Chapter 4He Spared My Parents’ Killer

I took all of my things and left. Richard didn't even try to stop me.

It wasn't until a week later that my phone lit up with his texts. His tone was as arrogant and condescending as ever.

[Sylvia, stop throwing this tantrum and come home. Jillian knows she messed up, and I already lectured her.]

[Are you really going to hold a grudge against a teenager? Grow up and stop acting like a spoiled brat.]

I stared at the messages, feeling absolutely nothing but disgust.

I didn't even bother replying. Just as I was about to hit the block button, an anonymous text popped up.

[Sylvia~ Please don't be mad! Richard actually misses you a lot. He cooked a candlelight dinner for me tonight, and the steak you usually like was so delicious. He even took me on the Ferris wheel and promised to bring you next time!]

I scoffed. The only person dumb enough to fall for this blatant manipulative garbage was a brainwashed idiot like Richard.

I swiftly blocked both of their numbers and deleted their contacts.

A few hours later, an unknown number called me. The voice on the other end was loud and frantic.

"Hello? Ms. Sylvia? I am calling from the memorial park! Your fiancé is up here trying to dismantle your parents' graves! Did you authorize this?"

Before the groundskeeper could even finish, a deafening crash echoed through the receiver.

"Hey! Stop the machine! Why the hell did you smash the headstone?"

The call abruptly dropped.

Panic seized my chest. I broke every speed limit getting to the cemetery.

When I arrived, the pristine marble headstone was shattered in half. The protective casing of the burial vault was cracked, exposing the urns inside to the dirt and the wind. My blood pressure spiked to lethal levels.

Jillian was cowering behind Richard like a frightened quail.

He shielded her with his body. "If you are angry, take it out on me! This has nothing to do with her!"

My heart had died a long time ago. I ignored his pathetic "hero protecting the maiden" routine and dropped to my knees, silently brushing the debris away from my parents' resting place.

Seeing that I wasn't going to attack Jillian, Richard's defensive posture relaxed. A sliver of guilt actually managed to cross his face.

He knelt down, reaching out to help me clear the rubble. But the moment his fingers hovered near my parents' urns, a violent wave of nausea hit me.

I whipped my arm back and delivered a brutal, open-handed slap squarely across his left cheek.

A bright red handprint instantly blossomed on his skin.

"You don't deserve to touch their ashes! Ten years ago, you pulled me out of a fire. Today, I am sparing your life. We are completely even."

Richard panicked. He grabbed my wrist with a vice grip. "Sylvia, listen to me! Jillian's dad died of a sudden heart attack in prison. The priest said he needed a blessed, high-ground plot so his soul could find peace."

"I never wanted to smash the stone! The crane arm of the backhoe accidentally swung into it. It was a mechanical failure! Are you really going to blame me for an accident?"

"This is the most exclusive cemetery in the city. There were no other plots available. I just needed to borrow a piece of your family's estate. If your parents were alive, they would have agreed to let me do this!"

I was genuinely in awe of his bottomless audacity. "My parents are dead because her father ran them over with a truck."

Richard froze. He subconsciously took a step back, but his stubborn pride refused to break.

"But... Jillian's dad is dead too. He paid for his crimes with his life. You can't keep holding onto this hatred."

I clutched my parents' urns tightly to my chest. "Get the hell out of my sight. I am calling the cops."

The police arrived swiftly. Because Richard had no legal authorization, he was forced to pay for the property damage and was slapped with a formal warning.

I refused to let my parents stay in a place tainted by his presence. I purchased a plot at a completely different private cemetery and relocated them.

After the graveyard incident, Richard tried relentlessly to contact me from burner numbers. I rejected every single one.

It wasn't until the day of our civil lawsuit regarding the house that the calls finally stopped.

Strangely, Richard never showed up to the courthouse.

As a prosecutor, he knew perfectly well that failing to appear would result in a default judgment against him.

That afternoon, right after I secured the victory, my assistant Ben sprinted into my laboratory, hyperventilating.

"Dr. Sylvia! It is bad! Look at the news! Prosecutor Richard is in critical condition!"