Burning Love

On the day Aiden was reported for neglecting his duties, he stabbed Elena, leaving her severely injured. Why? Because he discovered that the landlord of my rented house, a man named He, was Ivy‘ s brother. Before the fire, Elena had been spotted acting suspiciously near the high–rise building, looking guilty and nervous–not at all like someone experiencing a relapse of depression. Half an hour later, she was seen on the other side of town, rushing to the rooftop of a commercial building. Without even catching her breath, she quickly dialed Aiden’s number.

Nosy people online speculated: if Elena really wanted to end her life, why go through all the trouble of finding another place to do it? They figured she must‘ ve done something wrong, exaggerated her dangerous situation to get attention, and created an alibi for herself.

I was shocked. The puzzle pieces that had been tormenting me finally fit together. Elena lay in the ICU for three long days before she slowly regained consciousness. The doctor said her bladder had been punctured, and she’d need to live with a urine bag for the rest of her life. When the police questioned her, she refused to admit any guilt and even shouted angrily, “I just forgot to turn off the gas stove! I didn’t start the fire on purpose! It’s not my fault Leonardo got unlucky–why blame me?”

“Blame me for being stupid enough to fall for a jerk who repays kindness with betrayal. I helped him with his problems, and he stabbed me!”

A week later, the police released their official investigation report. It turned out that it was pure coincidence that I ended up renting the Summers family‘ s vacant house. But after Elena found out I was the tenant; she secretly took the spare key. She sneaked in several times while I was asleep or out. She had deliberately placed flammable materials around the kitchen stove and tampered with the fire alarm and hydrant.

Even though the evidence was clear, Elena refused to admit that she had intended to start the fire. That day, I had asked the delivery person to leave the food at the door, as usual. Elena took the chance to lace it with a hefty dose of sleeping pills. Once the timing was perfect, she snuck into the kitchen and turned on the gas while I was passed out. The debris wouldn’t ignite right away, giving her enough time to stage her “suicide” attempt.

It was all meticulously planned. She even coordinated with a social media account to publicize Aiden‘ s heroic “rescue” just to get under my skin. Elena thought she had the perfect plan–not only would she eliminate me, but she’d also secure Aiden‘ s wavering affection.

But no matter how much Elena schemed, she didn’t anticipate Aiden discovering the truth or going to the extreme of stabbing her. Later, she couldn’t bear the thought of living with a urine bag for the rest of her life. She would scream and shout every day, ripping out all the tubes and IVs attached to her, trying to leap out of the window. Her

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family had to tie her to the bed with ropes.

Eventually, she was diagnosed with paranoid personality disorder. She became convinced that I hadn’t really died and that I was the one who pushed Aiden to retaliate against her. As her condition worsened, she believed everyone around her, even her parents, wanted to kill her. Fearing she would harm others during one of her episodes, her family dumped her in a sanatorium and washed their hands of her.

But that’s a story for another time.

A month later, the police found Aiden disheveled and broken in my old rental house. He looked haggard, with dark circles under his eyes and stubble covering his face. His clothes hung loosely on his thinning frame. As the officers raised their handcuffs to arrest him, Aiden opened the balcony window without hesitation and jumped from the 18th floor.

My soul started to fade. Memories from my 25 years flashed before my eyes like a movie reel. As the flames engulfed me, I welcomed true oblivion.

Aiden, if there’s another life, I hope we never meet again.

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