Stolen Vengeance [Fiction]

It was an orderly chaos of sorts. Diplomats and their assistants moved from desk to desk in discussions with each other before the august meeting began.

The corner of the auditorium where I stood afforded me a clear view of the bastard.

Dressed in a sleek black suit, his hair neatly slicked back probably with gel, he was handsome and knew it. He exuded masculinity and power which he used to his advantage.

Gesturing as he talked with a fellow delegate, the signet ring on his pinky gleamed under the bright lights. I shook with anger and disgust, remembering the injuries that ring inflicted on me.

Then the microphone in my ear crackled. “Miss Edmonds? The ambassador's tea is ready.” I gasped, tapping the bud in my ear. “On my way. Thank you.”

I got carried away watching him. The hate I harboured for this man was a baggage I carried around for two years. Debilitating couldn't begin to describe its effect on my mental health.

After suffering the worst a woman could suffer at the hand of a depraved wealthy man who misused his position and power, and the law couldn't help because he was ‘untouchable’, it was time to prove them wrong.

Prosecute me? I couldn't care less. I had nothing left to live for—this right here was my fantasy come true.

Dressed as a kitchen staff of the UN office in Geneva, I carefully balanced the silver tray of tea, sponge cake and buttery sandwiches on my gloved hand.

With every step I took towards the bastard, my smile grew. His bodyguard, standing with his arms folded in front of him, gave me a shrewd look like he could see through my disguise.

In an instant, there was a shriek followed by chaos around the bastard's desk. The bodyguard tore his eyes away from me to grab his principal by the shoulders because he'd doubled over in agony.

I paused, my eyes widened in shock at the scene unfolding before me. The bastard's face contorted in pain as his hands clawed at his chest. He started to convulse and fell to the floor.

Paramedics burst into the auditorium with a stretcher to attend to him. Within minutes, he was declared dead—heart attack.

I was shocked and his bodyguard was more so as his eyes flickered back to me with suspicion. I blanched, turned and exited the auditorium before they locked the place down.

In the restroom, I emptied the tea into the toilet and flushed.

Perhaps I should be relieved that he was gone but I raged at fate for stealing this chance from me. He deserved to die a slow, tortured death.

Curled up on my sofa, I watched the breaking news on TV that night. It was revealed that Ambassador Salvatore Segal's death was not a natural cause. He was murdered by a scorned ex-girlfriend whom he assaulted a few months ago.

Tears streamed down my face as the news reporter detailed more information about women who had come forward as victims of Segal's abuse.

I whispered at fate, “You should have let me.”

I hope you enjoyed reading this short piece inspired by Freewrite #dailyprompt word, “prosecute me”. It's fiction and therefore a product of my imagination. It's not tied or connected to any person or event.

Thank you for visiting my blog.

^{_{Image credit: Electra Studio}}