My Wife Threw Me into a Pit of Leeches for Her Assistant Chapter 04

My Wife Threw Me into a Pit of Leeches for Her Assistant Chapter 04: A Day’s Pay

I don’t know how long I lay in that glass tank.

The rats came in waves. Some burrowed. Some bit. Some just crawled over the rotting flesh like it was a playground. I stopped screaming after the first few hours. My throat was raw, and no one was listening anyway.

Through the glass, I could see the garage door. Feodora had left it slightly ajar. I watched the shadows shift as she moved through the rooms, always toward the bedroom where Emerson was.

Always toward him.

I pressed my forehead against the cold glass. My eye—the one the rat had gotten into—was swollen shut. My clothes were soaked through with rot and blood. The smell had stopped bothering me. I’d gone numb to it all.

*Think long and hard about what you did wrong.*

What did I do wrong?

I loved her. I gave her seven years. I stood by her when her father’s company was collapsing. I held her hand through three miscarriages. I trusted her.

I was a fool.

A rat gnawed at my ankle. I didn’t even flinch. I’d stopped feeling that too.

The surveillance monitor flickered. Feodora was sitting up in bed, Emerson’s head in her lap. She was running her fingers through his hair, whispering something I couldn’t hear. He was smiling—that smug smile he always wore when he thought he’d won.

She leaned down and kissed his forehead, right where I’d punched him. The tenderness in that gesture was something I’d never seen from her. Not once in seven years.

I closed my good eye and let the darkness take me.

—

I woke to the sound of glass shattering.

Two men in black suits stood over me. One reached down and grabbed my arm, pulling me out of the rotting pile. Rats scattered everywhere.

“Mr. Brooks, we’re here to take you home.”

I blinked at them. Home. The word felt foreign.

“Grandpa sent you?”

The man nodded. “He’s waiting at the estate.”

They half-carried me out of the garage. The night air hit my face, and for the first time in forever, I breathed something that wasn’t rot and decay.

—

The warehouse was empty except for one figure standing in the center.

Grandpa.

He looked older than I remembered. His face was lined with grief, and his hands shook as he leaned on his cane. But his eyes were still sharp, still burning.

“Chester.”

I tried to speak, but no words came.

He walked toward me slowly, his cane tapping against the concrete. He stopped in front of me and reached up to touch my face.

“She did this to you?”

I nodded.

“And your parents?”

Another nod.

“The baby?”

I broke down. I fell to my knees, clutching at his pant legs.

“She boiled him, Grandpa. She let Emerson boil our son into soup.”

Grandpa’s face went white. His hand tightened on the cane.

“Stop,” he said sharply. “This is not your fault.”

He crouched down in front of me. Up close, I could see the tears in his eyes.

“Chester, I’m going to make this right. Every single person who hurt you is going to pay. A day’s pay for a lifetime of pain.”

“I killed Emerson,” I whispered. “Feodora watched.”

Grandpa’s expression didn’t change. “Good. Now Feodora will suffer. She’ll lose everything. Her company, her money, her reputation. And then she’ll spend the rest of her life in a cell.”

I should have felt satisfaction. I felt nothing.

“There’s something else,” Grandpa said slowly. “The leech pit—it wasn’t Feodora’s idea.”

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

“The black market boss was paid. By someone who wanted to make sure you suffered. Someone who’s been pulling Feodora’s strings all along.”

My blood went cold. “Who?”

Grandpa pulled a photograph from his pocket. A woman I’d never seen before. Beautiful, with sharp features and cold eyes. Standing in front of the Wilde estate.

“Her name is Vera Sinclair. Emerson’s mother. She’s been whispering in Feodora’s ear for years, feeding her lies.”

I stared at the photograph, my mind reeling.

“She’s the one who told Feodora to throw you into the leech pit. She’s the one who convinced Feodora to let Emerson do whatever he wanted with your son.”

I felt the bile rise in my throat.

“Where is she?”

“Don’t worry. I’ve sent men to find her. But Chester—” He paused. “When we catch her, I want you to be the one to end it.”

I nodded slowly. “Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow night.”

—

The next night, we found her.

She was hiding in a penthouse, surrounded by bodyguards. Grandpa’s men took them out in minutes.

I walked into the room. Vera Sinclair sat by the window, a glass of wine in her hand.

“Ah, Chester.” She smiled. “I was wondering when you’d show up.”

I walked toward her. “You ruined my life.”

She shrugged. “Your life was already ruined. I just made sure it stayed that way.”

“Why?”

“Because my son deserved Feodora. You were in the way.”

“Emerson is dead.”

She didn’t flinch. “I know. These things happen.”

“And my son?”

Her smile faded. “Emerson was supposed to give him away, not boil him. I told him not to be so dramatic.”

My hand tightened around the knife I’d brought.

“Feodora loved me.”

“She loved herself.” Vera leaned forward. “She loved power and money. You were just a convenient pawn, and I made sure you stayed in your place. Your suffering was my payment.”

I raised the knife. Vera didn’t flinch.

“Go ahead,” she whispered. “Kill me. It won’t bring them back.”

I hesitated.

And in that moment, Vera lunged. She grabbed the knife and drove it into her own chest.

Her eyes gleamed with triumph. “Now it’s your word against mine. Murder.”

She crumpled to the floor.

Grandpa burst in. He stared at Vera’s body, then at me.

“Chester?”

“She did it herself.”

Grandpa studied me. Then he nodded. “She’s dead. That’s all that matters. A day’s pay.”

—

We drove back to the estate in silence.

I stared out the window. I felt nothing.

When we arrived, I walked into the house.

And there she was. Feodora. Her hands tied, two guards standing over her. Her face was pale, her eyes red-rimmed.

“Chester,” she breathed. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“Didn’t mean what?” I cut her off. “Didn’t mean to throw me into a pit of leeches? Didn’t mean to kill my parents? Didn’t mean to boil our son?”

She started crying. “Please. Vera Sinclair—”

“Vera Sinclair is dead.”

Feodora’s face went white.

“I’m done with you, Feodora. You’ll have to live with what you did. That’s your punishment. A day’s pay for what you owe.”

I walked away.

And for the first time in a long time, I slept without nightmares.