The Masked Heiress: His Dead Wife Lives

Vitiel

. The sheer, unadulterated rage boiling in my veins did something strange to my brai

anket off my body. The blast of air conditioning hit my sweat-dr

plastic base of the IV needle buried in the back

dn't even flinch. Five years ago, I survived three days of interrogation in a rival family's basement. A need

uckled. My legs had no muscle mass left. I crashed heavily onto

dragged my dead weight back up. Leaning heavily against t

rds. They were standing outside, their backs to my room, smoking cigar

econd one of the guards blew out a thick cloud of smoke, creating a visual blind spot, I

ungs burning with every breath. Every step felt like walking bar

I slid my back against the wall, perfectly timing the rota

. Inside, I heard the Director's greasy, sycophantic voice

ressed the deadbolt on the handle. The loud *c

aw me-a skeletal woman in a hospital gown, covered in my own blo

mouth to screa

my physical weakness. I launched myself

med the sharp metal nib directly into the soft flesh over his carotid artery. It was a standa

ly as he felt the metal pierce his skin. He slowly rai

d, hollow rasp, completely devoid of human war

ring down his fat face. "The medical confi

thin ribbon of warm blood leaked out from under the pen and

s chair around, punched a six-digit code into the wall safe, and pull

using my teeth to tear the heavy paper seal

icial certificate issued by the Ne

Death*. The black ink boldly declare

s exactly three days

ing toward the bottom right corner. The box f

with my fingers a thousand times. Arrog

g the blade until my heart shredded into pieces. Five years of loyalty, of washing his blood out of

to the adjacent box. T

y on the dotted lines. The handwriting was neat,

at the Director, who was cowering and shaking in his c

rdered by my