All too late novel

Chapter 5 

Elara, with her gentle demeanor, deliberately waved her bandaged hand in front of Soren. “Soren, don’t be like this. Aria didn’t do it on purpose. I’m good friends with her and her brother. I trust her,” she said softly. 

Soren brushed her forehead tenderly, though his tone was reproachful and his eyes remained concerned. 

“Elara, I know your nature. You’re far too kind. Even though she’s wronged you, you still defend her. Someone like her deserves punishment, even if it means being torn apart by a thousand 

cuts.” 

Elara lowered her gaze, biting her lip, her eyes 

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福 

glistening with unshed tears. “Soren, I’m sorry. Please don’t be angry. I really don’t want you two to have problems because of me.” Soren sighed, his expression a mix of helplessness and frustration towards her. After a moment, he turned his cold, indifferent gaze towards me. “Aria, you’re fortunate to have someone as kind 

as Elara in your life.” 

I looked at the man who had once seemed both 

familiar and alien. I had once spoken those very words, and it was this so–called “luck” that had led me to be engaged to him. Now, this same “luck” was being wielded against me. Soren only dared to hurt me because he knew I loved him. At that moment, all my love for him evaporated completely. Any hope of warming an iceberg was nothing more than a delusion. Reporting him to the police would likely be a 

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futile endeavor. After all, family connections spoke volumes. If losing my piano was the price of facing this harsh reality, then I would rather not acknowledge it. Dragging my weary body, I shouted in anger, “Get out, just get out!” 

Elara approached me and patted my back, but her hands were gripping my amputated arm too tightly. Waves of pain surged through me, and sweat broke out on my forehead. Unable to bear it, I kicked her away. 

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry, Aria. Please don’t be angry. I won’t touch you again,” she pleaded, tears streaming down her face as she clung to 

Soren. 

Soren’s demeanor turned icy. Ignoring the blood seeping from my wound, he seized it with 

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a brutal grip. “Aria, this is all your own fault. You can’t blame anyone else. Even now, don’t you know how to conduct yourself?” 

In response, I kicked him hard in the groin. He saw my injury bleeding but seemed indifferent to my suffering. 

Elara tried to intercede on his behalf, but Soren pushed her aside. “Elara, don’t waste your time talking to her. She’s just a lunatic,” he said coldly. “You deserve what’s coming to you- your father’s hatred, your mother’s death. You deserve it all.” 

His words felt like a searing needle in my ear. I forced a bitter smile as I watched them leave, anger and sorrow mingling inside me. 

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“Damn you, Soren,” I thought. It seemed the more familiar people were, the more they knew precisely where to twist the knife. 

Another ten days passed. The pain in my hand had diminished, and the wound was gradually healing. Following the doctor’s advice, I completed the discharge procedures. He instructed me to return for monthly check–ups 

and assured me that once the wound healed 

sufficiently, I could be fitted with a prosthetic 

limb. 

Adjusting to life without my hands was a struggle. I had to relearn basic tasks–eating with a spoon, managing daily necessities. Just as I was beginning to find a new rhythm, I received a call from the police station. 

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