Chapter 10
The next time I saw Benedict’s face, he was already sentenced to life imprisonment.
At the press conference, his unhinged rage led to Tylor being struck unconscious. Despite efforts to save her, she didn’t survive.
Now, his emaciated, jaundiced face filled the screen before me. I only wanted to curse him, telling him that this was his retribution.
His eyes were vacant, lips murmuring incoherent words.
Curious, I leaned closer to listen.
“Kendra… Kendra isn’t dead. She wouldn’t die. She’s just hiding from me… still mad at me.”
A prison guard banged on the cell bars, shouting for him to be quiet.
But Benedict, like a man possessed, clawed at the iron door, his gaze frantic.
“Open the door! Kendra can’t find me if I’m locked up! She’ll be worried!”
The quard seemingly used to these outbursts, barked back. “That Kendra you’re babbling about is long dead. And you’re never getting out.”
12:57 PM
<
“Kendra… Kendra isn’t dead. She wouldn’t die. She’s just hiding from me… still mad at me.”
A prison guard banged on the cell bars, shouting for him to be quiet.
But Benedict, like a man possessed, clawed at the iron door, his gaze frantic.
“Open the door! Kendra can’t find me if I’m locked up! She’ll be worried!”
The guard, seemingly used to these outbursts, barked back, “That Kendra you’re babbling about is long dead. And you’re never getting out.”
Benedict froze for a moment. Then, as if possessed by despair, he lunged toward the wall, attempting to slam his head into it.
“Kendra hasn’t forgiven me yet,” he muttered. “I have to find her… she still hates me.”
Several guards rushed in, wrestling him to the ground until he calmed down.
From their muttered conversations, I learned that Benedict repeated this scene daily. The bruises on his forehead were proof of his madness.
He was completely broken. No wonder he had been overreacting after my funeral.
And yet, I felt no pity. This was the fate he had earned.
As my awareness began to fade, I hurried toward Victor, desperate to see him one last time before my spirit completely dissolved.
But what I saw next startled me. Victor was in a hospital room.
On the bed lay Anton.
After witnessing Benedict’s downfall in the news, Anton had collapsed and, upon waking, was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s.
Now, he was confined to this hospital, wasting away.
Victor sat by the bedside, scrutinizing the frail figure of the man who had once loomed over our lives.
Anton, realizing Victor’s gaze, began to avoid eye contact, feigning confusion.
“Stop pretending. I know you’re not sick,” Victor said, his voice dripping with disdain.
Anton turned his head, feigning innocence, and asked, “Young man, who are you?”
Victor chuckled, tossing the fruit he had brought onto the table.
As he reached the door, he left one parting remark.
“You’ve spent your whole life pretending to be oblivious. Might as well keep at it.”
My heart clenched. So, Anton had been faking it all along.
The Gabor bloodline, it seemed, was tainted with cowardice.
Whether it was Anton feigning illness in a hospital bed or Benedict losing his mind in
a
I followed Victor as he exited the hospital.
Standing under the open sky, he exhaled deeply and looked
“Kendra, I avenged you,” he said softly.
“And next time… choose a better life. Don’t end up with
me again.”
As my consciousness began to dissolve into the ether, tears streamed down my face.
Given the chance, I would tell him, “I have no regrets being your sister.”
prison cell, they were both experts at escaping reality.
