Chapter 5 – The Garden’s Secret

The sky above was a dull silver, clouded with the heaviness of late noon. Elle sat alone on a bench tucked away behind the campus building, the sounds of students chattering faint in the background. Her grey eyes were locked on nothing, distant and still, like a photograph lost in time.

She had zoned out again.

In her lap, her fingers absentmindedly twisted a loose thread from the hem of her skirt. Something in Kai's eyes earlier had unsettled her—not in fear, but in familiarity. Like he could see through her. She didn’t like that. People weren't supposed to look past her quiet shell.

A light breeze stirred the strands of her dark hair, and her eyes fluttered shut.

Her memory drifted back… to that day.

She was ten. Just a week after her parents' funeral. The world felt cold and heavy. Everything inside her home was cloaked in grief, and outside, she felt even lonelier.

Her school was only a few streets away from the estate. Every day, Edric trailed behind silently, never too close, never too far. But that day, she had walked faster than usual, her little shoes crunching along the cobbled path as the early autumn leaves scattered around her.

On her way home, just near the rusted iron fence that bordered a small abandoned lane, Elle had seen them—an adult cat lying still, limp and lifeless, its body already stiff. Beside it, a tiny kitten with matted fur whimpered in distress, pawing at its mother’s body.

Elle stood there, staring. She hadn't cried at her parents’ funeral. But now, tears brimmed in her eyes for a creature so small and helpless.

Without hesitation, she dropped her schoolbag and crouched down. The kitten scratched her when she tried to pick it up, its tiny claws drawing blood across her pale fingers. Still, she didn’t flinch. She simply whispered soft words, scooped it up, and then lifted the lifeless mother into her arms with difficulty.

She trudged home, not knowing that someone was silently following her.

Sasha.

Thirteen years old. Spoiled, arrogant, and rotten with envy. Her family was rich—but not Deveraux-rich. Not castle-rich. And she hated Elle with every bit of her petty heart.

Sasha had noticed Elle’s strange behavior at school, her refusal to talk, her aloofness. Everyone whispered about her, especially after the accident. But Sasha wanted more than whispers. She wanted Elle broken.

Unbeknownst to Elle, Sasha had watched the whole scene, curiosity tugging at her until it turned into wicked delight.

Elle stepped through the large wrought-iron gate into her yard, unaware. Her garden was blooming—roses, peonies, orchids—all untouched by the sadness that had engulfed her home.

She placed both the kitten and its mother gently under a flowering hibiscus tree. She turned to fetch some cloth from her bag when Sasha’s shrill voice sliced through the peaceful air.

“What a freak you are,” Sasha sneered.

Elle froze.

Sasha stepped out from behind a tree, arms folded. Her school uniform was spotless, her shoes polished, but her eyes were brimming with venom. “Carrying a dead cat like it’s your mommy?” she taunted, grinning. “Oh, wait—you don’t have one of those anymore.”

Elle stiffened. Her back still turned.

“I mean, really. Even your dad couldn’t stand you. You know that, right?” Sasha continued. “They probably drove off the road just to get away from—”

That was the moment something inside Elle shifted.

She turned slowly. Her grey eyes, always soft and empty, now gleamed with something sharp. Something feral.

Sasha paused, surprised.

Elle didn’t say a word. Her little hand reached for a gardening tool resting nearby—a rusty hand fork with three curved prongs. She had used it earlier to dig shallow holes for the marigolds with Martha.

The kitten whimpered again. That tiny cry echoed in Elle's mind.

“You don’t know anything,” she said, her voice cold and oddly calm.

“Oh, but I do,” Sasha spat, stepping forward. “Everyone at school says you’re cursed. Weird little Elle with dead parents and creepy eyes. I bet you killed them.”

Elle moved before she thought. The tool was in her hand, her body trembling—but not from fear.

She lunged. Not wildly. Not with power. Just… with pain.

The sharp tines sank into Sasha’s stomach.

Sasha gasped.

Blood bloomed instantly, dark red spreading across her uniform. Her eyes went wide with disbelief as she stumbled back, choking on a breath. “Y-You… what…”

Elle stared at her. Silent. Pale.

Sasha fell to the ground with a soft thud. Blood trickled from her mouth. She tried to crawl away, her hand dragging across the grass, but the pain was too much.

Elle just stood there. Tears rolled down her cheeks, but her face was blank.

A minute passed. Then another.

And then—

“Elle?” Edric’s voice called from the veranda.

He had returned from the kitchen, tray in hand, smiling at the idea of tea and biscuits with Elle and her little friend.

But when he entered the garden, the tray crashed to the ground.

Edric ran to Elle, then to Sasha.

But it was too late.

His face turned white. He looked at Elle, then at the blood, and then—without a word—he lifted Sasha’s limp body and carried it toward the woods behind the estate. He said nothing. Not even when Elle began to cry.

That night, Sasha was buried beneath the flowerbeds.

The kitten lived.

Elle named her Nyra—a name she had read in a storybook. It meant beauty, or brightness. It was ironic, really.

Martha nursed Nyra’s leg with medicine and bandages while Edric handled the rest.

No police came. No questions asked.

Sasha’s family filed a missing person report. But they never found her.

And no one ever dared question the Deveraux too deeply.

Back in the present, Elle blinked rapidly. Her hands had gone cold, and her heart pounded. Her breath caught in her throat.

“Elle?”

A gentle voice pulled her out of the darkness.

She turned.

Amara Voss stood beside her, holding a cup of iced tea, one brow raised. “You’ve been staring into the void for the past ten minutes. I called you like five times.”

Elle blinked again and gave a small nod. “Sorry. Just tired.”

Amara squinted. “Are you okay? You look pale.”

“I’m fine,” Elle murmured, standing slowly. “Let’s go back.”

As she walked beside Amara, Nyra’s image flickered in her mind—those innocent kitten eyes, that day in the garden, Sasha’s face twisted in shock. And Edric, burying her without a word.

It had been six years.

But the garden still held its secrets.

And Elle never forgot.

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