My Alpha Didn’t Want Me… Until I Disappeared Chapter 08

My Alpha Didn’t Want Me… Until I Disappeared Chapter 08

I pulled out my burner phone and sent a text message to Nicola.

Almost instantly, the notification chime rang out right outside my door.

Nicola’s defensive arguments abruptly cut off, replaced by the sound of her frantic, heavy breathing.

A second later, my phone lit up with an incoming call from her.

Fortunately, I had muted the device beforehand.

Nicola called over and over, and I patiently declined every single one.

Her psychological defense mechanism seemed to be unraveling bit by bit.

Finally, I received her text response.

“Who the fuck is this?! Stop hiding in the shadows and playing mind games with me!”

“You claim you have proof that I murdered someone? Why don’t you show it then! If you’re trying to scam me for money, you clearly don’t know who you’re dealing with!”

Her message sounded incredibly arrogant, but through the glass of the door, I could see Nicola’s pale face and wide, terrified eyes as she furiously tapped at her screen.

I immediately powered down the burner phone.

Peering through the glass panel, I quietly enjoyed the sight of Nicola completely losing her mind.

I had always known that my brother’s death was no accident.

My brother was never a careless person.

In my memory, Jonah was always incredibly gentle and meticulous.

Every time I was about to head out for school, he could always pinpoint exactly which notebook or pencil I had forgotten to pack.

When my father was first diagnosed with cancer.

I had called my brother, sobbing over the phone.

He immediately booked the earliest bus ticket home.

He sat silently on the edge of the fields, smoking cigarettes through the entire night.

The very next day, despite my father’s and my desperate protests, he resolutely dropped out of his prestigious university during his sophomore year.

He said, “Juniper has better grades than I did. When she applies to college in the future, she’ll definitely get into an even better school than me.”

Through introductions from our relatives, he went to work at a construction site to make a living.

He earned ten thousand dollars a month, sending six thousand dollars straight to my father’s medical treatments.

The remaining four thousand dollars covered my tuition, school fees, and our household living expenses.

The day my college acceptance letter arrived, my brother was ecstatic.

He ruffled my hair, encouraging me gently, “Juniper really is smarter than her big brother. Your SAT score is way higher than mine was. That just means I need to work even harder to cover your tuition.”

He was the absolute pillar of our family back then.

I refused to believe he would be careless enough to skip checking his safety harness before working at heights.

I investigated for three long years.

Yet the information I gathered was practically non-existent; every piece of paperwork and every worker on site insisted it was a tragic accident.

Countless nights, I lay awake in bed wondering if perhaps my brother’s death really had been just an accident.

Until three years later, a former coworker of his knocked on my door.

He told me he could no longer bear the agonizing guilt eating away at his conscience.