Six months after my death, Aaron continued to indulge in a hedonistic lifestyle, living as the libertine he was.
I floated in the air, silently watching him as he reveled with girls draped on each arm and quite enjoyed himself. His fair weather friends took turns toasting him.
In the midst of the revelry, someone suddenly remarked, "Aaron, haven’t seen that little simp in a while, have we?"
"......"
The room fell silent. The "little simp" referred to me.
My father was a chauffeur for the Webster Family, and my mother was their housekeeper. From a young age, they had drilled into me the importance of ingratiating myself with Aaron to make our lives a bit easier. I did as I was told. Yet Aaron harbored a deep aversion toward me, to the extent that even hearing my name would trigger his fury.
Just like now. The smile on his lips froze, and he glared coldly at the speaker. The man, oblivious and quite drunk, continued, "I always thought Cynthia looked good and had a nice figure. Since you married her, Aaron, why not take advantage of it? Don’t waste it."
Bang!
Aaron smashed his glass, sending shards of glass everywhere. One of the pieces cut his hand, blood seeping slowly from the wound. His female companions screamed in shock and fled in panic.
Others quickly tried to smooth things over. "This guy's drunk. Aaron, don’t take it to heart."
"Yes, Freya is our recognized sister-in-law. Cynthia doesn’t even compare!"
"Don’t mention that ill-fated woman. Come on, let’s keep drinking—"
Aaron was clearly unmoved by their attempts to placate him. He stood up, glaring at everyone present, then seized a bottle of wine worth a hundred thousand dollars and poured it over their heads, sneering, "If you’re looking for excitement, I’m not opposed, but don’t come here and disgust me, or—"
"Next time, what I serve you won’t be wine."
The room fell deathly silent, no one daring to make a sound. I hovered in the corner, letting out a soft sigh.
My dear Aaron, I’ve been gone for six months. Why do you still despise me so?