A Boy in the Video Called My Late Fiance Dad, Standing Before My Bestie’s Wedding Photo Chapter 09

A Boy in the Video Called My Late Fiance Dad, Standing Before My Bestie’s Wedding Photo Chapter 09

“The timeline is correcting itself,” I said coolly as I 

watched the changes unfold. 

“Seven years ago, your assets were frozen 

because of your fraud charges. Your company 

went bankrupt. Naturally, seven years later, you 

wouldn’t still own luxury items that were purchased with stolen money.” 

On the screen, the custom–built glass 

conservatory suddenly emitted a piercing crack. 

Then the glass panels began disappearing piece 

by piece. 

Even Vivian’s favorite wooden hair clip vanished 

into thin air. 

“No! Stop!” Julian screamed at the screen. 

“Hazel, make it stop!” 

“You can’t stop it,” I replied calmly. 

For the next two weeks, I practically lived between 

my attorney’s office and the police station. 

I never visited Julian or Vivian. 

I had no interest in hearing their apologies. 

Or their insults. 

My only goal was making sure every crime they 

committed stuck. 

Insurance fraud involving an exceptionally large 

amount of money. 

Bigamy backed by overwhelming evidence. 

Each charge carried enough weight to keep Julian 

behind bars for a very long time. 

Vivian was indicted as well for assisting in 

document fraud, aiding concealment, and helping 

transfer illegally obtained funds. 

With all of her assets frozen, she couldn’t even 

afford a top–tier defense attorney. 

Her court–appointed lawyer advised her that the 

only chance of receiving leniency was cooperating 

with authorities and helping recover the stolen 

money. 

So inside detention, the two former star–crossed 

lovers began tearing each other apart. 

Julian disclosed every detail of Vivian’s role in 

convincing him to fake his death. 

Vivian handed over recordings proving that Julian 

had bribed a physician to issue a fraudulent death 

certificate. 

Throughout those two weeks, the video call remained connected in a bizarre, impossible way. 

Whenever my phone needed charging, I plugged it 

1. in. 

Other than that, I carried it everywhere. 

I wanted the future versions of them to watch. 

I wanted them to witness every consequence of 

their actions as their own sins slowly consumed them. 

Day by day. 

Piece by piece. 

The mansion in the future timeline continued 

changing. 

Eventually, it wasn’t a waterfront luxury estate 

anymore. 

It became a cramped, damp rental apartment. 

The paint peeled from the walls. 

The air looked heavy with mildew. 

Seven–years–later Julian wore wrinkled clothes. 

His beard was unkempt. 

Hopelessness filled his eyes. 

The company was gone. 

The yacht was gone. 

The custom–tailored suits were gone. 

The judgment handed down seven years earlier 

was rewriting both his reality and his memories. 

Now he was a convicted felon with a serious 

criminal record and no chance of finding a 

respectable job. 

The little boy, who had looked seven or eight years 

old, was gone too. 

I had asked him what happened. 

Future Julian broke down crying. 

“He’s gone.” 

His voice cracked. 

“After the trial seven years ago, Vivian suffered a 

complete mental breakdown while she was being 

held in detention. She lost the baby.” 

Tears streamed down his face. 

“We never had another child after that.” 

I felt absolutely nothing. 

Not sympathy. 

Not regret. 

Nothing. 

Because if that impossible phone call had never 

happened, I would have been the one who died. 

My mother would have been the one who lost her 

mind. 

The moment I learned the truth, every ounce of 

kindness and patience I had left for them died 

forever.