𝐏𝐨𝐢𝐬𝐨́𝐧 𝐈𝐯𝐲

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏𝟏.

ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ : ▮▮▮▮▮▮▯▯▯
Posion, Brent Fiyaz🎶🎧

Smiley's Pov
As the police departed from Ivy's residence, I was aware that their visit was prompted by their concerns into the fate of my parents. To be careful, I refrained from eavesdropping on the audio feed or monitoring the surveillance footage from the cameras I had installed in her home while the authorities were present. Ivy remained oblivious to the subtle crimson light that illuminated when the cameras were activated, but I had concerns that the police officers would take notice.

Upon their observation, I understood that this would cast Ivy as the unwitting victim, though this detail remained undisclosed. Should they observe the camera's odd placement, Ivy would surely confess her lack of involvement, thereby directing all suspicion towards me through the evidence of fingerprints.

I was eager and longing to witness the feigned confused expression on her face. I yearned to see her struggle with guilt and squirm uncomfortably as they interrogated her. That same look of distress in her eyes evoked unfamiliar emotions within me. It was a similar feeling to a baby's reaction of tasting candy for the first time.

I bided my time, hidden within my vehicle parked at a discreet distance from Ivy's residence. Observing through the rearview mirror, I watched the police cruiser glide past, oblivious to my presence. Once they had vanished from sight, I fired up the engine and hastened back down the street, homing in on Ivy's place.

Pulling into her driveway, the automatic garage doors slowly opened, granting me access. It seemed like she conveniently "forgot" to lock them, but I couldn't help but think that it was her way of secretly hoping I would visit more often. With a chuckle, I parked the car inside the garage, turned off the engine, and hopped out, closing the door with a satisfying slam.

With my black hoodie pulled over my head, I reached into my front pockets and retrieved a screwdriver, my fingers grazing against my glock in the process. Approaching the imposing gray door, I skillfully began picking the lock with the screwdriver. After a few intense minutes of grappling with the stubborn lock, it finally yielded to my efforts.

As I entered the house, a rush of cool air brushed against my face, accompanied by the potent scent of bleach and lavender. I arched an eyebrow in mild surprise at Ivy's absence on the ground floor, tucking the screwdriver back into my pockets. The house was enveloped in a serene quietness, interrupted only by the familiar voice of Judge Judy emanating from the TV in the background.

All of a sudden, an ear-splitting bark pierced through the air, causing me to instinctively cringe at the sudden assault on my delicate eardrums. Startled, I swiftly turned around, my eyes widening at the sight of Ivy's ridiculously tiny Pomeranian puppy scampering towards me on its dainty little legs.

Instead of resorting to kicking it away, I let out an annoyed sigh and gently nudged it aside. "I should've dealt with your ass from the beginning when I had the chance," I muttered, shooting a harsh glare at the puppy. Ignoring the barks, I let out a scoff and brushed past the mutt, my focus fixated solely on the stairs ahead. With each step, my gaze remained fixed on my own footsteps, tracing their path as I ascended the staircase.