Bound to the Cruel Billionaire

Was my life always so hollow? How can you expect me to accept your death when it seems like only yesterday that we were planning our wedding on a cliff, where the horizon became the witness of our vows and pacts, while the ocean breeze serenaded us and our smiles were as bright as the flames in our lamps? Weeks have passed and I still find myself longing for your warmth, still wanting to witness how your eyes flash with felicity, sometimes desire. Were my days always so gloomy? Sunflowers, your favorite, were starting to dull my sight. Yellow has always been your color. How can I entomb all these notions when yellow is in every corner of our room? My love, even our linens are yellow. Yellow has always been so vivid, so lively. Every pigment of yellow always unburdens you from the acrid lashes of your life. You said it was your verity, your life. If we were a sunflower, I might be the dark disk florets, for my soul is dark as a cimmerian, and you, my love, are the intense yellow petals that typify your gushing and enthusiastic persona. As I gaze at the bouquet of sunflowers on your tombstone, maybe, just maybe, sunflowers are the new November Tomb flowers. Years had passed yet he still mourn for her. He seeks for the taste of justice she was overly deprived of. He who seeks for the culprit, the one who ended her life. No matter how long it will take, no matter how many sacrifices and regrets he needs to indulge himself into. He will dedicate his life to this mission. The sins and transgressions will unfold soon after he laid out his plans. With tomb flowers in his hand, his eyes stared at her grave, "Guide me to your perpetrator, darling. I will kill them all."