Chapter 7
I slowly pulled the rag from Grayson’s mouth, my fingertips grazing his pale face.
He gasped, voice breaking with sobs. “Lily… how did you become like this? You wouldn’t even step
on an ant before…”
Slap! The blow snapped his head to the side, blood trickling from his lips.
“Save the act,” I hissed, pinching his chin to force his gaze up.
He trembled, stammering, “Lily, I know you’re upset with Aubrey. But she’s just my foster sister- nothing more, I swear!”
“She’s dying…” His voice quaked. “If someone dies, I can’t save you!”
I chuckled low, the iron rod in my hand glowing dull red in the firelight. “You keep calling me Lily. Haven’t you noticed I’m not her?”
I pressed the rod against his chest. The sound of searing flesh mixed with his piercing scream.
“Lily always said you were branded on her heart.” I savored his contorted face, carving her name stroke by stroke. “Now, you’ll remember her forever.”
“Argh! Lily… I’m sorry! Spare me!” He writhed like a maggot, snot and blood smearing his face.
“I’ll send Aubrey away–far away! We’ll redo the wedding, the grandest one!
“Let me go, and I’ll get you the prettiest wedding dress. Whatever you want, I’ll do it…”
“Shh-“I crouched, wiping his filthy face with a napkin in disgust. “It’s too late for that. Lily can’t hear you now.”
“You should grovel in hell and beg her forgiveness yourself.”
The rod glowed red again. I aimed at his knee. “Didn’t you always make her kneel? Seems you love kneeling. Let’s make it permanent.
”
I swung the rod, shattering his kneecap into fragments. Grayson passed out cold.
When sirens pierced the night, his fingers still twitched spasmodically.
I adjusted his mangled limbs, ensuring every fracture matched Lily’s autopsy report.
Letting them die would be too kind. I wanted them to live, to feel every ounce of Lily’s pain.
When police stormed in, I was curled in a corner, feigning terror. Blood crusted under my nails,
Chapter 7
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smeared into streaks across my face.
“Help me…”
I shook like a ragdoll, tears cutting through the blood on my cheeks. “They went crazy… tried to kill
me…”
The stench of charred flesh filled the room, punctuated by the officers‘ retching. Cold handcuffs clicked onto my wrists. I shrank back, obedient as a frightened child, and followed them to the squad car.
Chapter 8
In the ICU at Fairpoint General Hospital, Aubrey and Grayson clung to life by a thread.
Aubrey lay sprawled on the bed, a thick breathing tube jammed down her throat.
Every ragged inhale rasped like sandpaper scraping her lungs, each exhale a wheeze from a broken bellows. Her lips–cracked, purple, caked with dried blood–parted helplessly, her chest heaving like it might cave in at any second.
That silver tongue, once sweet enough to twist men around her finger, would never whisper lies
again.
What a shame.
She’d never seduce anyone with that mouth again.
Grayson looked like a corpse wrapped in gauze, strapped tight to a specialized bed. Thick bandages covered his knees, but pus seeped through, yellow and foul–smelling. It soaked the gauze, stained
the sheets, and stank of decay.
“Mr. Whitmore’s infection is worsening,” the nurse said flatly, peeling back the covers. “We’ll
need to debride again.”
Revealed beneath was a grotesque scar on his chest–the name “Lily,” scorched deep into his blackened, curling flesh, like a twisted curse.
The doctor tugged back the bandages on his knee.
Grayson jolted violently.
A strained whimper escaped his cracked lips, eyes darting in their bruised sockets, wild and
helpless.
He didn’t even have the strength to fight.
His lips moved–barely.
The nurse leaned down to hear.
After a pause, she straightened, disgust flashing across her face.
((
‘…He keeps mumbling something,” she said. “I think it’s… ‘I’m sorry. I’ll behave…“”
While they suffered, I sat in a high–security cell, waiting for my trial.
C
