My fingers trembled as I flipped to the next page. All the while, my heart violently hamred inside my rib cage. The beautifully hand-written words, sketched delicately and almost with perfection welcod my sight. The soft, thin strokes flowed freely against the pristine white background like a ballerina gracefully moving against the rhythm of an imaginary sonata.
Though the words were written in a manner of perfection, it didn't press my button of recognition. They looked too unfamiliar as if another delicate hand—not mine—imprinted them right through the pages.
That fleeting mont I was sure that it wasn't my own and I would bet my whole life—if there was any left for —that it belongs to another woman regardless of the na imprinted on the leather bound.
I let go of the breath I wasn't aware I still held as my gaze slowly crept into the smooth, pristine white page with heart violently hamring inside my rib cage. So swiftly, as if I opened Pandora's forbidden box, all the possible sins a mortal could commit echoed in my mind, rendering frozen in my seat while my face contorted from waves of shock.
No doubt Lucas hated ! I sobbed and a single tear glided down my cheeks.
The crucifying truth began to torture but I didn't stop. I just couldn't. I was already drawn to the journal like a moth drawn to a fire. Stopping now would only make the pain in my chest tenfold worse.
And so the painful words poured out of the pages, like a sharp blade piercing my heart, tearing on my veins, and butchering my insides into pieces. It was such a surprise that the journal didn't drop from my trembling fingers.
I have stolen a close friend's husband whom trusted for years, stolen an innocent man's properties to which resulted for him to commit suicide, forged number of cheques and made an ordinary salary man pay for my cris with lifeti imprisonnt, fatally ruined an innocent woman's reputation after she woke up in another man's bed on the very day of her wedding, and secretly stolen a noble family's child and faked her death and all because inflicting pain and suffering brought unimaginable satisfaction.
The truth flowed freely, drowning into its volu until my chest grew tight and I couldn't breath.
Wicked. Immoral. Corrupt. Sinful. Despicable. Villainous.
Hateful. Those vile words forced its way in my mind with piercing clarity changing the course of my lonely life forever and I will never look at life the sa way again.
Right at that mont I wished the accident had taken my life. Why live when soone despicable as deserved to rot in hell?
Just when I thought the terrible words were enough to describe , I flipped through the next page and ca across an explosive bomb—the secret I will never ever forgive myself—not even after death—that is taking my own child's life. The child which I have conceived from my extramarital affairs.
It never ca to before that it was possible to die over and over again and still remain vividly alive not until today. I sat on the chair, pale as a thin sheet of paper, gasping for air, tally dying a horrific death a dozen tis in my mind, and surprisingly wondering why I was still alive.
Strength finally escaped my body, the book slipped from my grip, and landed on the glass table with force, knocking an expensive antique vase to the floor followed by the piercing scream of shattering glass before the deafening silence draped across the room once more, making all too aware of indescribable lancholy that burnt out my soul.
What have I done? I sobbed. The last reason for to live had been burned to ashes and now there was nothing left for to hold on.
The crystalline vase I accidentally knocked down lay scattered at my feet. My tears stricken eyes lingered on the beautiful piece of broken crystal. It once stood proud and worthy of praise but now there's nothing left of it except the ugly clutter of broken crystals.
Poor thing, I have destroyed yet another beautiful work of art…
Darkness invaded my mind. Abruptly, before I even realized what I'm doing, I was already clutching a dagger-sharp glass tightly around my fingers, ready to slice the weapon on my wrists.
But as I stood kneeling on the floor with tears tumbling freely down my cheeks, the image of my son ca to interrupt my plans.
Niall, my wonderful son needs a mother's warmth. If I end my life now, I have thrown away the only chance to watch him grow into a man.
No! I can't end my life…. Not like this… At last, from the darkness swirling around , a tiny flicker of light ca to provide hope. I loosened my hold against the knife-looking piece of crystal and it cluttered as it fell to the floor.
I pulled myself together and rose on my feet. Thank God, I didn't end my life today. There's still hope, if not for then to the families I turned miserable with grief. I cannot undo what has been done but I have the power to open a new door filled with hope for them. I am the only one who holds the key to changing their lives.
With renewed hope coursing through my veins, I wiped the tears on my cheeks until they were completely dry. After retrieving my composure and my breathing returned to normal, I began to clean the ss I made on the floor.
The antique vase looked rare and expensive, Lucas would be mad that I ruined them. A resigned sigh escaped my lips as I recovered them with my gloved fingers. After my feet recover from injury, I will look for a job to help pay for the damage. If I'm lucky enough, I will find an exact replica to replace the antique vase before my husband could spot that it was missing.
After clearing the remaining clutter on the floor, I secured the broken crystals inside a shoe box I found in the closet and carefully secured it under the bed where it's impossible for anyone to spot them.
Few minutes later, I was seated on the study table, the open journal in my hand while my gaze locked on the monitor of my laptop screen.
There's a number of things I must do. But there's a particular thing my mind was into at the mont. It was to know everything about Sam Ryanns, the man convicted of the cris which I should be the one paying.
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