Posted Their Texts, Blocked His Number, Bye - Chapter 9: Chapter 9

He staggered toward me with slow, deliberate steps, but the bodyguards cut him off before he could get close.
His father stood nearby, watching the scene unfold with mounting fury.
The moment Harvey spotted me, his face flushed crimson with rage.
"Babe, marry me. Come back with me," Harvey begged, dropping to one knee in front of me.
The crowd erupted in gasps, every eye locked on us. Forcing a smile, I nudged Torin. "Well? Aren't you going to put the ring on me?"
Torin slid the diamond onto my finger without a word, his expression unreadable.
Harvey stayed kneeling, his legs visibly unsteady. The hand holding his ring trembled violently.
I lifted the hem of my gown and stepped toward him, each movement deliberate.
For a split second, hope flickered in his eyes—but the veins bulging in his bloodshot gaze made him look almost monstrous.
I snatched the ring from his hand and hurled it onto the lawn with all my strength.
"You're too late," I said, my voice like ice.
Harvey lunged to his feet—and without warning, pulled out a knife.
Panic rippled through the front row of guests as they caught sight of the blade.
He moved fast, but his target wasn't me.
Chaos erupted as Harvey charged at Torin, his movements wild and unhinged.
I tried to stop him, but it was already too late.
"Watch out!" someone yelled, shoving me aside.
When I turned back, blood stained the floor—but it wasn't Torin's.
The knife was buried deep in Harvey's own stomach.
His hands, slick with blood, shook as he looked up at me.
"Berenice, it hurts…" His voice cracked.
For a fleeting moment, I was thrown back in time—to the day he'd insisted on cooking and ended up slicing his finger.
That same wounded, pleading look was in his eyes now.
But this time, I wouldn't bandage his wounds. Not ever again.
I rushed to Torin, relieved to find only a shallow cut on his arm.
Someone called an ambulance while others crowded around Harvey, their faces a mix of horror and pity.
His gaze never left me, burning with something raw—but I refused to look back.
Soon, the ambulance whisked him away.
The wedding continued, but the air was thick with tension, the whole scene feeling surreal.
Time passed, and I didn't see Harvey again for years.
Whispers said his father had locked him away.
Rumors spread that he'd tried to end his life multiple times—each attempt stopped at the last second.
Eventually, they brought Leigh to him, hoping she could pull him back from the edge.
It backfired. Harvey turned on her so viciously that by the time they found her, she was barely clinging to life.
She survived—but at a terrible cost. She'd never walk again.
I didn't bother digging for details. I just moved on.
Another year passed. On my birthday, Torin wanted to throw a huge party, but I said no.
Instead, I baked myself a lopsided cake and spent the evening alone.
I'd taken to posting random snapshots of my life on Facebook—little moments I wanted to remember.
One day, Harvey liked one of my posts.
After that, the only updates I got about him came from the news.
Stories about his ruthless rise to power, seizing control of his family's empire in under a year.
Or tabloid gossip about his endless string of girlfriends—all with eerily similar, surgically altered faces.
Then, one night at a restaurant, I ran into him.
He was with a woman, draped all over her.
The second our eyes met, he shoved her away.
His mouth opened like he wanted to explain, but no words came out.
He fidgeted with his coat—pulling it tight, then letting go, over and over.
By the time he finally composed himself, I'd already walked past without a second glance.
After that, the rumors changed.
They said he'd cut every woman from his life, replacing them with male assistants.
He threw himself into charity work. Then came the biggest shock—he adopted a daughter.
And named her Berenice.
He spoiled her rotten—lavishing her with designer clothes, private tutors, anything she wanted.
People whispered she had to be his biological child, given how obsessed he was.
Years slipped by. Then the news broke: Harvey was dying.
By then, his adopted daughter had taken over most of the family's power.
When his will was made public, it revealed half his fortune went to her—the other half to charity.
On his last day—his birthday—his daughter came to see me.
"Dad hoped you'd spend his final birthday with him," she said.
The girl carried herself with a quiet confidence, nothing like the insecurity I'd once feared.
I'd made peace with the past long ago.
But seeing him again, even through his daughter, was a line I couldn't cross.
I wanted that to be my last act of revenge.
Not long after she left, Harvey died that same night.
For the first time in years, I dreamed of him.
In the dream, he lay unconscious in a hospital bed, his frail hand dangling over the side, needles taped to his skin.
Doctors rushed in, pulling a white sheet over his body.
Harvey was gone.
I woke early the next morning.
It was spring. The sun shone brighter than it had in years.