Chapter 3
The cold metal of the car keys pressed sharply into Edwin's palm as he practically fled the study.
Behind him, scattered letters covered the floor, and the open safe sat there, almost laughing at him in silent ridicule.
He fired up the engine, and the sports car let out a roar, shattering the peace of the neighborhood.
He had to see Samantha. He needed her gentle warmth, needed the glitzy chaos she brought to drown out those absurd thoughts in his mind.
Violette only knew how to cook a few dishes he liked; otherwise, she was useless. She was so fragile that she couldn't even open a bottle cap. There was no way she would have had the courage to donate her kidney or blood for him.
This must be her latest, most vicious scheme.
Edwin floored the gas, and the sports car tore down the empty road, leaving a trail of screeching tires.
He needed to prove that those letters were nothing but lies, proof that Violette was still the same woman who'd stop at nothing just to catch his eye.
And Samantha's tears, her gentle vulnerability, that was all the proof he needed. Proof that he was right all along.
Half an hour later, he pulled up in front of a luxury bridal boutique.
Through the huge glass window, he spotted Samantha in a mermaid wedding gown encrusted with diamonds, surrounded by her assistants, beaming at her reflection in the mirror.
The scene was dazzling, almost too much to look at, but it finally loosened the tension in his body.
He thought this was how his life was supposed to be.
He pushed open the door, and Samantha gathered her skirt as she hurried over, throwing herself into his arms.
"Edwin, you're here. Do you think this dress looks good on me?" she asked.
"It looks great," Edwin answered absently, though the frustration inside him still hadn't faded.
Just then, his phone buzzed.
He pulled it out and saw a text from Violette: [If there were another way, I definitely wouldn't love you.]
Edwin felt a sudden pang in his chest. It was another one of her fake, dramatic goodbyes.
"Who is it?" Samantha asked, tiptoeing closer and snuggling up to see his phone.
As soon as she spotted Violette's name, her smile faded, replaced by a pouty, wounded expression.
"It's Violette again. Edwin, is she saying something to stop you from marrying me?" Samantha whimpered.
Her eyes instantly welled up with tears.
Seeing Samantha on the verge of tears, with her eyes shimmering, Edwin felt his frustration boil over.
With a cold finality, he blocked Violette's number, no hesitation.
Then he typed out a post, attached a candid shot of Samantha in her wedding gown, and hit send.
[Finally cut loose that barnacle. The rest of my life? Pure happiness.]
After posting, he slipped his phone back into his pocket and pulled Samantha close, his arm around her waist.
"Come on, don't cry. It's just a wedding dress. I'll have the designer pack up the whole collection and deliver it to our place. You can take your time trying them all on," Edwin said.
Samantha's tears turned into a smile as she playfully punched him in the arm.
Meanwhile, in the dim basement on the Westside, Violette looked at her phone screen, which only showed a gray checkmark, indicating that the message never reached Edwin. She gave a dry, cracked smile.
She exited the messaging app and opened her Instagram, and Edwin's post was front and center.
[The rest of my life? Pure happiness.]
In the photo, Samantha's wedding dress sparkled, and Edwin was holding her hand. The sight of the wedding ring on his finger felt like a punch to Violette's gut.
She'd bought that ring for him, with money from selling her mother's keepsakes.
She stared at the photo until her eyes ached, then slowly, word by word, read the message.
She laughed, but as she did, her laughter melted into tears.
So, these three years of marriage, all the love she'd poured out, meant nothing to him. To Edwin, she was just a clingy burden he was finally free from.
She switched off her phone, her body barely able to move, and dragged a dust-covered box out from under the bed.
Inside were every photo of her and Edwin, from their innocent college days to the rare family pictures from later years.
She looked at each one, then, one by one, dropped them into a basin.
Finally, she took out the crumpled, bloodstained diagnosis report for gastric cancer from her bag and tossed it in as well.
The flames leapt up, slowly consuming her memories, illuminating her face, so pale it seemed drained of all color.
In the glow of the fire, she almost saw that boy again, back in their college days, wearing a white shirt and smiling at her with gentle warmth.
"Violette, when I succeed, I'll give you the grandest wedding in the world," he had promised.
His vow still echoed in her ears, but that boy had long since faded away, lost to time.
As the photos burned to ashes in the basin, Violette was left completely spent, every ounce of strength gone.
She poured the ashes, along with the diagnosis report, into the communal trash bin at the entrance.
After all that, she felt as if the last piece of herself had been drained away, utterly empty inside.
Once again, a cramping pain twisted through her stomach, more intense than ever before.
Her vision blurred and went black, and she crashed to the floor.
Meanwhile, Samantha walked out of the bridal boutique, her arm hooked through Edwin's.
"Edwin, we're about to get married, but Violette's still staying at your place. That just doesn't feel right," Samantha said, pretending to be casual but clearly fishing for reassurance.
"She's already moved out," Edwin replied, his voice flat.
"Moved out? Where did she go?" Samantha pressed, her heart tightening with worry.
Edwin didn't answer. Michael's words echoed in his mind. She was in a basement at Westside.
Seeing him stay silent, Samantha grew even more anxious. Violette was like an itch she just couldn't scratch. As long as Violette was still around, Samantha could never truly feel like Mrs. Lennox. Violette needed to be gone for good.
Her eyes lit up as an idea struck her. The next day, making sure Edwin wasn't around, Samantha found a few local toughs.
"Head over to the old Westside and look for a woman named Violette. She's probably living in a basement," Samantha said, pulling out a wad of cash from her bag.
"Teach her a lesson, show her what it means to back off, and make sure she never dares to mess with Edwin again."
"No problem, Miss Reed. Consider it done," the leader said, grabbing the cash with a greasy grin.
They quickly found the basement where Violette was staying.
The iron door was left ajar, so they kicked it open. No screams, no cries, just silence.
Inside, a woman lay motionless on the floor, a dark, dried pool of blood spreading from her stomach. The sight was enough to make anyone's skin crawl.
The goons had never seen anything like this before. Their knees nearly buckled from fear.
"Damn, is she really dead?"
"Go, go. Before someone catches us."
They bolted from the scene, hearts pounding, and called Samantha the second they were out.
"M-Miss Reed, that woman might be dead. There's blood everywhere," one of them stammered.
Samantha listened to the frantic report, her hands going numb as she dropped her phone to the floor in shock.
Samantha was shocked. She just wanted to humiliate her, make her leave, not to die.
Panic completely took over. She practically crawled out of the villa, jumped into her car, and drove around aimlessly, her mind in utter chaos.
Samantha told himself, "Violette died because she was sick. Yeah, that's it, she died from her illness."
Samantha kept telling herself it wasn't her fault, forcing herself to calm down. Then she dialed Edwin's number, her voice shaky and on the verge of tears, panic clear in every word.
"Edwin, where are you? I'm really scared," Samantha sobbed.
Edwin was at a crucial business dinner, feeling a little buzzed after several rounds of drinks.
Seeing Samantha's name pop up on his phone, he felt a wave of impatience. "What is it this time?" he said.
"I-I had a nightmare. I dreamed about Violette." Samantha was sobbing so hard she could barely get the words out. "Edwin, can you come home and be with me? Please?"
Edwin pinched the bridge of his nose and hung up.
Instead of going to Samantha, he just told the driver to head for the old part of Westside, almost like he was on autopilot.
He honestly didn't know why he'd come.
Maybe he just wanted to see what Violette's so-called basement was really like, to call out her pathetic sob story once and for all.
The car stopped at the entrance to the alley. Edwin stepped onto the muddy ground, his leather shoes getting dirty, and he couldn't help but frown.
That all-too-familiar smell of mold and sourness hit him, making his stomach twist.
Using Michael's directions, he found the dark basement entrance.
At the entrance, something was poking out of the huge communal dumpster.
It was a piece of paper, crumpled and smeared with dried blood.
Edwin walked over and, without really knowing why, picked it up.
He slowly unfolded it, and when his eyes landed on the bold, printed words, he froze in place.