After Five Years, I Devour the Skeletons in His Closet

“It’s been a long time, Vernon.”

The shattered glass pierced deep into his arm, blood splattering across the floor until my vision blurred red.

Just like that, the party erupted into complete chaos.

Screams rang out around me. Some shouted for security, others whispered in gossip.

“Who is that woman? Does she wanna die? Dang, she actually dared stab the Browetts’ heir!”

“I just heard Joanie say… five years ago—wasn’t there an orphan Vernon kicked out? His wife on paper? Damn, don’t tell me it’s her!”

“Nah, she doesn’t look like the wife…”

“They say that woman had no family at all, except for a dog. But the dog offended Joanie and ended up being tortured the whole night! Everyone in our circle saw the video—that poor dog’s skin was even ripped off!”

“Wait, look! Vernon… He’s smiling!”

Seeing blood continue to drip down Vernon’s arm, Joanie frantically shouted, “Vernon!”

Ignoring the bleeding gash on her own forehead, she rushed forward like a madwoman and threw herself in front of him, shielding him from me as though I were a wild animal.

“Keyshia!” she shouted furiously. “How dare you hurt Vernon! The Browetts raised you for twenty years, and this is how you repay them? Like an ungrateful wolf? You owe Vernon an apology right now!”

I couldn’t help but laugh. The way she spoke to me—arrogant, self-righteous, as though she were already Vernon’s wife—was almost comical.

I turned my gaze back to Vernon.

“Five years,” I said, my voice low but steady. “And in that time, you’ve raised yourself a loyal little dog willing to bare her teeth for you. Tell me, Vernon, does that make you feel pretty satisfied?”

Joanie’s face was drained of color, and Vernon pulled her behind him, just as he had done five years ago.

“Keyshia,” he said coldly, “what was between us ended a long time ago. I’ve already told you—I only love Joanie. I will never love you, and I will never even like you.”

His almond eyes bored into mine as he continued, his voice sharp with disdain.

“I don’t care how you’ve survived these past five years, or how you managed to sneak your way into this party with an invitation that doesn’t belong to you. What I do know is that I will never let you back into my family. I won’t allow you to hurt Joanie again!”

“Keyshia.” He straightened, towering over me with that familiar arrogance. “Honestly, I could’ve ignored you and pretended you didn’t exist tonight. But you dared to hurt Joanie, and you’ll have to pay the price.”

He clapped his hands. In an instant, a group of security guards surrounded me in a tight circle.

“You have a choice,” he said. “Will you do it yourself… or will I do it for you?”

One of the guards handed him a knife. He accepted it, waiting for my answer.

But I laughed instead. “Oh, Vernon, do you really think the whole world revolves around you?”

I pointed at the blade in his hand.

“If you’ve got the guts, you’d better finish me off tonight.”

I took a slow, deliberate step toward him. “Because when it’s my turn…” I leaned close, each word sharp as glass. “Don’t you dare beg me to have mercy.”

I laughed out so loud, my laughter echoed through the grand and silent hall, slicing through the tense air.

Vernon’s face darkened, his body trembling with rage.

The sight dragged me back to five years ago when he looked at me the very same way—back when he used my dog Wiggle to force me to beg for mercy and admit my mistake.

He had locked Wiggle in an iron cage, ordering his men to seal my dog’s muzzle shut.

Each time I refused to beg for Vernon’s forgiveness, the blade would slash cruelly across my dog’s body.

My pride—my entire being—had been shattered piece by piece at that time. I could only watch helplessly as Wiggle writhed in agony.

At last, I collapsed to my knees, sobbing and begging for mercy.

“Vernon!” I cried and pleaded, “Don’t hurt Wiggle!”

“I was wrong! I admit it!” I slammed my forehead into the floor again and again until it bled. “I was wrong! I admit I was wrong!”

Wiggle… Wiggle was all I had.

My only hope was to take him away from the Browetts.

With that, I begged desperately.

“Please… let Wiggle go! Let Wiggle go!”

I could never forget the look in my dog’s eyes—how he endured the pain yet still worried about me. And I could never erase the hatred etched into my bones that night, one that would still ignite whenever I looked back.

Now that I was facing my dog’s murderer, all I felt was nothing but that hatred that refused to die.