Days passed. My corpse had begun to rot, its decaying flesh writhing with pale, glistening maggots. Even in this state, I still remembered it all—the suffocation, the helplessness, the slow unraveling of my life. Even in death, I could not escape it.
I drifted toward Tristan, but he could not see me. Instead, his hand rested gently on Jessica’s head.
“Jessica, you’re not too shaken, are you?”
She shook her head, smiling softly, and slipped her hand into his arm. The scar on her wrist was faint but unmistakable. “I’m fine, Tristan.”
She leaned into him, her voice filled with quiet regret. “It’s my fault. If only I had given you a child… Our child would have been so obedient, so well-behaved.”
Tristan’s gaze fell on the scar. His eyes darkened. He traced his fingers over her wrist, his touch careful, as if handling something delicate. “That wretched Crystal. She’s the reason you suffered.”
He pulled Jessica into his embrace, his voice laced with conviction. “Don’t worry. Once that bastard finishes his punishment, I’ll throw him out. Someone as rude as him doesn’t deserve to be my son.”
