NovelEnglishShe stood frozen for a few seconds before steadying herself on the lamp and inching closer to the photo wall.
It was filled with pictures-shots of women's legs, all different. At first, they looked like candid snaps, but then
cthe ones of severed limbs. Eventually, there were photos showing Yves himself cutting off women's legs.
Sylvia had braced herself for something bad, but the shock still sent a cold sweat coursing down her spine.
Her hands trembled so much the lamp's beam shook, casting creepy, flickering shadows over the grisly images.
But she couldn't back down now. Everything she'd done so far would be for nothing.
Swallowing hard, Sylvia leaned in, searching the photos for any useful clue.
As she moved the lamp, the light slipped to another wall. This time, the photos all featured the sperson.
Reese.
From Yves and Reese's very first meeting, right up to now, Yves had documented every moment of Reese's life.
Every photo was dated and labeled.
Even though Sylvia had never followed Reese's treatment abroad, she could see from these pictures how Reese
had climbed out of her own darkness, step by step. You could almost feel the pain and determination in every
candid smile or weary frown.
Yves, she had to admit, was obsessed with Reese. He'd arranged these photos like an art gallery, like some
twisted love letter.
Sylvia stared, then suddenly paused, swinging the lamp back to Reese's photos.
Follow on NovᴇlEnglish.nᴇtIn several shots, Reese wasn't wearing her prosthetic. The scar where her leg ended was clear as day.
Her wounds had healed, but the pattern of scars on her leg-Sylvia realized, with a jolt, she'd seen them before.
Frowning, she turned to the other photos of women's legs.
After Yves met Reese, the scars on the other women's legs looked almost identical to Reese's. The difference
was, Reese's injury was an accident. The others-Yves had done it himself.
Lining up two photos side by side, Sylvia's mind flashed back to a memory.
"Ms. Lloyd, your mother's leg... the wound is too jagged to stitch up. We'll have to use something else to secure
it."
"...Okay."
She'd nodded numbly at the funeral home, only half-hearing the staff's conversation.
Now, suddenly, every word cback to her.
"Weird, what even caused this wound? It's all rough and uneven, but somehow it's almost... tidy."
"Probably scraps of metal from the crash. Who knows? Let's just get it over with." "Poor woman. She's covered in
injuries, and lost a leg too."
Covered in injuries.
Injuries...
Sylvia looked up at the photo wall and found pictures of Yves's four previous wives.
Unlike the other women, their bodies were covered in wounds-many of which matched the kind Naomi had. And
they were eerily similar.
So Naomi hadn't died in a car accident. She'd... died at Yves's hands.
Yves's obsession with Reese-Reese had no clue. But from what he'd said earlier, it was clear Kay had noticed and
even encouraged Yves to play. the knight in shining armor for Reese. s
That explained Yves's deference whenever Kay's ncup.
Piecing it all together, the truth about what had really happened back then wasn't hard to guess.
But Sylvia could hardly process it.
She stared at the photo wall, face
pale
the lamplight flickering
r features but unable to
tough the darkness inside her. s
So Rupert had always known how Naomi really died.
Naomi had suffered inhuman
torment, and A disrisSed it
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watched her struggle with
ut and
grief, watched her bury family after family member. s
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ended up just another photo on his wall.
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