He Killed My Grandmother for His First Love

Chapter 1

To win a smile from his childhood sweetheart Elaina Mercer, Phillip Murray just stood there and watched, watched as Elaina sicced her dog on my grandmother, Mylee Cantrell. The dog tore into her neck, ripped open her carotid artery.

She died.

That same night, I handed Phillip the divorce papers.

"Sign them. Let's stop wasting each other's time."

Phillip didn't even blink. He crumpled the papers and tossed them in the trash, pure contempt in his eyes.

"It was just a dog bite," he scoffed.

"For all we know, that old woman was filthier than the dog. Elaina didn't even raise a fuss. Why are you being so dramatic?"

The light by the entrance clicked on with a loud snap. Phillip, halfway through taking off his shoes, froze when he spotted me sitting silently on the sofa.

"You're home? Came back without telling me and didn't even turn on the lights, I almost thought we were being robbed," he said, stretching and yawning like nothing had happened.

"Long day. I'm beat."

He looked so relaxed, too relaxed. Like my grandmother's blood wasn't still drying on the sidewalk. Like Elaina's dog hadn't torn through her throat while he did absolutely nothing.

I stared at him, wondering just how many other things he'd let Elaina get away with. The thought made my stomach twist.

Phillip flopped onto the couch and gave me a lazy, commanding look.

I didn't move. Didn't speak.

Back then… whenever he showed even a hint of fatigue, I'd jump up like a servant. Rubbing his shoulders, fetching him water, offering massages that always ended in bed, doing everything I could just to please him, even when it left me drained.

All because I loved him.

But now?

Now, the cold silence between us started to get under his skin.

He frowned. "Why are you just standing there? I told you, I'm tired. My head's pounding, my back's killing me. Come give me a massage…"

His voice trailed off.

He noticed the cigarette between my fingers.

His expression darkened.

"A few days away and you picked up smoking?" he snapped. "Charlee, is this what you've become now? You think degrading yourself makes you look cool?"

I glanced down. The cigarette had burned nearly to the filter, its ember had already singed the skin on my foot, leaving a blackened mark.

But I felt nothing.

I couldn't even remember when I started smoking.

Just yesterday, I didn't.

Wordless, I pulled the crumpled divorce papers from my bag and threw them in his face.

Then, I lit another cigarette.

The flame flickered, casting shadows over Phillip's stunned face.

I smirked.

"Sign it. Let's set each other free."