After Five Years, I Devour the Skeletons in His Closet

“You’re nothing more than Joanie’s dog, Vernon,” I spat each word out clearly, my voice sharp as a blade. “If Ernest knew he had made a mistake leaving everything in your hands, he would crawl out of his coffin just to drag you down with him!”

“After all,” I added with a smirk, “the Browetts are utterly ruined now!”

In the next instant, his hand clamped down on my throat, and my breath was stolen.

Oxygen drained from my lungs as I met his bloodshot eyes. His voice, guttural and deranged, roared against my ears.

“Don’t think for a second I won’t kill you, Keyshia! You’re nothing but the family’s dog!”

With that, he slammed me to the floor. My body hit the shards of broken champagne glass, every jagged edge piercing my skin, slicing open countless stinging cuts.

A violent shudder wracked me. And before I could recover, he yanked my hair back, forcing my head up.

“When I tell you to beg, you beg! When I want you dead, you die!”

His lips curved into a twisted smile.

“But tonight, lucky for you, I’m not really in the mood to kill you just yet.”

“After all…” He patted my cheek, his voice low and taunting. “A toy this exquisite—how could I possibly let it break so easily? Don’t you agree?”

I stared at his face, so close to mine.

And suddenly, Joanie’s voice echoed in my memory, a video she had once sent me, her tone dripping with triumph.

‘I just told Vernon that Wiggle was scary, and guess what? He skinned your dog alive for me.’

‘Say, what if next time I tell him that you’re frightening, too? Do you think Vernon will peel your skin off as well?’

‘Gosh! That’d be hilarious!’’

‘Listen, you bitch. You may be his wife on paper, but you’re not even worth a servant!’

The memory seared through me as I stared at Vernon. My throat burned with something metallic. And just as his palm came down to strike my face again, I spat a mouthful of blood right across his fucking face.

For a fleeting second, his expression twisted from shock to revulsion, to sheer disgust.

“I agree, Vernon,” I said.

“How could you possibly die so soon?” I mimicked his tone and laughed like he did. “After all, a game this entertaining deserves to be played until the very end.”

Little did he know, I had come back for a reason.

I never planned on sparing the Browetts. I had sworn, the ones who murdered my Wiggle would pay! Every last one of them!

Wiggle’s death had been too cruel… too merciless. How could I ever forgive them?

Seeing me defiant even now, Vernon abruptly released my hair and wiped the blood from his face.

“You’re right,” he sneered coldly. “Some things… shouldn’t be rushed. They’re better savored… like slow torture.”

His eyes locked on mine, brimming with malice. “Since you’ve shown your face in front of me again, let’s play this game well.”

He turned away without another glance and barked an order to the guards.

“Keep an eye on her. Don’t let her escape.”

Then, just like flipping a switch, he softened his expression as he turned toward Joanie with tender concern.

“Does it hurt?” he asked gently, brushing away the tears streaking her cheeks. “Come, I’ll take you to a private room.”

Joanie collapsed into his arms, sobbing pitifully.

“With you here, it doesn’t hurt anymore,” she whispered between choking sobs. “As long as I have you, I’m not afraid of anything.”

I could only watch as Vernon carried her away, cradled delicately in his arms.

Meanwhile, I sat slumped on the floor, my body wracked with pain, every shallow cut burning against my skin.

Around me, the sycophants began throwing out their cruel remarks.

“Who knows where this trash crawled out from, daring to lay a hand on Vernon Browett? She should count herself lucky he didn’t kill her outright tonight. Fool, take what’s left of your pitiful life and get lost!”

“That’s right! I’ve heard the stories—you’re nothing but a stray Ernest dragged in from the streets. He raised you out of pity, and this is how you repay him? Turning against Joanie? Jeez, you deserve to be thrown out like the trash you are!”

“Oh, speaking of which,” someone snickered as he unlocked his phone, “I still have that video from five years ago—her dog getting murdered.”

He scrolled through his album until he found it. The others crowded closer, grinning with morbid excitement.

“Show me!”

“I want to watch it, too!”