Betrayal and Reckoning in Hornet's Venom

That night, Vince unexpectedly came home.

As soon as he stepped through the door and met my tear-swollen eyes, the relaxed expression on his face twisted into a scowl.

"Why do you keep putting on that miserable look? Who's it for?" he snapped. "So your parents died—what's the big deal? It feels like bad luck just looking at you."

His gaze fell on the mourning band pinned to my sleeve. With a swift motion, he tore it off, his fingers quick and unkind.

"Don't wear that stuff in the house. It's disgusting. If you want to grieve so badly, go back to your parents' home. Don't play the filial daughter in front of me!"

He flung the band to the floor and crushed it under his shoe, grinding it in as if to destroy its very existence.

I stood there, unmoving, watching it all with a blank expression. A thought lingered in my mind: what would he say if he knew I was mourning his parents, not mine?

After venting his anger, Vince retreated to the bedroom and promptly fell asleep, as if none of it mattered.

Quietly, I picked up my phone and made a call.

"Hello, is this the entomology research institute? I have some bees I need identified."

The next morning, before the court session began, my lawyer gave me a glimmer of hope, saying we might still have a chance to win.

Sitting in the plaintiff's seat, I was overwhelmed by nervousness, and I kept swallowing to ease the dryness in my throat.

In contrast, Penny sat poised and serene, a faint smile tugging at her lips. It was as though she wasn't the defendant but a mere bystander.

My lawyer presented the photographs as crucial evidence, his arguments sharp and persuasive.

Just when it seemed the case was heading in our favor, the defense lawyer for Penny made an unexpected move.

"We request an expert evaluation of the cause of death. My client maintains that the deaths were unrelated to bee stings. We have an entomology expert to support our case."

All eyes turned to the witness stand as Vince stepped forward, dressed in a tailored suit and polished leather shoes.

"After conducting thorough research, I can confirm that this species of hornet poses no fatal risk," he declared.

The courtroom erupted in murmurs, his words hitting me like a stone sinking into water, spreading ripples of disbelief and despair.

The judge, taking the expert's testimony into account, ruled Penny not guilty on the spot.

I sat there, dazed, as Penny and Vince celebrated openly. My mind replayed scenes of the time I'd spent with my in-laws, their kind faces and gentle care.

Coming from a troubled family myself, I had found solace in their warmth after marrying Vince. They treated me like I was their precious daughter, often taking me shopping and ensuring I enjoyed life.

Now, they were gone. And their son—my husband—had forged false testimony to protect the very woman who had orchestrated their deaths.

Looking at Vince's unfeeling face, I felt an ache of utter disappointment.

"I want a divorce," I said. "I'm leaving the country for good. I can't live with a monster like you anymore."

My words struck a nerve. Vince exploded with rage.

"Your parents' deaths have nothing to do with me!" he bellowed. "Can't a man just come home to rest without this nonsense? And now you're dragging Penny into it? Your own life is miserable, so you're trying to ruin hers. You deserve to lose your parents!"

Each word cut into me like shards of glass, his venomous tirade leaving no room for escape.

But the bitter truth remained: the dead weren't my parents.

Seeing my silence, Vince sneered, leaning closer.

"Belle, I never thought you'd stoop this low. Your parents die, and you try to take Penny down with them? Have some decency for once."

His voice grew colder. "You're evil. No wonder the heavens punished you. Even the gods couldn't stand the sight of you."

Penny, playing her part, spoke in a soft, trembling voice, her face an imitation of pity.

"Belle, I've never wronged you. Why do you treat me this way?"

Her act was too much for me to bear.

"Cut the crap, you two-faced snake!" I shouted, my anger finally breaking free.

The sudden outburst stunned Penny, who froze, her wide eyes betraying her shock.

"What are you saying? Apologize to Penny right now!" Vince barked, his towering frame blocking me like an insurmountable wall.

Once, he had been my rock, my safe haven. Now, he was the fortress that caged me in.

Just as the tension between us reached its peak, Vince's phone rang, cutting through the suffocating atmosphere like an unexpected breeze in a closed room.

"Mr. Sanders," came a voice from the other end. "There's a report I think you should personally review. It concerns—"

Impatience flared in Vince's voice. "If you have something to say, just say it. I don't have time for this!"

"It's regarding the death investigation of your parents. Your wife commissioned—"

Before the sentence could be completed, Vince ended the call with a sharp flick of his thumb, his fury igniting like dry tinder. Turning to me, his face twisted in anger.

"Belle, have you no shame? You're trying to use me to pin this on Penny?" His words lashed out like a whip. "Let me tell you this—so long as I'm here, nothing will happen to her. You can forget your petty schemes!"

Beside him, Penny leaned into his arm, her posture delicate and submissive. Her voice, soft and trembling, carried the practiced innocence of someone adept at manipulation. "Vince, it's so reassuring to have you here. I'm so frightened…"

My fists clenched at my sides, nails digging into my palms as I fought the overwhelming urge to strike them both, the anger surging in me like a wave too powerful to hold back.

Just then, the door burst open, and a man, breathless and wide-eyed, stumbled into the room.

"Mr. Sanders! You have to see this report! It contains the analysis of your parents' cause of death…"

Vince cut him off with a dismissive wave, irritation flashing across his face. "You've got it wrong. The ones who died were my parents-in-law. Their daughter's right here, so whatever you've got to say, just read it aloud!"

The man hesitated, his eyes darting between us like a cornered animal.

Vince's frown deepened, and he waved impatiently. "What are you afraid of? It's just about the dead. Read it—it's all facts, isn't it?"

I met the man's gaze, giving him a slight nod of encouragement. "Go ahead," I said evenly, my tone daring Vince to maintain his composure through what was about to unfold.

The man's voice came out haltingly, his words stumbling over one another. "This is an analysis report concerning a fatal incident involving the Vespa Mandarinia… victims identified as George and Catherine Sanders…"

The color drained from Vince's face in an instant.

He lunged forward, snatching the report from the man's trembling hands.

His eyes widened as he scanned the pages, the red veins in his eyes flaring like cracks in glass about to shatter. His knuckles whitened as his grip tightened, the paper crumpling under his shaking fingers.

And then, it came—a scream so raw it seemed to tear the air apart.

"Nooo!!!"