Chapter 7: Helena

Warning: The chapter contains scenes of violence, murder, and blood and may not be suitable for all readers. If you are easily triggered by any of these subjects, it is recommended that you skip them and refrain from reading ahead for your mental health. (Read at your own risk.)

 

~~~

A few hours earlier, in the enormous bedroom of a mansion located in a different country, Helena sat on the bed with a worried look on her face, holding a phone to her ear, but once again, there was no answer to her call. At that moment, her phone began to ring, and she answered.

“What did you find?”

“I found out that he spent the night in his penthouse with his wife—I mean, his ex-wife,” the person on the line reported. Helena's hand clenched into a fist as she tried to suppress the rage burning inside her and asked impatiently.

“What else did you find?”

“The woman left early, and judging from her appearance, they had sex.”

“Aaaahhh!” Helena screamed and hung up the call, tossing the phone away angrily.

Mr. Jones, Helena's 56-year-old husband, who had finished showering, heard Helena scream and walked out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist and asked,

“What's wrong with you?” Helena looked at her husband's face as she stood up and approached him with a menacing expression on her face.

Mr. Jones instinctively took a step back, feeling the danger emitting from his wife.

“Why did you marry me?” Helena asked in a monotone voice, her face blank. “I was happy with the love of my life, but you came along and changed everything. You made me your property, your toy! You are five fucking years older than my father! But you forced them to marry me off to you after you tricked them into gambling everything they owned, right?!” Mr. Jones' eyes widened at Helena's words.

“Since when did you know?” he asked.

"Since the fucking day you appeared in my house and turned my life upside down! You beast!”

“I'm sorry, my little kitten. I regret everything; that's why I have made you the sole owner of all my properties, and your parents are living well with all the money I give them. I just fell in love with the young and vibrant girl who knocked me off my feet; I wanted her for myself. Do you remember that day when your parents took you to the restaurant to celebrate your 18th birthday? Since then, I wanted you to be mine…”

“So you planned how to make me yours since then. Turning my parents into gambling addicts in just three years. Sinking them in deep debts so I become the prize? You ruined my life, my dreams, and my career. I hate you; I hate you very much; every day spent with you was torture; I hate you!” Helena screamed, and Mr. Jones walked forward to hold her and coax her. He loves her, and he knows deep down she also felt something for him.

However, Helena pushed him back hard, and he fell back into the full-length dressing mirror behind him. The mirror broke and pierced him from behind as he fell to the ground.

“Ahhhh!” Mr. Jones's agonizing groan filled the room. He stretched his hand out to Helena, who was looking down at him with an emotionless expression, and pleaded, "Help me."

However, Helena approached her husband, who was unable to move with the broken pieces of glass in his body, and squatted next to him and said,

“Do you know why I have been a good wife to you the four years I've been stuck with you? Because when I finally kill you, everyone will believe me when I tell them it was in self-defense.

You were so oblivious that you didn’t even realize how many times I applied thick makeup, wearing sunglasses and masks whenever we attended your business functions. You were so busy that you didn’t notice the bruises I inflicted upon myself just to obtain a report from the hospital indicating that I was being abused. Now, all your filthy money will be mine.”

Helena revealed with a smirk on her lips as she slowly reached for the long piece of glass with a sharp and pointed tip and began stabbing her husband repeatedly with no remorse on her features, ignoring the pain of the glass cutting inside the palm of her hand wrapped around the glass with every stab she inflicted on her husband.

"Die! Die! Die!!"