I pulled my phone back out and opened the gallery. Ivy scoffed and started walking toward her room. I caught her arm—firm, not rough—and held the screen in front of her face.
The video began. Mary's suicide recording. At first she tried to pull away, but as Mary's voice filled the room—shaky, broken, thanking Chase for "showing her the truth" Ivy stopped fighting. Her body went still. She stared at the screen, eyes wide, breathing shallow. When the one-minute video ended, I backed out and opened the second one.
Chase's voice came through the speaker. "Yes, fucking slut…"
Ivy's knees buckled. She dropped onto the single couch, hands flying to her mouth. "Oh my god… oh my god, oh my god, no… no… what the fuck?"
The video played. Tablet on the desk. Mary's confession looping. Chase jerking off. Groaning. Cumming on the screen right when Mary swallowed the pills. Slapping his dick against the tablet. "Good fucking whore… that's right. That's fucking right…"
