Don't Weep Over My Corpse Novel by Sugar Nyfe _ Novel





Don't Weep Over My Corpse Novel by Sugar Nyfe _ Novel

Don't Weep Over My Corpse Chapter 01

After taking the fall for the Fake Heiress and going to prison.
Every day, the guards forced me to kneel on broken glass to repent, made me drink toilet water, and covered my back with cigarette burns.
I struggled to survive for a thousand days and nights, finally making it to the day of my execution.
A pitch-black muzzle pressed against the back of my head, yet through the one-way glass, I saw my family popping champagne in the observation room.
Mason Kensington pointed at the surveillance screen, laughing loudly:
"Look at that fool shaking; she actually believes she's about to be executed for murder."
"It was a brilliant idea of ours—hiring a few actors in uniform was enough to scare this haughty Real Heiress into a trembling dog."
"That's what she gets for making our little princess cry?
This 'private prison' is just a playground built specifically for her."
The crack of a blank round echoed, and I was terrified to the very core of my soul.
Just as they prepared to enter and enjoy the humiliating sight of my loss of control, a cold mechanical voice descended:
"Host, have you had enough of this so-called familial love?
Transport countdown initiating. Let them weep over a corpse."
......

I was strapped into the execution chair.
Cold metal shackles clamped around my wrists and ankles, digging into my already festering flesh.
A cold, hard metal tube pressed against the back of my head.
It was the muzzle of a gun.
The crisp sound of the gun cocking came from behind me, sounding like Death's knuckles rapping on the door.
My entire body trembled uncontrollably; I bit my lip until it was shredded, the metallic taste of blood spreading through my mouth.
Is this the end?
I had spent a thousand days in this sunless "death cell."
It took three whole years to go from screaming my innocence to numbly begging for food.
"Emily Kensington, I will ask you one last time: do you admit your guilt?"
The executioner's voice was distorted by a modulator, sounding like piercing electronic static.
I struggled to twitch the corners of my mouth, my voice as raspy as a broken bellows.
"I... confess."
What else could I do but confess?
If I didn't, tonight's dinner would be stale gruel laced with shards of porcelain.
If I didn't, I would be dragged to the solitary confinement cell to soak in filthy, freezing water for twenty-four hours.
If I didn't, that barbed whip would land once again on my back, which had never been given the chance to heal.
I was truly afraid.
I was truly terrified of the pain.
"Very good."
The executioner seemed satisfied with my submission.
But I felt something was wrong.
The wall directly in front of me suddenly turned transparent.
It was a massive pane of one-way glass; now electrified, it revealed the scene behind it.
The bright lights stung my eyes, forcing me to squint.
Once my eyes adjusted to the light, I saw the people behind the glass clearly.
It was my family.
My eldest brother, Sebastian Kensington, swirled a glass of amber liquor in his hand, a mocking smile playing on his lips.
My third brother, Mason, was pointing at me and clutching his stomach in laughter, laughing so hard that tears were nearly streaming down his face.
Surrounded by them like the moon amidst the stars was the Fake Heiress, Victoria Kensington.
She wore an expensive haute couture gown, looking like a pure little angel as she snuggled into Mother's arms, acting coquettishly.
There was no jury.
There were no victims' families.
There were only my biological parents and brothers, watching as if observing a ridiculous circus act.
I froze.
Even though my brain had been dulled by long-term torture, I realized something was wrong.
This was not a legitimate execution ground.

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