Goodbye Forever Ex-Husband (by Ammund) novel Chapter 157

Chapter 157

Chapter 157

ADRIAN’S POV

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“Please, you can’t go through with this. Don’t you believe in God? Would God want you to do a thing like this?” Mr. Grayson stammered, his voice trembling.

I didn’t answer immediately. I stared at him–tied to the chair, sweating, helpless–and then slowly turned my gaze back to the glowing blade in my hand.

“Now you remember God?” I asked, my voice low and cold, laced with disgust. “Did you remember God when you were stealing money from innocent people? Did you think about whether they needed that money to save their child’s life, pay for surgery, or just feed their family for one more week?”

The flame from the lighter hissed beneath the steel blade, and I kept it there until the tip began to glow red–angry and alive.

Mrs. Grayson spoke next, her voice cracking under the pressure. “Please, Adrian… find it in your heart to forgive us. We made a mistake. Yes, we admit it. But that life is behind us–we stopped that kind of work over three years ago. We changed. There’s no need for this, not anymore.”

I scoffed, letting the lighter click off with a final snap. “That doesn’t erase what you did. The past may be behind you, but its scars live on in people like me… and my mother. You ruined her. You destroyed her life.”

The blade was red–hot now–hot enough to sear flesh on contact. I reached into the drawer beside me, pulled out a pair of gloves, and slipped them on slowly. One finger at a time. This wasn’t something I was going to rush. This was something I had waited years for.

I gave Dan a slight nod, and without hesitation, he stepped forward. The ripping of fabric soon filled the air. Mrs. Grayson squirmed in her seat as Dan tore off her blouse, then her skirt, until she was left trembling in just her underwear.

“W–We’re old enough to be your parents,” she said, trying to sound firm, but her voice was laced with panic. “If you claim to be doing this for your mother, have you even stopped to ask yourself… is this what she would’ve wanted?”

That made me pause for a moment. But not because she had a point. No–because of how desperate her logic was.

“She would’ve wanted justice,” I said finally, taking slow steps toward her. “She would’ve wanted the people who used her, broke her, and left her to rot… to feel what she felt before she died.”

Mrs. Grayson let out a quiet sob, shaking her head. “Please… even if you’re going to kill us, do it quickly. Use a gun. Just make it fast.”

I looked her in the eye. “My mom didn’t get fast. She got pain. She got betrayed. She got despair.” I leaned closer. “And now, you will too.”

Then I pressed the red–hot knife to the side of her arm.

The sound that followed was something between a sizzle and a scream. Her skin hissed as the hot metal met flesh. She let out a shriek so loud it echoed around the room, but I didn’t flinch. Neither did Dan nor his men. They knew the basement was completely soundproof. She could scream until her voice bled–no one would hear her.

She twisted in the chair, her entire body jerking from the pain. Tears streamed down her face as she begged, pleaded—but I wasn’t listening. Not

Mr. Grayson shouted her name, struggling violently in his own restraints, but it was no use. He had to sit there and watch.

After a while of pressing the knife deep into her skin, the heat from the metal began to settle. The once bright blade had dulled to a sickening brown, searing into her flesh until the smell of burned skin filled the air. When I finally pulled the blade away, the spot I had been pressing had turned dark and blistered–far worse than a mere burn. It was raw. Damaged. Perfect.

I took a step back, admiring my work with a sinister grin stretching across my face. I could barely contain the satisfaction that rushed through me. “Does that hurt, Mrs. Grayson?” I asked, my voice smooth and laced with mock concern, the smile never leaving my face.

Chapter 157

She whimpered, tears streaking her bruised cheeks, but I wasn’t done. Not even close.

“Here, let me help with that,” I added, my tone shifting into something darker. With a slight nod to Dan, he understood my cue and exited the basement in silence. The dim, flickering bulb overhead buzzed softly as the room fell into a tense quiet. Then the door creaked open again, and Dan returned with a dark glass bottle in his hand.

Rubbing alcohol.

I snatched the bottle without hesitation, twisted off the cap, and without warning, poured it over the burned patch of skin. Her scream pierced the air immediately. It wasn’t just pain–it was agony. The alcohol seeped into the wound, eating into the exposed nerves, and I could see her body trembling uncontrollably as she writhed in the chair.

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