My first crush (COMPLETED)√

Chapter 91: Revenging at last

Sharon's POV

Darkness wrapped around me like a heavy blanket.

Voices floated in and out of my consciousness — distant at first, then clearer.

"I guess it's sooner than we thought," Patricia's voice said, smooth and calculating. "I was planning on kidnapping her on her wedding day... but she left me no choice. Take this. I'll double it when the job is done."

My mind struggled to catch up.

Money rustled. A zipper opened.

"How much is in here?" a deep voice asked. I could almost hear the weight of the bag shifting in his hands.

"Thirty-five thousand dollars," Patricia replied calmly. "But that's just the beginning. Take care of her."

A low chuckle followed.

"When you say take care of her," another voice said — darker, colder — "you mean torture."

"That's right," Patricia answered without hesitation. "But don't kill her. Not yet. Death is too easy. I want her to suffer. I want her to feel everything."

The words sliced through the fog in my head.

Pain began to register — sharp, throbbing pain at the back of my skull. My wrists burned. My shoulders ached. Something rough bit into my skin.

I forced my eyes open.

The world was blurry, spinning. My head was bent forward, chin nearly touching my chest. When I tried to move, ropes tightened around my wrists and ankles. I was tied to a chair.

Panic rushed through me.

Then I saw her.

Patricia.

Standing a few feet away, arms folded, watching me like I was nothing more than a project she'd completed.

"Oh my God..." My voice cracked. "Patricia, what are you doing?"

I struggled against the ropes, but they only dug deeper into my skin.

She turned slowly, her lips curving into a cruel smile.

"Oh. The bitch is finally awake."

Her tone held no trace of the sister I once knew.

Tears blurred my vision. "Why are you doing this to me?"

She laughed — a hollow, bitter sound.

"Why?" She walked toward me, heels clicking against the concrete floor. The room was cold, unfinished, dimly lit by a single flickering bulb. The air smelled of dust and rust.

She grabbed my jaw, fingers pressing painfully into my cheekbones.

"How can you even ask me that?"

Her grip tightened.

"Maybe you need a reminder."

The slap came fast and hard. My head snapped to the side, and I tasted blood.

"First," she began, her voice shaking with rage, "you stole the only thing I ever loved."

Another slap.

"Then you took my family from me. My happiness. My life!"

Her breathing grew heavier, more unstable.

"And the worst part? You took everything my father owns. You manipulated him into giving you what was mine!"

"What are you talking about?" I whispered, genuinely confused.

"Stop pretending!" she screamed, striking me again. "You tried to be better than me. Prettier. Smarter. More deserving. He was never like this before you!"

Her voice cracked on the last words.

I felt my own tears fall freely now. "I'm sorry... I never meant for it to feel like that. Patricia, this isn't the right way."

Regret pierced through me. I had hurt her. Dating her ex. Breaking whatever fragile bond we had left. But I never imagined it would lead here.

"I love Stephen," I whispered helplessly. "I can't undo that."

Her eyes hardened.

"It's too late," she said coldly. "You made me this way."

She stepped back, nodding at the men.

The sound of a blade sliding free echoed in the room.

My heart pounded violently against my ribs.

The dark-skinned man stepped forward, a knife glinting under the dim light. I tried to twist away, but the ropes held firm.

"No— please—"

The blade grazed my arm.

Fire exploded across my skin.

My scream filled the room.

⸻

Stephen's POV

Sharon didn't come home.

At first, I told myself she was fine. She said she was visiting a friend. I didn't push for details — I trusted her.

By morning, my patience had turned to unease.

By night, unease turned to fear.

Her phone was off. GPS tracking showed nothing. It was like she'd vanished.

"What the hell is going on..." I muttered, running a hand through my hair for the hundredth time.

I called Carly. Nothing.
Called her father. He hadn't seen her.

Hours turned into a day.
A day turned into three.

Three days.

I barely slept. Barely ate. I didn't even recognize myself in the mirror — unshaven, exhausted, clothes wrinkled. None of it mattered.

All I could think about was Sharon.

And our baby.

Every second without her felt like suffocation.

Mr. Peter suggested waiting before involving the police. I agreed — reluctantly — but my instincts screamed that something was wrong.

On the third day, I drove to his mansion.

The house felt too quiet.

As I climbed the stairs, something caught the corner of my eye.

A small silver glint on the floor.

My heart skipped.

I bent down slowly.

It was her ring.

The engagement ring I slid onto her finger.

Cold dread spread through me.

"She was here," I whispered to myself, closing my fist tightly around it.

"She was here."

Footsteps echoed behind me.

I turned sharply.

Patricia stood at the top of the stairs, her expression flickering — surprise, then something else. Something almost... afraid.

I slipped the ring into my pocket, my jaw tightening.

"What is Sharon's engagement ring doing here?" I asked, my voice dangerously calm. "That only means one thing."

Silence stretched between us.

"She was here."

And suddenly, I knew.

Something terrible had happened.