Married To My Ex-Husband’s Rival

Third–person POV

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Marlene sat in the dimly lit room, the glow of the screen illuminating her face as she watched the video of Amber’s accident, the images playing out in a never–ending loop. Her eyes were glazed over with a manic intensity as she replayed the moment of impact, finding a perverse sense of joy in the destruction that unfolded before her eyes.

As the video played on, Marlene’s fingernails absentmindedly picked at the skin of her palm, a nervous tic that had become more pronounced in her moments of heightened emotion. Her breaths came in shallow gasps, her mind consumed by a twisted fixation on the sight of Amber’s car tumbling helplessly

a cruel smile playing on her lips as she whispered, “Die, die, die,” like an incantation that echoed

in the stillness of the room.

Dark circles ringed in her bloodshot eyes, a testament to the sleepless nights she had experienced in the past few days while obsessing over her vendetta against her older sister.

Ever since Angela’s call informing her of the successful attempt on Amber’s life, Marlene has been

consumed by a single–minded obsession with seeing her sister’s demise, a deep–seated desire for

closure that gnawed at her like a festering wound.

Her people had been dispatched to gather information on Amber’s condition, their sole purpose being

to bring her news of the one thing Marlene craved above all else: confirmation of Amber’s death. To

Marlene, only with Amber’s death came the promise of peace and vindication, a beautiful end that she

believed would finally free her from the suffocating weight of her sister’s existence.

But as she watched the video, a drop of blood splattered onto the screen of her phone, and a sudden

jolt of pain broke through her manic reverie. Marlene’s gaze dropped to her hand, her eyes widening

in shock as she saw the raw, bloody spot where her fingers had dug into her flesh with unrelenting

force, driven by a primal urge to see Amber’s demise come to fruition.

A surge of rage swept through her, a primal fury that pulsed through her veins like wildfire. “She’s not dead yet, she’s not dead yet, Marlene chanted, the words a frenzied litany that reverberated through the room, a fevered mantra that fueled her mounting anger.

The realization that Amber could still be very much alive, like a thorn in her side, stoked the

flames of Marlene’s wrath, driving her to the brink of madness as she grappled with the twisted

Marlene stood in the center of her room, her chest heaving with a volatile mix of rage and despair. Without warning, she snatched her phone from the bed and hurled it across the room with a guttural scream, the device shattering against the far wall with a resounding crash.

In a frenzied frenzy, Marlene’s actions escalated, her manic energy driving her to unleash chaos on her surroundings. With wild abandon, she seized anything within reach–cosmetics, pillows, perfumes, flower vases–and sent them flying across the room in a whirlwind of destruction.

The air grew thick with the

a fevered chant, “Die, Am Ound of shattering glass and splintering wood as Marlene’s voice rose in

a fevered chant, “Die, Amber, die, die, die,” a chilling litany of hatred that echoed off the walls.

Tears streamed down her face unchecked, mingling with the streaks of rage that painted her cheeks as she continued on an outrage. Her cries grew louder, a desperate plea for release from the torment that gripped her soul as she wailed.

“I can’t find peace until you’re dead, Amber!” She screamed, her voice shaky with anger.

In a sudden, jarring motion, Marlene’s body convulsed, her hands reaching out in a frantic grasp as she collapsed to her knees and crawled beneath her bed. Shadows danced in the dim light, casting twisted shapes across the room as Marlene’s mind played cruel tricks on her fractured psyche.

Amber’s spectral form materialized before her, a taunting sight that haunted Marlene’s every waking moment. The sound of mocking laughter filled the room, a cruel echo that reverberated in the empty spaces of her mind as Amber’s voice twisted with malice, calling Marlene a coward, a failure, a wretched creature unworthy of love or redemption.

Marlene’s screams pierced the air, a cacophony of raw anguish as she struck out blindly, her hands beating against her skull in a desperate bid to silence the tormenting voices that echoed in her ears. The weight of Amber’s cruel words bore down on her like a crushing weight, threatening to drag her into the depths of her own self–loathing.

Amidst the chaos of her hallucinations, a glint of light caught Marlene’s eye–a shattered shard of glass that was within reach. In that moment, she felt a sense of helplessness hit her hard as she reached for the glass shard, with words of self–deprecation tumbling from her lips: “I don’t deserve to live; I’m not worthy.”

As the voices grew louder, urging her to the verge of giving up, Marlene’s grip tightened around the glass, the sharp edge cutting into her skin as she held it close to her wrist and was about to let it tear into her flesh. But in the final, fleeting moment before she succumbed to the darkness that

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threatened to consume her, a spark of realization flickered in her eyes.

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Coming to her senses at the last minute, Marlene threw the glass away, the shard clattering to the Text © owned by NôvelDrama.Org.

floor as it dawned on her what she could have done to herself again.

In her moment of clarity, she’d recall Amber’s words to her a few months ago, “I’ll make you

Start

cutting yourself again, just like the good old days,” and realize that, true to Amber’s words, she

had almost cut herself again, just like she had done a few times when she was younger.

Tears would immediately start streaming profusely down her cheeks as she crumpled to the ground, her ragged sobs mingling with the echoes of Amber’s voice, mocking her in a way that tormented her.

Her loud sobbing echoed through the room, and tears streamed down her cheeks, her heart aching with a

pain that consumed her whole being.

And just when she felt both physically and emotionally battered, a loud knock reverberated through the room, jolting Marlene out of her despair. She struggled to push herself off the floor, her

trembling limbs refusing to obey her.

Tiredly, she clawed her way toward the door, her movements slow and labored. Reaching the door at last, Marlene’s chest heaved with exertion as she stretched out a weary hand to unlock it.

Before she could even utter a word of invitation, the door flew open, and her mother, Mary, walked in

with a concerned look on her face.

Mary’s eyes widened in surprise at the scene that greeted her–the sight of her daughter huddled on the floor, looking like the most miserable version of herself. “Marlene, what’s… what’s happening? What is wrong with you?” she questioned worriedly.

Wild–eyed and consumed by rage all over again at the sight of her mother, Marlene charged toward Mary with frightening speed, her voice a furious scream of accusation that pierced the deafening silence

of the room.

“It’s all your fault! You ruined me!” She yelled angrily with tears streaming down her face.

Mary’s eyes widened in shock, a/gasp escaping her lips as she recoiled from her daughter’s sudden accusation. Before she could even comprehend what was happening, Marlene’s hands shot out with startling force, her fingers curling around her mother’s throat.

A strangled cry escaped Mary’s lips, her eyes wide with horror as she felt the pressure of Marlene’s

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startling force, her fingers curling around her mother’s throat.

A strangled cry escaped Mary’s lips, her eyes wide with horror as she felt the pressure of Marlene’s

grip slowly choking the life out of her.

“Marlene, stop! Please, stop!” Mary’s words were choked, her plea to Marlene to stop hurting her

falling on deaf ears, as Marlene’s grip tightened and her eyes were as emotionless and void as those

of an outraged and mentally unstable person.