Charlotte's Death

After concluding my conversation with Alex, the guy I hired, a twisted smile crept across my face, a chilling satisfaction dancing in my eyes. I casually set my phone down nearby, the device now a tool in this dark symphony of retribution that I had orchestrated.

As I basked in the malevolent thoughts swirling in my mind, a sudden realization dawned upon me. The idea of witnessing Charlotte's anguish firsthand ignited a perverse thrill within me. If only I weren't confined to this hospital bed, it would have been a day to savor, a twisted celebration of my vindictive desires.

Oh, the delight it would bring to witness her torment, to see her helpless and desperate, engulfed in the suffocating smoke, her cries for help silenced by the oppressive darkness. Imagining her struggles—her fear-stricken eyes losing their light, her voice reduced to a mere whisper—sent a shiver of perverse pleasure down my spine.

Lost in my dark reverie, I couldn't help but revel in the thought of her suffering