He Killed Our Twins, So I Paid Someone to Kill Them

Cheryl's POV

I had already booked our tickets to leave the country.

But before we could go, I got the news that our children, Shawn Fraley and Cedric Fraley, were dead.

When I saw their little bodies, dark and swollen from the poison, my world just shattered. There was no help given, no rescue, no chance to save them.

For years, Vince used the kids to control me. Every threat worked like magic. He knew I’d bow my head, bury my pride, and do whatever he wanted, just to keep them safe.

But now?

He couldn’t threaten me anymore.

I lowered my head and gave the urns in my arms a gentle, loving smile.

“Shawn, Cedric... you’re here with Mommy now. And you’ll never be taken away again.”

Seeing me talking to the urns, Vince’s face turned pale. He glared at me like I was something disgusting.

“Stop clinging to those damn jars like you're some grieving saint,” he spat. “Cheryl, I’m telling you one last time—get out. Stop embarrassing yourself.”

“You really think I’m scared to divorce you?”

I stepped closer—and that’s when I saw it. His eyes were full of anger. He didn’t even care about the murmurs spreading through the crowd anymore. He just signaled his bodyguards to drag me out.

Some people in the crowd looked like they wanted to help. But before they could step forward, their friends pulled them back.

“Don’t get involved. This is Vince’s family business. You really wanna mess with someone like him?”

“Exactly. And look at her, she clearly got what was coming. Her husband’s cheating out in the open, and she still shows up like everything’s fine. Pathetic.”

“Honestly? She probably deserves it. Some women dig their own graves.”

The guards slammed me so hard to the ground outside that I nearly dropped the urns. Fortunately, I managed to dive forward and used my body as a shield.

I caught them—barely.

Clutching the urns close, I choked out an apology.

“I’m so sorry, Shawn… Cedric… Mommy failed you…”

One of the bodyguards sneered and kicked me hard. “Take my advice. Go back to scrubbing floors where you belong, and stop making a scene. Piss off the boss any more than this, and you won’t live to regret it.”

Sure enough, that same night, a story exploded online.

One of those sleazy gossip accounts posted a headline that rocketed to the top of the trending list in under thirty minutes.

[Trending! Vince’s Wife was Caught Cheating, So She was Beaten in the Snow Like a Dog!]

The post included a video, over ten seconds long.

It showed me, stripped from the waist up, kneeling in the snow as a whip lashed across my back again and again.

The whip was custom-made, with barbed hooks. Every strike tore open my skin, painting the snow behind me red.

Under the video was a storm of vile comments:

[Isn’t this the crazy woman who showed up at the auction today? What a joke. She gets caught cheating and still dares to act all high and mighty? She really doesn't want a face.]

[I told you. She must've done something to deserve that. She's hopeless.]

[Honestly? That beating wasn’t even enough. Should’ve whipped her to death.]

The flood of hate was unbearable.

None of them knew the truth.

None of them even cared to ask.

Ever since Darlene moved into the mansion, she’d beat me whenever she was in a bad mood. That whip? It was her favorite.

And Vince?

He handed it to her himself.

Back when I paid for Darlene to attend college, my mother caught her in our bed, wearing lace lingerie, trying to seduce my husband.

My mom went ballistic. She called Darlene an ungrateful leech and a home-wrecking tramp, then whipped her thirty times with that same barbed lash.

Vince said nothing at the time.

But clearly… he never forgot.