The Five Years He Missed Chapter 18

The Five Years He Missed Chapter 18

## Dominic’s POV

“How do you know?” In that instant, it felt as if a taut string inside my skull had been viciously plucked.

Back then, although my mother had consented to our marriage, she’d given me a ruthless condition—”Until Luca reaches adulthood, you two are not permitted to obtain a marriage license.” Of course I refused. But my mother’s stance was so immovable it left no room for argument. “Either agree—or renounce your inheritance right now and get out of the Gambino family.” I hesitated. In that game of power and profit, I had, after all, weighed my choices for far too long.

Finally, I told my mother, “I agree to your terms. In any case, Elena and I will spend our lives together. Getting the certificate early or late—what difference does it make?” My mother had given me a faint, inscrutable smile at that moment, her eyes as if she had long since seen through to the desolation of the future.

I guarded this secret with airtight vigilance. Even later, when I threw her out in a towering rage, I still remembered to forge a divorce certificate and have it delivered to her—just to sprinkle one more handful of salt into her wounds. Yet I never, ever imagined that she had known all along.

“If you don’t want people to know, don’t do it,” Elena’s voice was so cold it could freeze flesh. She looked at me, her eyes filled with undisguised loathing. “I will never forgive you. If I ever have the chance, I still want revenge. So get out, Dominic. Leave.”

Ever since our reunion, she had addressed me properly and formally as “Mr. Gambino”—so distant it was like a thick pane of glass stood between us. Now, at last, she had spoken my name—but it came wrapped in a hatred so intense it could freeze the marrow of one’s bones.

I felt as if something had lodged dead-tight in my chest. A thousand words clogged in my throat, and I couldn’t squeeze out a single one.

After what felt like an eternity, I barely managed to find my voice again—so hoarse I barely recognized it myself. “Everything before—I was wrong. I will show you my sincerity.”

I forced myself to maintain the last shred of dignity and rose to my feet. “Rest well. Don’t let your emotions get too agitated. I’ll come see you again in a few days.” Elena didn’t look at me again, as if I had become nothing more than a piece of superfluous furniture in this hospital room.

…

A few days later, Elena was discharged and returned to the flower shop. I sat in the car, watching her thin, solitary silhouette. My phone vibrated—feedback from the HR people I had arranged. Companies that had previously slammed their doors shut on her were now queuing up to send emails, heaping lavish praise and inviting her to join them.

Right after, my text message went out. Before, I wanted you to bow your head and beg me, so I blacklisted you. I used the wrong method. I was trying to make amends—even if the way I was going about it was pathetically clumsy.

But Elena simply flipped her phone face down on the desk, the line of her profile cold and hard. I could imagine exactly how she felt at that moment. She had graduated from a top university, brilliant and talented, unwilling to be trapped in a flower shop her whole life. But because of the years I had wasted for her, every single one of these olive branches was extended solely on account of my influence. She wanted to escape me—even if it meant breaking her own wings.

But this still wasn’t enough. I instructed someone to place an online order. A huge bouquet of pure baby’s breath, the note addressed to “Dear Ms. Elena.” The shop manager clicked his tongue, sneaking glances at Elena’s reaction. She merely froze for a brief second, then, expressionless, tossed the entire enormous bouquet straight into the trash.

My heart plunged alongside those discarded flowers. Right. Over these five years, she had been fighting just to survive—how could she have any heart left for romantic trifles? That Elena who once loved tending plants on the balcony had long since died—in the dead of winter I had crafted with my own hands.

…

When she got off work that day, I couldn’t hold myself back. I used the spare key and let myself into the rental apartment where she lived. The room was tidy but cramped. Dressed in bespoke haute couture, my long legs felt unbearably confined here, and I could only curl them up awkwardly.

“How did you get in?” Elena pushed the door open and, seeing me sitting there in the darkness, her eyes instantly sharpened with vigilance.

I lifted my head and looked at her tired face. A sharp ache rose in my chest. I tried to gentle my voice. “I just came to see you. You live in a place like this?” I stood up, wanting to touch her but not daring to, so I could only reach out and vaguely gesture at this cramped little room.
“Come back with me. I can give you a life where you want for nothing.”

Elena lowered her eyelids, hiding the impatience flickering in her eyes.
“Why don’t you just say you’ll give me the whole company?”

My eyes lit up. I thought she was softening, so I hurriedly followed her lead. “You want it? I’ll call the lawyer right now to come draft the contract. I’ll transfer the shares to you.”

Elena: “…… She looked at me. That look—it was the look you give a hopeless madman.”