Married To My Ex-Husband’s Rival by Jobet GraySon

Chapter 128

Third–person POV

61%

Up to 30% off

Marlene sat in the dimly lit room, the glow of the screen illuminating her face as she watched the video of Amber’s accident, the images playing out in a never–ending loop. Her eyes were glazed over with a manic intensity as she replayed the moment of impact, finding a perverse sense of joy in the destruction that unfolded before her eyes.

As the video played on, Marlene’s fingernails absentmindedly picked at the skin of her palm, a nervous tic that had become more pronounced in her moments of heightened emotion. Her breaths came in shallow gasps, her mind consumed by a twisted fixation on the sight of Amber’s car tumbling helplessly

a cruel smile playing on her lips as she whispered, “Die, die, die,” like an incantation that echoed

in the stillness of the room.

Dark circles ringed in her bloodshot eyes, a testament to the sleepless nights she had experienced in the past few days while obsessing over her vendetta against her older sister.

Ever since Angela’s call informing her of the successful attempt on Amber’s life, Marlene has been

consumed by a single–minded obsession with seeing her sister’s demise, a deep–seated desire for

closure that gnawed at her like a festering wound.

Her people had been dispatched to gather information on Amber’s condition, their sole purpose being

to bring her news of the one thing Marlene craved above all else: confirmation of Amber’s death. To

Marlene, only with Amber’s death came the promise of peace and vindication, a beautiful end that she

believed would finally free her from the suffocating weight of her sister’s existence.

But as she watched the video, a drop of blood splattered onto the screen of her phone, and a sudden

jolt of pain broke through her manic reverie. Marlene’s gaze dropped to her hand, her eyes widening

as she saw the raw, bloody spot where her fingers had dug

primal urge to see Amber’s demise come to

through her veins like wildfire. “She’s not dead yet, she’s not dead yet, Marlene chanted, the words a frenzied litany that

that Amber could still be very much alive, like a thorn in

wrath, driving her to the brink of

the center of her room, her chest heaving with a volatile mix of rage and despair. Without warning, she snatched her phone from the bed and hurled it across the room with a guttural scream, the device shattering against the far

manic energy driving her to unleash chaos on her surroundings. With wild abandon, she seized anything within reach–cosmetics, pillows, perfumes, flower vases–and sent them flying across the

grew thick with

“Die, Am Ound of shattering glass and splintering wood as Marlene’s voice rose in

fevered chant, “Die, Amber, die, die, die,” a chilling

rage that painted her cheeks as she continued on an outrage. Her cries grew louder, a desperate plea for release from the torment that gripped her soul as she wailed.

you’re dead, Amber!” She screamed, her voice shaky with

reaching out in a frantic grasp as she collapsed to her knees and crawled beneath her bed.

cruel echo that reverberated in the empty spaces of her mind as Amber’s voice twisted with malice, calling Marlene a coward, a failure, a wretched creature unworthy

cacophony of raw anguish as she struck out blindly, her hands beating against her skull in a desperate bid to silence the tormenting voices that echoed in her ears. The weight of Amber’s cruel words bore

her hallucinations, a glint of light caught Marlene’s eye–a shattered shard of glass that was within reach. In that moment, she felt a sense of helplessness hit her hard as she reached for the glass shard, with words of self–deprecation tumbling from her lips: “I don’t deserve to

around the glass, the sharp edge cutting into her skin as she held it close to her wrist and was about to let it tear into her flesh. But in the final, fleeting moment before she succumbed to the darkness that

a ennels at vaalisation Aliaknend in

of realization

30%

minute, Marlene threw the glass away, the shard clattering to

her what she could have done

of clarity, she’d recall Amber’s words to her a few months ago, “I’ll

Start

yourself again, just like the good old days,” and realize that, true to Amber’s words,

she had done a few times when

cheeks as she crumpled to the ground, her ragged sobs mingling

tears streamed down

that consumed her whole being.

through the room, jolting Marlene out of