” I said, my voice surprisingly calm considering my chest was hammering like a drum. My eyes didn’t leave Richard’s. “Out of the way. I want to drive past.”
Richard froze, his jaw tightened and confusion twisted his face like it didn’t fit there. He took a half-step forward, like he thought words could shield him. “Elena… what are you—”
“I said move it,” I repeated, more firmly this time, every syllable sharp as broken glass.
I felt Jack shift behind me, but I didn’t turn.
My mind had narrowed into the single, piercing need to get past him, to reclaim control, and to make him understand that my patience had shattered.
He still didn’t budge.
I could see Jack’s shoulders tense, the subtle curl of his jaw, the way his hands flexed at his sides. He’d known me long enough to know what that look meant, so I bet he knew the storm that could take me over when I felt trapped.
Richard’s smirk, the arrogance in his stance was enough to have enraged me more—but instead it sharpened my focus. He always underestimated me and right now, I could no longer afford to let that slide.
I lifted the shotgun a fraction higher, the metal cold and unforgiving against my palms, and aimed it just above his head. My finger hovered lightly, but the warning was enough to make the hair on his arms rise.
“Move. Now,” I said icily. “I won’t repeat myself.”
The silence stretched, unbearably broken only by the distant hum of the city.
Then, with a flash of irritation and disbelief, Richard finally moved toward his car, muttering something under his breath—but not fast enough for the tension coiling in my chest to uncoil.
I exhaled sharply through my nose, the first crack of release after holding the storm at bay.
I didn’t lower the gun immediately. I kept my eyes trained on him, marking every twitch, every flinch and every hint that probably makes him think he had the liberty to play games.
Jack’s hand brushed lightly against my back, subtle, almost imperceptible, and I felt a flicker of grounding amid the chaos.
Richard finally opened the door and slid inside his car, muttering something else that was half-insult, half-futile protest. I didn’t answer. I just waited until he started the engine and tried to reverse in the mud.
'You think meeting him was coincidence?'
My breath hitched at those words.
'—He was hired by your father to kill you.'
My finger hovered on the trigger.
Jack exhaled behind me, a deep, almost pained sound. “Elena…” he murmured, but I didn’t turn.
"Elena... Please, just drop the gun and listen to me. Please..." Jack pleaded but I paid him no mind.
He didn’t dare come any closer because he wasn't quite sure whether or not I'd actually pull the trigger.
Even Richard's bodyguards took several footsteps backwards. I guess that was how powerful holding a weapon was.
My hands were still trembling slightly, the adrenaline still coursing, and the taste of iron lingered faintly on my tongue. I felt tears sting my eyes but I couldn't let them fall.
Why?
Why the hell did you do that to me?
I wanted to scream those questions at him but I bit my lower lip to stifle my emotions instead.