His Favorite Killed His Saviour Chapter 06

His Favorite Killed His Saviour Chapter 06

Blaine had not always been arrogant and cruel. When we were children, he had cried over

everything.

He was born from a strategic marriage between two wealthy families.

Richard Whitmore treated him with distant impatience, while Claudia Whitmore could disappear

for weeks.

Blaine lived with the family’s elderly caretaker at the estate outside Cedarhaven.

The first time I met him, he was hiding beneath a tree with both hands over his ears.

His parents were arguing nearby, their voices climbing higher with every sentence. Blaine

trembled each time one of them shouted.

He pressed his hands so tightly over his ears that his knuckles whitened, yet he still heard every accusation they threw at each other.

When he noticed me watching, he looked ashamed of being frightened.

I thought he was pitiful. My own parents were gone, but they had loved me while they lived, and Grandpa Harrison still loved me enough for three people.

After that day, I sought Blaine out constantly. I shared my games, my secrets, and everything else I

had.

I returned to the estate again and again, bringing whatever I thought might make the lonely boy

smile.

Before long, he expected me, even when he pretended my visits annoyed him.

We grew into rivals who annoyed each other at every opportunity, but our fights were harmless.

Then he met Brielle, and everything changed.

We mocked each other, competed over everything, and swore we could not stand being in the same room, but none of it had ever carried real malice.

Brielle was the first person who taught him to use my trust as a weapon.

We became real enemies. There was no going back when a life stood between us.

My spirit seemed trapped inside the hospital room. I could not travel farther than its walls.

Day after day, I watched Blaine force Brielle to apologize beside my bed.

Trapped near the ceiling or beside my own motionless body, I witnessed every confession, threat,

and plea without being able to interfere.

The hospital room became a cage shared by the living and the dead.

Three days passed without any sign that I would wake. His treatment of her became increasingly

brutal.

With every silent day, desperation stripped away another layer of restraint until punishment

became the only language he seemed capable of speaking.

Brielle left the room more injured and more resentful each night.

At first, he made her confess every lie and beg my forgiveness. Soon he was beating her until she

could barely walk.

Each evening, he dragged her from the room like discarded trash.

Brielle’s fear slowly hardened into hatred, and all of it was aimed at me. I found that almost funny.

She blamed the unconscious woman in the bed instead of the man who was hurting her.

On the fourth day, Blaine threw her into my room and pinned her beneath his shoe before she could

stand.

Then he turned to my body with a look of devotion that made me sick.

“Avery, please wake up,” he said. “You hated Brielle.

“Look at her now. Isn’t this what you wanted?”

His shoe pressed harder against her face. Brielle did not cry as she had before.

She stared at me with bloodshot eyes.

There was no fear left in her expression, only the conviction that my unconscious body had stolen.

the life Blaine once promised her.

I recognized the instant her hatred became a decision.

The moment Blaine glanced away, she surged toward my bed. A knife flashed in her hand.

“This is all your fault,” she screamed. “Die!”

“No!”

Blaine threw himself between us and took the blade in his body.

Watching the knife drive toward my own helpless body sent a shock through me. The monitor beside the bed leaped wildly.

A powerful force pulled my spirit downward. I opened my eyes just as Brielle screamed and fled.

Blaine and I stared at each other. Joy had barely reached his face when tires shrieked on the street

below.

For one suspended second, relief softened every line of his face, and he looked ready to laugh or cry. Then the sound from below cut through the room.

Brielle had run into traffic. A car struck her, and she died at the scene.

At the same moment, Blaine collapsed from blood loss.

I did not see him again for two days. When he finally appeared, he moved slowly down the hall with

one hand on the railing.

Claudia rushed from around the corner and slapped him across the face several times. She looked at her own son as if he were a stranger she hated.

“You were born cruel,” she said. “The Whitmore family put poison in your blood.”

“I should have stopped you years ago. Then my Elliot might still be alive.”

“Why wasn’t it you who died?”

Blaine accepted every accusation in silence. His eyes were clouded with grief.

Once, I would have stepped in front of him and condemned Claudia for failing as a mother. Now I understood that neither of them deserved my protection.

The person who had truly deserved compassion was already dead.

Claudia spoke as if she had loved Elliot, yet a fraction of her wealth could have kept him fed and safe. Instead, he had worked two jobs just to survive.

Money slipped through her fingers every day in amounts that could have paid Elliot’s rent, medical

bills, and groceries for months.

She had allowed her older son to go hungry, then claimed the right to mourn him after his death.

Whatever suffering came to the Whitmores, they had earned it.

I turned toward my room while Blaine called after me.

“Avery, are you leaving me?”

Yes, I answered silently. I was.