Chapter 8
Victor stretched out his arm, blocking the group’s path with a cold smirk as his gaze landed on Benedict.
“Mr. Gabor, or should I say, someone no longer deserving of that name,” he sneered.
“Benedict, let me remind you. The house you so fondly call ‘home‘ is mine now. And don’t even think about leaving this trash on my doorstep.“‘
I couldn’t help but marvel
at
He had wielded it against
me
Benedict turned from the
my brother’s sharp tongue, as biting as ever.
times growing up, leaving me scarred and battered.
creen, where my pale face stared back at him, to face Victor.
“Victor, this house is all I have left of Kendra. I won’t let you take it away from me.”
“Oh, now, he remembers. Now, he cherishes the memories of us in that house. How ironic,” I thought.
When I was alive, he let Tylor run wild through those halls, tearing apart everything meaningful to me. But now, it suddenly holds
Victor raised an eyebrow, his demeanor
as carefree as ever.
“Is that so? Then, let’s see if you have the guts
take
it back.”
Benedict clenched his fists, his knuckles turning pale.
“Victor! You’re no better than me! Your sister is dead, and you’re here arguing over property instead of mourning her!”
Victor’s smirk faded, replaced by a shadow of anger.
“Take these clowns out of here,” he ordered sharply. “I don’t want them sullying my sister’s peace.”
The servants, sensing Victor’s mood, wasted no time. Without an ounce of hesitation, they escorted Benedict and Tylor out of the house.
Victor stepped further inside, pausing briefly in front of my portrait. His head remained stubbornly turned away, refusing to meet my gaze.
Even in death, seeing him like this twisted my heart with pain.
My brother, so proud and so cold, still couldn’t bring himself to forgive me. He wouldn’t even look at me.
The room was silent now, only Victor standing there, his shoulders taut with suppressed emotion.
A few moments later, faint sobs broke the stillness. Victor sank to the floor, burying his face in his knees as he cried, his whole body shaking with grief.
I admit, the sight stunned me.
I had thought that my death might bring Victor some measure of peace, that he would finally feel unburdened. Never did I expect to see him cry for me like this.
“Kendra! How could you be so cruel?”
C
3
<
As he blamed me, I didn’t feel anything.
After all, I had heard them before, countless times throughout our lives.
However, I never blamed him.
He had been the cherished child, doted on by my mother, who raised him with love and care despite the hardships.
Our family wasn’t well–off then. My parents worked tirelessly to build their careers, enduring countless struggles.
Victor, meanwhile, faced ridicule and bullying at school, but he never complained.
Then, I was born. My arrival was a disaster.
My mother died giving birth to me. My father, just beginning to see the fruits of his labor, spiraled into despair and abandoned his ambitions. Last year, he fell ill and passed away.
Back then, Victor was left to shoulder everything. He dropped out of school, took on the weight of our family’s survival, and cared for a speechless infant and a broken father.
His bitterness toward me was inevitable. He never smiled at me, never showed kindness. I grew accustomed to his coldness.
But while his words were harsh, his actions spoke differently. Victor never hesitated to spend money on me, no matter how tight things were.
It was his support that allowed me to pursue my dream of playing the piano. For that, I was always grateful, though he always said he hated
