The Art Of Revenge (Thalia Nash and Brandon) novel Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Thaly alia’s Pov

Unlike him, who had busted out laughing after my narration, I just starred at him, speechless. Despite the fact that he was a stranger, his narrative had a profound effect on me. I reached out and took his hand; he was a man who was betrayed by time, and neither money nor power could save him.

Ished a tear for him, and I strangely forgot about my sh*tty existence. I had all the time in the world, but as he stated, I lacked the brain

in cells to make the most of it.

He shoved my

hand away and began yelling obscenities at me, demanding to know what was wrong with me. He was a jerk and a very wealthy jerk at that.

“This is not a group therapy session for you to feel sorry for me; I do not want your sympathy,” he said before rising and causing the bridge to sway slightly.

He began staring down the bridge saying. “Your silly sympathy will not fix or modify my predicament; keep it for hell; remember, we have suicides to conduct.” he coldly stated.

1 figured he didn’t want to talk about his condition. He didn’t want my compassion; yes, we were complete strangers. but his story was heartbreaking, I could not wish it on anyone except for Josh of course.

Yes Brandon lived a life of immorality but he never hurt one, it was another case of good people getting their lives sh*tted on.

“So you have cancer?” I cleared my throat.

“It could be cancer, autoimmune disease, anemia, or a combination of the above. At one point the doctors thought it was AIDS. In a nutshell, I have all the diseases in the world, it’s a miracle I’m standing next to you,” he joked. I stared at him speechless.

He turned to face me and remarked, “You see how I could do anything to switch with you?” I maintained my silence.

“Yes, you are a m*ron, but I would relocate to a small town and apply for a restaurant job, allowing time to heal my insanity,” he continued.

“It’s not that simple,” I said, which elicited a chuckle from him as he turned away.

“Anyway, you’re correct, so let’s vote who gets to jump first,” he suggested.

I quickly walked to where he was standing and joined him, “but wait a minute, I haven’t asked you any questions?”

He responded. “Because you were too busy feeling sorry for me and getting all emotional.”

“Okay, where is your money, and did you hand over your company?” I asked.

“Are you interested in it? Would you reconsider committing suicide if I gave you my wealth?” he inquired, a genuine

smile on his face.

As I stammered, I stepped back a little, nearly chewing off my tongue. “I…you…just didn’t say what you did… with your company, I’m only curious” I responded. “And why didn’t the board outsit you or something?”

He laughed and told me to relax. “Clauses, Thalia, clauses,” he said as he pulled out his phone he said. “I’m taking my companies to my grave, or should I say down the bridge.”

I drew closer to him, startled.

“My money will be locked away in various countries overseas, where no one will be able to get their filthy paws on it,” he added.

“Why?” I inquired.

“Because it’s my f**king money? he said.

I stared at him, my mouth wide open, “What about charitable organizations that help a lot of kids, or donating to a research facility in your honor to find a cure or treatment for whatever it is you have?” I proposed while clinging to his

arm.

“You have the potential to save a lot of lives in the future,” I cried out

Irritated, he shoved me away. “my money, my choice. The world is a bleak place, and the next victim of this scourge should seek financial assistance elsewhere,” He responded, “It is not my obligation to save anyone when one saved me or cared about me,” he added, his voice sad.

I couldn’t help but feel sad for him. I attempted to persuade him, but he was adamant. He had made up his mind; he

had been planning his suicide and collapsing of his company for almost a year, and there was no way he could change this mind.

But I tried a different approach, “What happens to the thousands of people on your payroll, you are a heartless monster!” I yelled but he only smiled.

“You deserve the disease,” I said out without thinking and held my hands over my mouth.

“Why don’t you donate your sh*ty money instead of talking about my money?” he screamed at me. I despised yelling because it reminded me of Josh and his constant verbal abuse. I bronzed my fingers and proceeded to play with them. I said, “I don’t have any money to donate.”

He scoffed and averted his gaze. “Ooh, I forgot your stup*d husband stole it from you,” he said. “Perhaps you should go fight for it, take it, give it away, then come back here and kill yourself,” he continued coldly.