Chapter 201: The Judgement
"Did you know..." Emily whispered, her voice quiet, steady, and terrifyingly cold in the silent room. "...Mother died yesterday?"
Victor froze.
The frantic, desperate excuses lodged in his throat died on his tongue. His bloodshot eyes blinked once, twice, staring at Emily as if he had suddenly forgotten how to speak human language.
"M-Mother...?" Victor stammered out, his voice cracking into an ugly, pathetic squeak. "Beatrice... she... she was just sick, Emily! You know she was frail! I—I was going to get her a better doctor next week! I swear to you, I was going to—"
"She was poisoned, Father. Not sick," Emily cut him off, her voice flat and completely devoid of emotion.
The word Father dripped from her lips like pure, burning venom.
"She was being poisoned over the years," Emily continued, taking one slow, deliberate step forward that made Victor flinch violently against his chains. "I secretly sneaked a doctor into the estate to check her, and he found traces of a slow-acting poison that destroyed her ability to eat properly or even walk. She was slowly dying right in front of us, and without the cure or knowing what kind of poison it was, we couldn’t treat it!"
Emily’s brown eyes flashed with a dark, terrifying glint as her voice rose, tearing through the silent cellar.
"I begged you to take her to a real hospital, but you refused! I tried taking her myself, but every single time, Eleanor stopped me, and those two made life an absolute hell for me!" Emily gestured sharply toward Clara and Johan, her whole frame vibrating with pure, unadulterated rage. "I was completely cornered! I had no power, and nowhere to run!"
She stepped right up to Victor, leaning down until she was inches from his pale, trembling face.
"And while her heart was stopping on that cold wooden attic floor..." Emily whispered, her voice dropping into an icy, razor-sharp hiss, "you were downstairs in the main parlor, drinking expensive wine with the monster who paid to steal my twin sister from the delivery room."
Eleanor’s breath hitched, her bloodied lips trembling as she tried to spit out another curse, but the sheer, crushing weight of Emily’s words choked the sound right out of her throat.
"I tied a rope around my neck because I thought I had nothing left," Emily continued, turning her cold gaze toward Johan.
Johan shrank back into his iron chair, shaking like a leaf. "Emily... baby, please..."
"You are my husband, and yet three days ago you hit me because I simply asked for you to help me take my mother to the hospital," Emily said, her expression mirroring April’s unblinking detachment. "And you, Clara... you laughed when you locked the attic door from the outside yesterday."
Clara opened her mouth to snarl another insult, but when her eyes met Emily’s, the fierce coldness in those brown eyes made Clara’s throat go completely dry. The helpless, fragile woman they had tortured for years was gone. Standing before them was a ghost reborn from the ashes of their cruelty.
"I don’t remember how long I banged on that for, begging you to let me out because mother’s breath was slowing down," Emily said as she looked at her hands. "I pleaded over and over but no one... not even my own father would listen to me. I had money, the one I took from all the transactions you made me do and didn’t notice. But what could that money do when I could not even take my mother out of the house?" Her voice broke.
It was the very reason she went to the black market, thinking she could get something, anything with the money she had, to save her mother. When she could not find anything, she heard people speaking about an accurate seer and thought that would be the only way to know the fate ahead of them. The fate ahead of her mother.
And yet... It all fell to naught and her mother died anyway.
Emily slowly straightened her spine, smoothing down the trousers April had given her. She turned her head slightly to look at April, then glanced back at the four tied, filthy figures before her.
"After another died, I asked myself if I had a reason to keep breathing," Emily murmured, her voice carrying a quiet, absolute weight that echoed against the damp concrete walls. "My sister told me I didn’t need a grand, heroic purpose. She said living out of pure spite... or living to watch your enemies rot... is more than enough."
A low, dark chuckle escaped Nat from the back of the room. "Told you it was effective."
Emily took a slow breath, her posture solidifying into an unshakeable, iron ridge.
"I won’t kill you," Emily stated flatly.
Victor’s face instantly lit up with a pathetic, gasping gasp of relief. "Oh, thank God! Emily, my sweet child—"
"Because death is far too merciful for what you did to my mother," Emily finished, cutting his pathetic hope into bleeding pieces. She looked at April, her dark brown eyes gleaming with an absolute, uncompromising resolve. "April... throw them in a hole. Strip them of everything they own, leave them in the dark, and feed them just enough so they don’t die. I want them alive when the world burns. I want them to see the hell you described... and I want them to know they are going to suffer through it at the very bottom of the food chain."
Silence fell over the subterranean cellar.
Behind his thin silver frames, Dr. Oliver Baxter’s stylus flew across his tablet screen, writing a rapid psychological note: Subject Emily Gabriel has successfully integrated radical spite therapy. Psychological transformation: 100% complete.
Nat’s face split into a wide, predatory, thoroughly delighted grin. He pushed off the wall, walking forward and clapping his hands together. "Now that is my kind of verdict. Sweetheart, your twin is an absolute natural."
Xavier stood near the doorway, his dark eyes resting on April and Emily with a quiet, grounded approval. "Samuel. Make the arrangements. Secondary subterranean holding cells, minimal caloric intake, zero light."
"Right away, Mr. Reed," Samuel replied smoothly, stepping out to give the orders to the compound guards.