Died The Day He Chose His Original
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He hung up on the first sixteen. On the seventeenth, he finally answered—against the elegant strains of music from his engagement banquet, while I sat pinned to the driver's seat by a steel rod through my body, our two-month-old child still in my womb.
"What is it now? Marrying Sophia is just for show. Can't you be a little more reasonable?"
I had given him everything the Smith family had. He had once knelt outside our villa for three days and three nights, begging for my hand. But after he destroyed my family and drove my father to his death, he turned around and raised a toast with his arm around his "first love"—and the name on the texts that ordered my car set ablaze was Sophia's.
The flames devoured my body, but they could not consume my obsession.
My soul drifted back to the engagement banquet that should have been mine. I watched coldly as this farce—bought with my life—played out before me.
Michael, when you destroyed me with your own hands, did you ever once consider—some debts are collected in person, even from beyond the grave.
"What is it now? Marrying Sophia is just for show. Can't you be a little more reasonable?"
I had given him everything the Smith family had. He had once knelt outside our villa for three days and three nights, begging for my hand. But after he destroyed my family and drove my father to his death, he turned around and raised a toast with his arm around his "first love"—and the name on the texts that ordered my car set ablaze was Sophia's.
The flames devoured my body, but they could not consume my obsession.
My soul drifted back to the engagement banquet that should have been mine. I watched coldly as this farce—bought with my life—played out before me.
Michael, when you destroyed me with your own hands, did you ever once consider—some debts are collected in person, even from beyond the grave.















































