Revenge! To My Deadly Beloved

My name was Layla Baker, and I was thirty years old.

Among my peers, I had always been someone they envied. Not only did I live in a single-family home in the upscale Elmridge area, but I also had a young, handsome, and considerate husband who loved me like his first love and was recognized as a model husband.

His name was John Hall, and he used to be a somewhat famous senior stylist. I used to run a medical equipment company with a considerable annual income.

After getting married, I quickly had three adorable and beautiful babies. Because I had to juggle my career and take care of the kids, John felt sorry for me and voluntarily resigned to help me manage the company. Under his management, the company thrived.

I decided to become a full-time housewife to enjoy life, support my husband, and raise my children, becoming what others saw as the ultimate winner in life.

But I found my health deteriorating. I started losing hair constantly, becoming increasingly tired, losing weight, experiencing memory decline, and feeling mentally exhausted and somewhat disoriented.

John said I had a typical anxiety disorder. He took me to many well-known hospitals and got me a lot of medication.

Little did I know, this was the beginning of my near-death experience.

That day, I was awakened by a sharp pain in my head while sleeping. I accidentally knocked over the medicine that our nanny, Jane Allen, had brought me. The medicine mixed with the cat food on the floor, and our greedy cat had already eaten it all while I was still struggling with sleepiness.

By the time I realized it, the cat had already jumped onto the windowsill, leisurely licking its paws to wash its face.

When Jane came to take my water cup and clothes for daily cleaning, I didn't mention it at all because I didn't want her to nag me and make me take the medicine again. To be honest, the medicine didn't help much, but it was John who worked hard to find it for me. He would thoughtfully remind me to take it on time every day. I had no choice but to take it.

Since I got sick, Jane had been responsible for all the household chores for our entire family. She was always very busy and worked tirelessly, and  I  felt a bit guilty sometimes.

Jane chatted with me for a bit and then quickly took the water cup and went out to continue her work.

I turned my head and looked at the pillowcase, which was covered with another layer of fallen black hair. It looked quite horrifying. I sighed, reached out to gather the fallen hair, rolled it into a ball, and stuffed it into the pocket of my pajamas.

Suddenly, a dull thud came from behind, startling me.

I clutched my chest for a while before cautiously turning to the other side of the bed. I found my cat, Ruby, who had been leisurely looking out the window, lying on the floor with its legs sprawled out, motionless and silent.

That feeling inexplicably gave me a sense of foreboding.

"Ruby!" I called out, but it didn't move at all.

A chill ran down my spine, and my hair stood on end.

This had never happened before. They said cats had excellent balance. How could it fall from the windowsill and end up like this?

Was it dead?

My heart was in my throat as I shakily leaned in to check. I found it breathing heavily, not like it was dead, but more like it was asleep.

But its sleeping posture was very unusual.

Suddenly, a terrifying thought flashed through my mind.

I instinctively jumped out of bed, not caring about much else, and reached out to pick up Ruby. It was limp and unconscious, with no defensive ability at all.

I couldn't help but think of myself. Was my sleeping posture the same as Ruby's every day?

Could it be...

This thought sent a shiver down my spine, as if I had fallen into an ice cave, and I didn't dare to think further.

Before I could think more, I heard familiar footsteps outside the door. It should be John coming back.

Instinctively, I held Ruby, quickly got back into bed, pulled the blanket over Ruby's strange state, and adjusted my breathing to pretend to be asleep.

At the same time, the door handle made a sound, and my heart pounded like a drum. I could even feel a gaze sweeping over my back, causing a pain like being flayed, and my hands trembled uncontrollably under the blanket.

But the expected footsteps did not come closer; instead, they retreated. Just as the door was about to close, I heard John ask, "Did she take her medicine today?"

His subsequent words were muffled by the door, and I didn't know what he said.

The next second, I suddenly opened my eyes, an unprecedented fear engulfing my soul. I didn't even know where I was at that moment.  Was I in a dream, having a nightmare?

The current situation inevitably made me think of Ruby's recent unresponsive state.

I've had Ruby for many years, and it had never been like this. The only difference was that it had just taken my medicine.

This thought sent chills down my spine.

Could it be that someone really wanted to harm me?