The White Moonlight Chapter 8

Perhaps it was Brandon's manipulation and betrayal, or perhaps it was my death, that drove Rebecca to the breaking point.

She started ransacking the house, searching for anything related to me.

But she couldn't find much. She had already thrown away most things related to me in this house. The only thing left was a wedding photo in the guest bedroom.

She walked straight to that photo, cut out my half with scissors, pressed it against her chest, and cried her heart out.

For three days straight, she locked herself in the house and wouldn't come out, until news came that I was to be buried, and only then did she surface.

My body had been cremated abroad before being brought back. Because I had transmitted the specific location of the criminals to the authorities before being captured, contributing to their arrest, my remains were laid to rest in Elm City's Martyrs' Cemetery.

When my sister was kneeling before my grave, crying inconsolably, Rebecca came to my graveside.

"It's fake. All of this is fake." Her voice was hoarse as she kicked over the burning paper basin, sending sparks flying everywhere.

My sister gathered all her strength and slapped her hard. "Smack!" After the crisp sound, Rebecca's face swelled red.

Perhaps it wasn't enough to vent her anger—she slapped her again, one after another, hitting until Rebecca's face was grotesquely swollen and blood trickled from her mouth, but she didn't stop.

Marcus stood nearby with no intention of intervening. My sister kept crying out: "If only you had waited a little longer that day, if only you had answered one call, Daniel wouldn't have been tortured to death! It's you, it's you—you're the one who deserves to die!"

The more she spoke, the more agitated she became. I don't know where she found the strength, but she picked up the basin that had been pushed aside and smashed it directly onto Rebecca's head.

Rebecca didn't dodge. She just stood there with her head down, staring straight at my photo on the tombstone, letting the blood spread.

She stood there for a long time, motionless. Even after my sister and the others left, she showed no reaction.

It wasn't until the entire cemetery was empty that she suddenly moved, crouching down to caress my tombstone, smiling in an unnervingly eerie way: "Are you really dead? I remember you weren't such a petty person. Even if I made you unhappy, you should have been forgiving. Why did you have to go and die?"

She gripped the tombstone tightly, her voice exceptionally low: "No, you need to get up and answer me." With that, she suddenly started clawing at my grave like a madwoman, the stones scraping her hands until blood flowed, but she acted as if she felt nothing, digging frantically.

But stones weren't so easily moved. The grave didn't budge an inch.

My soul floated in mid-air, watching her try to dig up my grave. I almost wanted to laugh. All the evidence proved that I was thoroughly dead, so what was she doing now?