𝐄𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚 𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭 has known only one thing for a decade-destroy everyone who betrayed her. Everyone has mistaken her silence for a weakness.
Their downfall is inevitable. With each step, ruin draws nearer.
For as long as The Underworl...
A/N: I'm terribly sorry that I've been MIA for so long with no updates. These last couple of months have been one big chaotic mess, starting with preparing for exams, taking my exams, and losing all motivation to write. I didn't want to write without any desire to do it and not give it my all, so I decided to let go of writing for a while to focus on my studies. And since the end of May and the beginning of June, I've been anxiously waiting for my exam results. Just because I took some time off doesn't mean that The Right Shade of Revenge won't be continued. Updates may be slow, but it will be continued. And since it's summer break, I hope I'll be able to write more and update more often since I struck out on the last two summer jobs. And with that, I hope you enjoy it! ♡
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
After the 'meeting', if that's what you'd like to call it, with Dante I've been restless. I kept tossing and turning at night, barely getting any sleep.
It felt like he managed to break through the bulletproof, sky-high barriers I had built around my heart and slipped through the cracks, revealing all the broken pieces that hid beneath the walls. One by one, he picked up the pieces and turned them around, reading the ugly truth behind them.
Knowing that I won't get any sleep, I throw the covers off and walk toward my closet, slipping out of the pajamas I have on into a black sports bra and matching gym shorts.
I make my way out of the bedroom and down the stairs, heading toward the home gym down the hall.
After entering the home gym, I made my way toward the punching bag, but not before wrapping my hands. I began throwing light punches at the bag to warm up, and eventually, after stronger punches, it swung from side to side with the power behind each throw.
Blinding rage overtook me as a sinking feeling crept back, the guilt eating away at me from the inside. The sinking feeling in my stomach made me nauseous the longer I kept throwing punch after punch.
Guilt—the most cruel emotion to exist-never leaves you be, even after making peace with your wrongdoings. It's the worst demon I've had to bear. It has slowly been strangling me from the inside of my body ever since I watched my home burn down with my family inside.
I regret not fighting harder against the hold they had on me as they dragged me farther away from the fire, but never far enough that I couldn't hear the heart-wrenching screams. Those screams echo repeatedly in my head; they never fade.
I can still smell the smoke from the burning wood.
In a hushed tone on a quiet night, it washes over my thoughts, whispering, "I miss them."
Deep down, I knew I would never see or hear them again.
I was jolted back from my haunting thoughts by the stinging sensation in my ripped knuckles. I knew that even though I had wrapped my hands to avoid bruising and tearing the skin around my knuckles, it was a wasted effort as I felt the blood slowly seeping through the cloth and around the tape.
