In the live stream, someone halted the ceremony, showing Declan a phone.
Nora’s face changed as she grabbed Declan’s collar, crying, “Don’t look, Declan, don’t watch. It isn’t true.”
“I didn’t mean it, his fall wasn’t my fault.”
“I didn’t expect the rooftop
to
be so slippery. How was I to know he was so useless, couldn’t even stand!”
Declan shoved her to the ground. Her diamond headband fell, her hair came loose, makeup streaking her face.
Journalists swarmed, snapping photos frantically.
What she dreamt of as a fairytale wedding turned into a grand funeral. Truly embarrassing, yet it thrilled me.
Nora, when I said I’d make you wish for death, I wasn’t just talking.
The scandal ignited a massive uproar. Online, people started listing all the bad things Nora had done growing up.
Some true, some not.
Discussions began about social status, family background, and its impact on a child’s character.
Some said there are kids born bad.
I wholeheartedly agreed.
For the societal harm she caused, Nora was arrested. On that day, she appeared haggard, hiding from the cameras.
Under the relentless flash, she broke into sobs, pleading, “Don’t take pictures, don’t mob me online! I’ve learned my lesson, I swear, please let
me go…”
She finally tasted fear.
She was sentenced to many years.
I heard one of her victims ended up as her cellmate.
I imagine they’ll take good care of her.
Declan, too, suffered from Nora’s downfall. He was blacklisted in the industry, disowned by his family.
Having been a dominating figure, he made many enemies. They pounced, biting back immediately.
First, they uncovered his massive tax issues, draining his wealth.
Then, they sent people to harass him constantly.
Someone caught him being mugged by thugs on a street in the United States. As he fought back, he was stabbed.
His fate remains uncertain.
And there’s a rather amusing bit
David hated chrysanthemums; he always complained about their smell.
I cleaned up his little resting place, leaning beside him to bask in the sun.
His fate remains uncertain.
Here’s a bit of irony for you.
David Johnson’s parents, who once seemed indifferent to him–even at his death–have suddenly become very vocal.
They’re publicly lamenting, claiming Declan was such a dutiful child. They say that despite his temper, he had an upright character.
Their tears appear genuine, yet they can’t even recall his favorite flowers.
They placed a large bunch of chrysanthemums at his grave, which he despised. He always complained about their smell. I had to visit multiple times to clear them away.
I cleaned up his little home, sat beside him, and basked in the sun with him. I wish I could speak to him.
What would I say? Let me see.
Perhaps I’d tell him something he never got to hear: I like you.
