My Revenge Begins After My Death

I decided to die on my 28th birthday. It was not suicide but homicide... by my dear sister, Susan Bruno. I had always known that she would kill me.

I told my older brother, Barry Bruno, and he said, "Charlotte, don't always think so badly of Susan."

I told my fiancé, Calvin Simmon, and he said, "You're making up a story to draw attention again."

Hence, I decided to give them the evidence they wanted most—a corpse.

I installed seven cameras, set up an automatic sending program, and wrote a farewell letter. I left clues for the killer, bait for Susan, and a time bomb for my family.

Today, Susan texted: [Charlotte, Dad has something for you at the safe house.]

I replied: [Coming.]

Before leaving, I checked my to-do list one last time. Everything was checked off, except for one thing: death.

I would die. They would never know that the moment my heart stopped beating... the countdown to revenge had only just begun.

I never thought I would die in the Bruno family's safe house. How ironic. It was clearly a safe house, but it turned out to be the place where Susan Bruno killed me.

My soul floated beside my own corpse, watching the blood slowly solidify. The corpse in the black gown was curled up on the concrete ground, lying in a pool of blood like a discarded doll.

I never thought that so much blood could flow out of my body.

The killers were wiping their fingerprints with such proficiency that it was chilling. The leader was Marco Honduras, Susan's personal bodyguard.

Marco whispered, "Clean it up. Ms. Bruno said the cement won't arrive until tomorrow or the day after tomorrow."

Cement—what a familiar mafia tactic!

Whenever my father executed a traitor, he would always say, 'Give him a concrete coffin and let him remain silent forever.'

Now, I was going to be 'silenced' at home.

Music came from upstairs. It was upbeat jazz.

Today was Susan's coming-of-age dinner. It was also my birthday, but no one remembered it.

Marco and the others left and locked the door.

The basement was plunged into darkness. Only my corpse silently lay there, but my soul could see everything. I saw the hidden camera flashing red in the ventilation duct. It was recording everything, transmitting it to the cloud storage I had preset.

The password was 0713—the day I met Calvin Simmon.

How ridiculous. Even my password in this act of revenge was related to him.

What was even more ridiculous was that my soul drifted into the banquet hall, where I saw Calvin in a black suit standing beside Susan, looking at her tenderly. My sister, the person who killed me, was wearing a white dress and smiling at Calvin like some pure princess.

The banquet hall was brightly lit. Calvin and Susan looked like the perfect couple.

When he proposed to me back then, Calvin had solemnly promised, "You are the only love of my life."

Now, he stood beside Susan, his arm wrapped loosely around her waist.

Susan raised her champagne glass. "Thank you all for coming to my coming-of-age ceremony. It's a pity Charlotte couldn't make it today..."

She lowered her eyelids with just the right amount of sadness.

My mother... No, my stepmother walked over and hugged her. "Don't be upset, Susan. Charlotte has always been wilful."

Wilful—what a word.

My attending the family meeting with a 40-degree fever was wilful.

My taking a bullet for my older brother, Barry Bruno, was wilful.

My designing the perfect money laundering route to double the family's assets was also wilful.

What about Susan?

Her breaking an antique vase was 'innocent and cute'.

Her disrupting a smuggling deal was her being 'still young and needing training'.

She was the Principessa of the Bruno family, and I was nothing.

Barry walked over and handed Susan a gift box. "Happy birthday, Susan."

Inside was a custom Colt pistol—Dad's favorite, which he said he would pass on to the child who most resembled him. I thought it would have been me.

I had the best shot; I could hit the bullseye from 50 yards away when I was ten. My father had patted my head then. "Charlotte, you were born to handle a gun."

However, he never praised me again because Susan said it was scary for girls to hold guns.

Thus, Dad put the gun away and said, "Charlotte, you must be gentle like Susan."

Now that I was dead, the gun was passed to Susan.

She smiled and held up the gun, "Barry, this is heavy."

"I'll teach you." Barry took her hand, his movements as gentle as if he were handling something fragile.

He had never taught me like that. He always said, "Charlotte, you can do it yourself."

Yes, I could do everything myself. That was why I did not deserve to be treated gently.