Free Web NovelChapter 406: Chapter 403: An Evildoer Is Doomed to Self-Destruction
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Jean Grant decided to stop using her phone. Ten bodyguards escorted her whenever she went out, but despite this, packages from Marlon Marshall kept arriving at her house all afternoon.
She had no choice but to call him again.
"Let’s meet," Jean Grant said, her face expressionless.
He quickly agreed on the other end of the line.
The meeting place was a motel in a small alley.
When Jean Grant arrived in disguise, Marlon Marshall was already sprawled on the bed like a king, smoking opium and humming a tune, looking utterly content.
She locked the door from the inside.
She forced a laugh. "Marlon, stop this now. Stop clinging to me. You’ve already ruined half my life, don’t ruin the rest of it."
He sat up and pulled her into his arms. "I ruined you? Didn’t you ruin me too? Jean Grant, I’m going to stick by your side until the day Nicholas Ainsworth dumps you. If I can’t be happy, you don’t get to be happy either."
Jean Grant sneered inwardly, her eyes turning cold and dark.
"Do you have to be so stubborn with me?"
Marlon Marshall set the opium aside, then grabbed her and tore at her clothes with both hands.
Jean Grant didn’t resist.
They were naked, facing each other. He kept changing positions, one after another. Finally, Jean Grant spoke up. "Let me be on top."
"Alright."
She straddled him, a suppressed flame erupting in her eyes.
At the critical moment, she pulled away from him. "We should take precautions. I brought a condom."
"Seems I still know how to make you enjoy yourself," he chuckled.
"Of course."
As she sat on him again, Jean Grant’s hands trembled slightly.
As they were about to climax, she steeled her heart, grabbed a pillow, and forcefully pressed it over his face.
She put all her strength into pinning him down beneath her.
Marlon Marshall’s body was already weak from smoking opium. With her on top and him on the bottom, his arms pinned tightly by her legs, he was doomed. He was in a terrible position.
Marlon Marshall, who had been thrashing wildly, gradually went still.
Jean Grant lay there, her whole body trembling. For a long time, she remained on top of him, motionless. This method of killing left no external injuries and made no sound. It was very quiet.
This was the first time Jean Grant had ever killed someone.
Bit by bit, she felt the warmth of the body beneath her fade to an icy cold.
She was filled with terror.
Half an hour later, she slowly sat up.
She got off his body and frantically put on her clothes. Then, she sat on the floor and cried for a long time.
Afterward, she staggered to her feet and removed the pillow from his face.
Looking at his face, Jean Grant laughed. "I wanted to kill you so many times before, but I could never bring myself to do it. That’s why you could threaten me and get your way again and again. But I won’t tolerate you anymore. I killed you with my own two hands, you know? In this moment, I’ve never felt so happy. How did you end up like this, step by step? Go ask the King of Hell."
Jean Grant then moved the bed and threw Marlon Marshall’s body underneath it.
Then, after composing herself, she dialed Quentin Grant’s number. "Quentin, I... I killed Marlon Marshall..."
At that moment, Quentin Grant was handling business matters. Hearing her words, he frowned instinctively. "Really?"
"Really, Quentin... He, again and again... On my wedding day... I thought, if I didn’t kill him, my life would be worse than death."
Quentin Grant stood up, his voice low. "And what about now? Let me ask you, you think you don’t have to die now? This is premeditated murder, do you realize that?"
"Quentin, I’m just a woman. I couldn’t think of a better way to solve this problem. I don’t want to get divorced again. Quentin, you have to save me..."
Quentin Grant fell silent. Then he said, "I’ll send people to handle this. Tell me the address right now, and then leave that place and go home. Immediately."
Jean Grant did as he said, leaving the motel in the small alley and returning to the Grant Residence.
She told Mrs. Grant what had happened.
Upon hearing the news, Mrs. Grant was both furious and anxious. "Only your brother and I can know about this. Don’t you tell a single soul. Take this secret to your grave. Let your brother handle it. That man was a piece of trash anyway. He deserved to die."
Jean Grant lay there, her eyes vacant. "Mom, I don’t know how I feel right now. All I know is that my life will be peaceful from now on. No more helplessness, no more fear."
Mrs. Grant sighed. "Oh, Jean. Your refusal to give up until you hit a wall led to this. If I had known, I would have sooner died than let you marry him."
"What’s the use of saying all that now?"
Within two hours, the Alveria police had recovered Marlon Marshall’s body from the river. The incident was not made public. The police contacted Mrs. Marshall directly and told her that Marlon had committed suicide due to hallucinations caused by drug use.
As for how Quentin Grant managed it, presumably, only he knew.
Mrs. Marshall had long since lost contact with Marlon Marshall, even though they were mother and son.
He hadn’t been home in a long time. He came back once after getting out of prison, and never set foot in the house again.
Suddenly, she received the news of her son’s death.
Mrs. Marshall abruptly went mad.
The son she had raised through so much hardship, the son who was her only family, was gone just like that. She had no relatives left.
Back when she had money, she used to see Jason Irving. But then he became unreachable for no reason, and rumors said he was dead. She never saw him again. Now her son was dead too, and Mrs. Marshall had barely any money left.
Despair flooded her mind. Then, she did something unexpected: clutching her son’s urn, she ran out, raving mad. No one knew where she went, leaving behind only an old, empty house that would never be lived in again.
One should live an upright life; those who commit many wrongs are doomed to self-destruct. The world would not become peaceful just because Marlon Marshall was dead, especially not Alveria. Alveria would never be at peace.
When Quentin Grant returned to the Grant Residence, he saw Jean Grant lying there, her eyes hollow and lifeless.
"Jean, you’ve caused too much trouble. If you weren’t a child of the Grant Family, you would have been dead more than once or twice by now."
"I know." She sat up and looked at him. "Quentin, I’ve brought plenty of my own suffering upon myself. From this day forward, I’m going to do more good deeds. I just want to live a quiet life like this. Right now, I still haven’t lost faith in life."
Quentin Grant considered this for a moment. "Everything has its cause and effect. I hope you’ll do as you say, Jean. Otherwise, when retribution comes, you won’t be able to escape it. Jean, a woman must first and foremost have self-respect, self-love, independence, and strength. You need to be a better judge of character. Even though Nicholas Ainsworth is much better than Marlon Marshall, I hope you’ll still be careful. Don’t repeat your past mistakes and cause another irreversible tragedy. Your foolishness, your naivety... it pains me."
