Chapter 9
He staggered toward me with slow, deliberate steps, but was quickly blocked by the bodyguards.
His father, present at the scene, watched the exchange with growing fury.
Upon spotting Harvey, the elderly man’s face flushed bright red with anger.
“Babe, marry me. Come back with me,” Harvey pleaded, dropping to one knee in front of me.
The crowd gasped, all eyes on us. With a forced smile, I turned to Torin, nudging him, “Well? Aren’t you going to put the ring on me?”
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Torin quietly slid the diamond ring onto my finger, his expression unreadable.
Meanwhile, Harvey remained kneeling, looking as though his legs could give way at any moment. The trembling hand that held the ring was visibly shaking.
I lifted the hem of my gown and walked toward him, each step deliberate.
For a brief moment, his face softened with hope, but the veins bulging in his bloodshot eyes made him appear almost monstrous.
I yanked the ring from his hand and tossed it onto the lawn with all the strength I could
muster.
“You’re too late” I said, my voice cold as ice.
Harvey sprang to his feet, and without
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warning, he pulled out a knife.
Panic rippled through the front row of guests as they were the first to see the weapon.
He moved quickly, but his target was not me.
The chaos spread as Harvey lunged toward Torin, his movements erratic.
I rushed to stop him, but it wa
late.
already too
“Watch out!” someone shouted, pushing me out of harm’s way.
I was shoved aside, and when I looked back, blood stained the floor–not from Torin, but from Harvey.
The knife had sunk deep into his abdomen.
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His hands, now drenched in blood, trembled as he looked up at me.
“Berenice, it hurts…” His voice cracked with pain.
For a fleeting moment, I was transported back in time, recalling how he’d insisted on cooking once and ended up cutting his finger.
The same wronged look fill
too.
his face then
But this time, I would not bandage his wounds. Not anymore.
I rushed to Torin’s side, relieved to find his injury was just a minor scratch on his arm.
Someone called for an ambulance, and others gathered around Harvey, their
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expressions a mix of fear and concern.
His eyes never left me, burning with something raw, but I refused to return his
gaze.
In no time, Harvey was taken away in an ambulance.
The wedding, though marred by this incident, continued. But the air was thick with tension, and it felt surreal.
Time passed, and I didn’t see Harvey again for a long while.
I heard whispers that his father had locked him away.
Rumors spread that he had tried to take his own life several times, each attempt thwarted at the last second.
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Eventually, they said the family head brought Leigh to him, hoping she could help him
recover.
But it failed. Harvey inflicted such cruelty on her that by the time they found her, she was barely alive.
She survived, but at a great cost–she was left disabled.
I didn’t bother to seek out the details. I simply moved on with my life.
Another year passed. On my birthday, Torin suggested a grand celebration, but I refused.
Instead, I spent the evening baking a lopsided cake for myself.
I had grown fond of capturing fleeting
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moments in life, so I shared random snapshots on Facebook.
One day, Harvey liked one of my posts.
After that, the only news I received about him came through the media.
Stories about his cold, calculating rise to power, taking control of his family’s company in under a year.
Or tales of his long list of girlfriends, all with surgically altered faces that somehow resembled one another.
One evening, while dining out at a restaurant, I ran into him.
He was with a woman, looking overly affectionate.
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The moment his eyes met mine, he shoved the woman away.
He opened his mouth, seemingly wanting to explain, but no words came out.
He fidgeted with his coat, pulling it tight, letting go, then repeating the motion.
But by the time he regained his
2 Composure,
I had already walked past him, not sparing him a second glance.
After that, the rumors shifted.
People said he had cut all the women from his life, replacing them with male assistants.
He became heavily involved in charity work and even adopted a daughter.
He named her Berenice.
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He pampered her, lavishing her with extravagant gifts, funding her education and everything she desired.
The whispers suggested she had to be his biological daughter, explaining his intense devotion.
Years went by, and then it was reported that Harvey was gravely ill.
By then, his adopted daughter had consolidated most of the family’s power.
When Harvey’s will was made public, it revealed that half of his fortune was left to his daughter, and the other half was donated to charity.
On his final day, which coincidentally was his birthday, his daughter came to see me.
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“Dad said he hopes you can spend his final birthday with him,” she told me.
The young girl exuded confidence and maturity, showing no signs of the insecurity I had once feared.
All these years, I had reconciled with the past.
But seeing him again, even through his daughter, was something I could not bring myself to do.
I wanted that to be my final act of
vengeance.
Not long after the girl left, Harvey passed away that very night.
For the first time in what felt like forever,
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I dreamed of him. In the dream, he lay unconscious in a hospital bed, his hand frail and covered in needles.
It hung limply over the side of the bed.
Doctors rushed in, covering his body with a white sheet.
Harvey was gone.
I awoke early the next morning.
It was spring, and the sun was shining brighter than ever before.
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