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

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

to see Amber’s demise

that pulsed through her veins like wildfire. “She’s not dead yet, she’s not dead yet, Marlene chanted,

much alive,

her to the brink of madness as she

chest heaving with a volatile mix of rage and despair. Without warning, she snatched her phone from the bed and hurled it across the

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 room in a whirlwind of destruction.

air grew thick with the

chant, “Die, Am Ound of shattering glass and splintering wood as

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

mingling with the streaks of rage that painted her cheeks as she continued on an outrage. Her cries grew louder, a desperate plea for release from the torment

find peace until you’re dead, Amber!”

grasp as she collapsed to her knees and crawled beneath her bed. Shadows danced in the dim light, casting twisted

form materialized before her, a taunting sight that haunted Marlene’s every waking moment. The sound of mocking laughter filled the room, a cruel echo that reverberated in the empty spaces of her mind as Amber’s voice twisted with malice, calling Marlene a

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 down on her like a crushing weight, threatening to

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

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

ennels at vaalisation Aliaknend in har

spark of realization flickered in

30%

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

it dawned on her what she could have done to herself

moment of clarity, she’d recall Amber’s words to her a few months

Start

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

had done a few times when she was

ragged sobs mingling with the

through the room, and tears streamed down her

her whole

knock reverberated through the room,