Chapter 6
At night, Rosie lay in bed and took out a phone from under her pillow. I then realized that it was my phone. I had no idea when she had taken it.
She opened the pinned chat on WhatsApp, quickly typed out a sentence, and sent it.
Almost immediately, angry shouts rang in my father’s room. “I knew that damn girl faked her death! How dare she threaten me? I don’t have a daughter like her hope she dies out there and stays dead!”
I leaned over to see what Rosie had sent that made him so furious.
Blake: [Old fool, if you terminate my credit card, I’ll kill myself!]
I clucked my tongue in dissatisfaction. That was it? That was so harmless.”
At this point, all I felt for my biological father was hatred and nothing else. I should even thank Rosie for cursing him on my behalf.
Now that I was dead, he could not threaten me anymore.
There were messages from friends trying to reach me on WhatsApp. Rosie read through each of them but did not reply.
Then, she picked up her phone and searched: [Will a 48–year–old woman die from giving birth?]
I knew she was scared that the baby in Queenie’s womb would compete with her for the family fortune.
“You’re doomed. Your mom doesn’t want you anymore. You’re just an outsider in this family. Nobody will like you. Once your little brother is born, everything you have will be taken away–just like how you took everything from me. What goes around comes around.
I spoke gleefully beside her. Things that did not rightfully belong to someone would eventually be returned one day.
Perhaps my words worked as Rosie had a nightmare that night. She was drenched in sweat when she woke up. Her eyes were blank for a few seconds before a determined glint flashed through them. I had no idea what she dreamed of, but it would not be anything good.
The next day, someone came by the villa just before they were about to leave for vacation.
It was my friend. We used to talk every day, but I had not replied to her messages in eight days. She felt that something was wrong, so she came over to my house. “Mr. Xavier, do you know where Blake is? | haven’t been able to get in touch with her for days.”
Seeing her worried expression, I floated over and touched her head. “Don’t worry about me. Just leave.”
My father said, “That ungrateful daughter is doing just fine. You don’t need to worry about her. She even dared to text me and curse me last night. I think she has become too independent. I’ve terminated her credit card. She’ll come back once she runs out of money.”
My friend answered, “That’s impossible. Even if Blake had run away from home, she wouldn’t ignore my messages. Something must have happened to her. I’d better call the police.”
Rosie spoke up, “Blake is just upset with us. There’s no need to call the police. If word about this gets out,
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who knows what outsiders will say?”
She was saying this to my father. As expected, he immediately stopped my friend. “What right do you have to call the police? I’m her immediate family. And suggest you stay out of this. If that little bastard is dead, the police will notify me to collect her body.”
My
My friend knew full well what my family was like and rolled her eyes. She replied, “Mr. Xavier, Blake is your daughter, after all. If you treat her this way, don’t you think the late Mrs. Xavier would be furious? If she knew her beloved daughter was being treated like this by her father, would she come to haunt you at night?”
She was not afraid of my father and held nothing back.
“Hmph. When someone dies, they’re forgotten. I’m not one for superstitions. Even if there’s karma, I have nothing to fear.”
My father was a little ashamed that someone younger had retorted to him like that. He called for Alfred to send my friend away. “Alfred! Alfred!” He called several times before realizing that Alfred had already left and there was not a single household helper left in the house.
My friend did not want to stay any longer and turned around to leave. Before leaving, she could not resist mocking my father, “Since Mrs. Xavier left, this family has been getting worse. Not only can’t you afford a helper, but there’s also a horrible stench in the house. It’s probably the smell of poverty.”
My father came from a poor background. Now that he was wealthy, he was scared of others calling him poor. His expression changed instantly.
However, it was not the smell of poverty but the stench of my corpse. They had been at home with my corpse for days and had long since gotten used to the stench, so they did not find it putrid anymore.
