CHAPTER 9

JUDY’S POV

After escaping from Chris, I found myself collapsing into a secluded corner of the campus, my body trembling with sobs. Hot tears cascaded down my cheeks, and my hand throbbed painfully from the ordeal I had endured.

But it wasn’t just the physical pain—it was the emotional agony that clawed at me relentlessly. My heart felt as though it had been ripped apart, leaving behind a gaping wound that refused to close.

As I sat there, choking on the weight of my emotions, my mind drifted to the past. The memories of Chris and me—of laughter, warmth, and moments of genuine connection—played like an unrelenting film reel in my head.

Those memories, once a source of comfort, now felt like cruel reminders of what we had lost. How had things come to this? How had the boy who once made me feel safe become the source of my deepest pain?

I couldn’t let it go unanswered. The confusion and torment were suffocating, and I needed clarity, no matter how painful the truth might be. Resolving to confront Chris, I wiped my tears and steeled myself for what lay ahead.

After searching the campus, I found him in the library—a place he often retreated to. The serene quiet of the space felt almost mocking, contrasting sharply with the storm raging inside me. My hands trembled as I approached him, my breath hitching with a mix of fear and determination.

Chris looked up from his book as I stood before him, my red, swollen eyes betraying the turmoil I felt. For a moment, his gaze flickered with something—perhaps surprise or guilt—but it quickly hardened into his usual mask of indifference.

“Why?” I demanded, my voice trembling but resolute. “Why are you doing this to me? What did I ever do to deserve this cruelty from you?”

For a moment, silence hung heavy between us. Chris' expression remained unreadable, and I began to hope—foolishly—that he might show some trace of remorse. But then, he leaned back in his chair, his lips curling into a disdainful smirk.

“You really want to know?” he asked, his tone dripping with condescension. “You’re nothing more than the daughter of a servant. I don’t owe you an explanation for anything.”

His words cut through me like a blade. I stared at him, stunned, as his gaze bore into mine with icy detachment.

“If you don’t like how things are,” he continued, his voice cold and dismissive, “then leave. Take your family and go. It’s that simple.”

I felt as though the ground had been ripped out from beneath me. My chest tightened as his words sank in. Leave? Couldn’t he see that it wasn’t that simple? My family depended on Chris' family for everything—the roof over our heads, the food on our table, the fragile stability that kept us afloat. Without those jobs, my parents wouldn’t survive. And he knew that.

He knew.

Chris had weaponised that dependency, wielding it against me with cruel precision. My hands clenched into fists at my sides, my nails digging into my palms as I fought back the urge to scream. How could someone who once meant so much to me become this person—cold, heartless, and unrecognisable?

Unable to hold his gaze any longer, I turned on my heel and walked away, my vision blurred with fresh tears. My heart felt heavier than ever, weighed down by the brutal reality of our situation.

As I stepped out of the library, the sunlight stung my eyes, but it was nothing compared to the ache in my chest. I had hoped for answers, for some semblance of understanding, but all I had found was a deeper pit of despair.

Chris had built walls of hatred and cruelty between us, and I wasn’t sure if I could ever tear them down.

But one thing was clear; I couldn’t go on like this.

Something had to change, and I would have to find the strength to make it happen, even if it meant facing the storm head-on.

***

CHRIS’ POV

After striking Judy, I returned home in a haze, my insides churning with a mix of emotions I couldn’t seem to untangle. My footsteps echoed through the empty halls, each one heavier than the last, as if the weight of what I had done was physically dragging me down.

The house, usually a place of calculated calm, felt suffocating tonight.

Once inside, I found myself drawn to the room where my father’s belongings were stored. It was a vast, untouched space—more like a shrine to his memory.

I stood before the shelf that housed his things: his books, photographs, and precious fountain pen; Fulgor Nocturnus— which nobody could afford. My fingers traced the edges of his Rolex watch he used to carry, the cold metal pressing into my skin.

Each item was a reminder of the man he had been—strong, determined, and proud, despite the many injustices life had hurled his way.

I could not forget how my father lost his life because of Judy’s father. That day, George was supposed to drive my father to his very important meeting. However, George, for some reason, refused to work. Despite my father asking him not to back off, he categorically refused.

It was not that he was willing to give a valid reason to my dad. Instead, he said that he could not disclose the purpose for taking a leave. Weird, wasn’t it?

Hence, another driver was hired to replace George. Since it was on such a short notice, my dad had to take a vindictive guy and that cost him his life. Salem had many reasons to kill my father and he had deliberately failed the brakes.

Salem came out with not a single scratch on him, for he had jumped out of the car at the given chance and saved his ass. He was smart enough to jump where he could not get hurt.

The best part was that it was George who had suggested we hire Salem as his replacement.

Anger flared in my chest, hot and unrelenting. It was that anger—the same anger that had driven me to hurt Judy—that I clung to now, as though it were the only thing keeping me from collapsing under the weight of my own guilt.

I had sworn to avenge him, to make her family pay for what they had done, and I couldn’t falter now. Not when I had come this far.

But even as I stood there, gripping the pocket watch like it was a lifeline, Judy’s face swam before my eyes. The image of her pain—those wide, tear-filled eyes, the trembling of her hands, the way her voice cracked when she questioned me—played over and over in my mind, refusing to be silenced.

I squeezed my eyes shut, willing the memory to go away, but it was no use. Her anguished expression was burned into my consciousness, haunting me with every breath. My chest tightened, and I sank into the old armchair in the corner of the room, pressing my palms against my temples as if I could physically push the thoughts out.

Why did her pain affect me so much? I had told myself that she deserved it—that she was part of the same family that had ruined mine. But the truth was far more complicated.

I wasn’t just punishing her for her family’s sins. I was punishing her because I didn’t know how else to deal with the twisted knot of emotions she evoked in me.

I hated her for what her family represented, but I couldn’t ignore the memories of the moments we had shared. The way she used to laugh, carefree and genuine. The way she looked at me when she thought I wasn’t paying attention, her gaze soft and unguarded. Those moments felt like another lifetime now, buried beneath the rubble of hatred and revenge.

But tonight, that hatred felt less certain. It was as though her pain had cracked something in me, something I didn’t want to acknowledge. Yet, no matter how much I tried to push it away, it refused to be ignored.

I glanced down at the pocket watch in my hand, the cool metal grounding me in the present. “This is for you, Dad,” I muttered under my breath, as if saying it aloud would make it easier to believe. “Everything I’m doing… it’s all for you.”

But the words felt hollow.

The room seemed to close in around me, the walls pressing against my chest like a vice. I stood abruptly, shoving the pocket watch back onto the shelf. I couldn’t stay here, couldn’t let myself dwell on these thoughts. If I did, I might lose the resolve I had worked so hard to build.

Yet, as I paced the floor, Judy’s face wouldn’t leave me. Her tear-streaked cheeks, the tremble in her voice, the way she looked at me as though searching for a shred of the person I used to be.