To Get Revenge on My Bully I Decided to Seduce Her Fiancé Chapter 09

To Get Revenge on My Bully I Decided to Seduce Her Fiancé Chapter 09

I walked with no destination, dragging my suitcases behind me.

I didn’t know where to go.

My head was empty.

When water hit my eyes, I looked up, confused.

It was raining.

People ran for cover. The evening was dark.

Car taillights bled red ripples across the puddles dotting the wet pavement.

I stood there in the rain for a long time.

Then I slowly sank down, hugging my knees.

I’d failed at revenge, and I’d lost my heart in the process.

A total double loss.

As if things couldn’t get any worse, the rain left me sick.

I lay in bed at home, burning up with fever and half-delirious, too drained to even bother getting medicine.

Maybe it was the fever, but I hated myself in that moment.

None of it felt worth it.

It’d be fine if I just died, I thought numbly. No more troubles, no more fighting.

I drifted off. Then my phone rang.

I fumbled for it. Someone said something on the other end.

I said something back.

But my head was so foggy.

I couldn’t remember any of it.

I don’t know how much time passed.

I heard the door open.

I tried to open my eyes, but my body felt heavy, like I was trapped.

I couldn’t move.

A cool hand pressed to my forehead. Then rustling.

Someone sat me up, pressed something bitter to my lips, coaxing me in a soft murmur by my ear,

“Take your medicine.”

I frowned and swallowed.

I drank a few sips of warm water from their hand, then they laid me back down.

Half-asleep, I could feel someone watching me.

I got hot.

I kicked off the covers, letting my arms fall out.

My arms were littered with scars: cigarette burns Sloane had pressed into my skin, and cuts from a box cutter.

And one deep scar across my wrist.

I’d done that myself, after Grandma died.

I was rushed to the ER and fought for my life for a full day and night, but I still didn’t get to go be with her.

But I didn’t get to go be with her.

I was left all alone in this cold, cruel world, with no one.

All the time I was with Harrison, I’d worn long sleeves.

Even my pajamas were long-sleeved.

He’d never seen the scars.

That gaze stayed on my arm. Didn’t move.

After a while, someone brushed my cheek very gently.

Their fingers were shaking a little.

I nuzzled into the touch.

A tear slipped out.

“Grandma,” I mumbled, curling up small.

“It hurts so bad.”

The fingers froze. Like they’d been shocked.

A long time later, a sigh came from above me.

Heavy, raw, like it hurt.

Something warm and wet landed on my cheek, spilling into my hair.

…

When I woke up, it was dark out.

I’d slept the whole day.

I touched my forehead. Cool.

The fever was gone.

I looked at the nightstand. A half-empty glass of water, already stone cold.

A blister pack of fever reducers, one pill missing.

The next day, I got home.

The apartment was empty, quiet.

There was a thick manila envelope on the coffee table.

I walked over and pulled out the papers inside.

Dozens of pages, packed solid with irrefutable proof of every illegal move the Covington’s had made over the years.

I picked up my phone.

Pulled up my chat with my friend from that morning.

[Call Harrison later. Tell him I sounded off when you talked to me. Like I was sick.]

Her reply came fast:

[Got it.]