His Lies My Revenge Novel Chapter 2 – He said he was a forensic expert—someone who could prove my parents’ innocence.
And I believed him. In a world that had turned its back on me, I saw him as my only salvation.
Even after five long years with no answers, I still clung to the hope that he was doing everything he could.
I even felt guilty sometimes, thinking about how much he had given up for me.
But in the end… it was all a lie.
The love? Fake.
The tenderness? A performance.
Only the pain and betrayal were real.
Tears welled in my eyes just as Martin appeared in front of me, his expression instantly shifting to concern.
“Jessie, why are you sitting here on the floor? Are you not feeling well? Let me take you to the hospital.”
I batted his hand away as he reached for me. With trembling legs, I forced myself to stand, barely able to keep my balance.
“Martin,” I asked quietly, “is there still no lead in my parents’ case?”
He froze for a second—just two seconds—but I noticed. Then he said with practiced calm, “I’m sorry. I’ve been following every possible lead, but… nothing new has come up yet. Don’t worry, I haven’t given up. I made you a promise, didn’t I? You just have to trust me a little longer.”
Then, like always, he shifted the focus back to me. “Look at you. You’ve lost so much weight from the stress. Please, stop worrying about this. It breaks my heart to see you like this.”
He pulled me into a hug, gently patting my back, pretending to soothe me. But I didn’t miss the flicker of panic in his eyes.
And just like that, whatever hope I had left shattered completely.
A bitter smile crept across my lips.
Martin… how could you lie to me like this for five whole years?
That night, I did what I always did—I brought him a glass of warm milk to help him sleep.
Only this time, I added sleeping pills.
He drank it without hesitation, just like always.
Within minutes, he was out cold.
I turned and walked straight toward the one place in the house he always told me to stay out of—his study.
The second I stepped inside, I froze.
The walls were covered in autopsy photos. And right in the center were the bodies of my parents.
Their eyes were wide open, blood tears streaking down their lifeless faces.
They didn’t just die. They died screaming for justice.
They’d fallen from the 28th floor, their bodies broken beyond recognition.
But even in death, the dagger wounds to their chests were clear as day—clean, deep, fatal.
It was the mark of a cold-blooded killer.
And no “hostage” could have made such precise, ruthless strikes.
I scanned the wall. Martin had marked every inconsistency in the autopsy reports in red ink, line by line.
Case files were pinned across the room—ten pages’ worth—all tracing back to Rachel.
Her name.
Her presence at the crime scene.
Her fingerprint on the murder weapon.
The evidence was overwhelming. Undeniable.
And yet, scrawled in Martin’s neat handwriting across the file were two damning words:
“Case closed.”
I almost laughed out loud.
I took photos of everything on the walls, unable to bear looking at them any longer.
Then I turned to the safe in the corner.
Five years ago, I had memorized Rachel’s birthday. Something about her story had never sat right with me.
I typed it in.
The safe clicked open.
Inside was an entire album… dedicated to Rachel.
As I flipped through the pages, the truth finally came into focus.
She wasn’t just someone Martin and Mark had rescued.
She’d known them for over a decade.
Photo after photo showed the three of them—laughing, smiling, inseparable.
In every single one, Rachel stood safely between the two brothers, always shielded, always adored.
Even the wedding photos… they weren’t just hers.
There were three people in those shots.
I gave a hollow, self-deprecating smile and stopped flipping.
There was nothing left to see.
I picked up my phone and booked a flight to leave the country in three days.
Then I submitted the paperwork to cancel all my domestic IDs.
This place, soaked in betrayal and lies, no longer had anything worth staying for.
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