The Unholy Bride: In God's Name, I Kill

Chapter 10: Camila Winter-Steel

For nine years, I've been secretly training my body and mind, pushing myself to prepare for whatever might lie ahead—knowing that one day, I could be faced with a life-or-death situation where physical strength could be the difference. As I stepped off the treadmill in my underground cabin, my breath was heavy and sweat dripped down my forehead, a reminder of the toll this grueling preparation has taken. Every drop, every breath was a sign of my commitment to being ready for anything.

I wiped my sweat and chugged a cold water straight from the pitcher I took out from the fridge, then I fixed my gaze to my bulletin board, unwanted guilt creeping in my chest as I stared at the photographs. These people, except for my husband, did nothing to hurt me.

Catherine could be a bit of a liar and her bubbly personality could be grating at times, but despite that, she was kind to me. Her husband, Enzo, was much the same—always busy with work, so we didn't interact much. Still, whenever he saw me at the mansion, he'd greet me with a smile and crack a joke.

But then there was the photograph in the corner—Mason, my husband's best friend. The way he looked at me two nights ago still sends a chill down my spine. Mason and my husband had been inseparable since college, so it wouldn't surprise me if he carried the same darkness within him. For now, all I could do was dig deeper, gather whatever information I could, and figure out exactly what kind of evil he was hiding.

Across from Mason's photo was Scarlette's. The little girl's smile was wide, showing off her gums and making her eyes disappear. She was the most innocent in this twisted game. Even though she shared the same blood as her father, she didn't share his sins.

They'd be collateral damage, forever maimed in the heart.

Abandoning the bulletin board, I took a seat on the bunk bed and pulled out an old box underneath it, where I hid stacks of letters from my husband when he was in jail for the crime he committed to me. He was sentenced to 12 years in prison, but only served 10 because of good behavior in jail and was granted parole.

In his defense, he argued that he misinterpreted my kindness as an invitation for sexual intercourse when I allowed him into my room at the church because he was drunk and I was concerned for his safety. Leading the court to accept that the case was one of mistaken belief in consent, thereby resulting in a shorter and lighter sentence, especially considering that we had known each other for a month prior to the incident, as I had been reading him the Bible in an effort to help him cope with the death of Thia, his first love.

At the last trial, when the verdict was announced, I already knew I wouldn't get the justice I deserved because the justice system was pretty fucked up. So, I made the decision to take his punishment into my own hands. My family was in tears, overwhelmed with frustration, but I stayed calm because jail wouldn't be enough to make him experience the hell he put me through, anyway.

My father called me a crazy bitch when they found out that I was reaching out to Roman in prison and visiting him there almost every week, but eventually supported me when he discovered my actual reason. He was even proud of me and said that I was indeed a Holloway—smart, wicked, and fierce.

I read my husband's letters and couldn't help but laugh, because I couldn't believe he actually believed all the lies I told him—like the "I love yous," the "I miss yous," and the "I can't wait to see you out of prison." I entertained myself by reading all the letters before placing them back in the box under the bunk bed. Then, I took a shower, making sure to wear the same clothes I had on when I left the mansion.

After I got myself together, I left my hideout because I still needed to pick up Scarlette from school. When I arrived, I parked my car on the side street, carefully scanning my surroundings, feeling like someone was watching me. It had been happening for over a week now—this constant sensation of unseen eyes on me—so I'd been extra cautious.