Chapter S
“I can’t hold on much longer!” I cried, bringing the dagger toward my throat with one hand while the other desperately gripped the blade, as if one part of me was fighting against another.
“She’s showing exactly the same symptoms as the previous wives before their deaths!” Callum exclaimed, his face
ashen.
“God have mercy! Why does heaven torment the Forrester fainily so?” Mrs. Forrester wailed. “We’ve given generously to charity, donated millions to those in need–why are we being punished like this?”
Many in the crowd genuinely sympathized with her.
Putting themselves in her position, how long could they have endured such a cursed existence?
By now, my dagger was pressed against my throat, but thankfully professional police officers intervened, restraining me more effectively than the security guards.
Simultaneously, my father stepped forward from the crowd.
Enough with the theatrics, all of you!” he called out coldly, looking at me and Mrs. Forrester,
His statement left everyone bewildered.
Theatrics? Who’s acting? What’s going on here?”
Can someone please explain what’s happening?”
The crowd buzzed with confusion, but my father stood silently until the murmuring subsided.
You staged this whole drama just to draw me out, didn’t you? Well, I’m here now. Arrest me!” my father said, his voice ice–cold.
Instantly, everyone stared at him in shock.
What? Mr. Vincent is the killer? How is that possible? How could a bakery owner murder all those brides?”
Mr. Vincent, are you running a fever? Stop causing trouble!”
No one believed my father’s confession.
After all, in their eyes, he was just a hardworking bakery owner. If he truly possessed the skills to kill so many people without being caught, why would he be content selling pastries?
“Mr. Vincent, if you’re in some kind of trouble, just tell us. Is someone forcing you to take the blame?” someone asked from the crowd.
Chapter 5
This question ignited a new wave of speculation.
Conspiracy theories always captured people’s imagination the fastest.
My father responded to their theories with a scornful laugh.
“How many times must I repeat myself before you’ll believe me? I am the killer–that’s the truth. Is it so hard to accept a confession these days?”
My father regarded the crowd coolly.
His current demeanor bore no resemblance to the mild–mannered baker they knew. He had the cold composure of a professional assassin!
Then he approached me, pulling something from his pocket and giving it to me to swallow.
“Feeling better now?” he asked, gently stroking my hair.
I stared at him blankly. After taking the tablet he gave me, all the previous symptoms vanished completely, and the police no longer needed to restrain me.
“This…”
Everyone was dumbfounded.
The fact that I recovered immediately after taking whatever my father gave me seemed conclusive evidence.
“Mr. Vincent, what have you been hiding from us all these years?” someone called out.
“What possible grudge could you have against the Forresters that would make you kill so many innocent women?”
asked another.
Amid the barrage of questions, Mrs. Forrester trembled as she approached my father.
“Mr. Vincent, could you please explain why you’ve targeted our family this way?” she asked, tears forming in her
eyes.
My father stared at her coldly before finally answering, “What other reason could there be? My daughter died in your home, and I despise your entire family!”
“I wish you would all die–every last person connected to you deserves to perish!” he shouted, his emotions flaring as police officers moved to flank him.
Mrs. Forrester stood frozen, then laughed bitterly. “But Victoria’s death had nothing to do with us–everyone knows
that!”
Her face was filled with genuine grievance,
1621 O
They Killed My Sister Guess Who Dinner Now?
Chapter 5
“Such nonsense! Do you think I care how Victoria died? She was living happily with us until she came to your house and died that very night! Who else should I blame but you?”
“Even if you didn’t kill her directly, she died in your home, which makes it your responsibility. I decided to destroy you all!”
The veins on my father’s forehead bulged with rage.
With a signal from the lead detective, two officers moved my father aside.
“Mr. Vincent, since you claim to be the killer, explain to us exactly how you made those brides commit suicide,” the detective demanded, clearly skeptical.
My father fell silent briefly, then slowly pulled a plastic bag from his pocket.
“This contains pastries laced with a hallucinogenic compound,” he said.
“My father’s generation grew up in the mountains where they cultivated a plant called dream vine. This plant induces violent hallucinations that ultimately lead to self–harm and death!”
“Every bride over these years died after eating the pastries I placed in the chapel, causing them to go insane and
take their own lives!”
My father’s icy tone sent chills through the crowd.
“The victims didn’t even need to eat them–merely smelling the aroma would cause mild hallucinations, just as Melody demonstrated earlier.”
When my father mentioned me, his voice suddenly filled with tenderness.
“The reason I was never caught is because no one would suspect my pastries could have such potent effects. With no surveillance inside the chapel, I only needed to replace the regular pastries with poisoned ones, and no one could
trace it back to me!”
The police had already confiscated the pastries from his hand and were preparing to send them to the lab for analysis.
But Callum suddenly snorted derisively.
Then from behind him, a security guard rushed forward and stuffed one of the pastries into his own mouth.
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