Three years after she killed her boyfriend's mother, Tricia Fletcher was released from prison. The person who came to pick her up was Officer Blake—the very man who had put her behind bars.

"Tricia, have you really thought this through? Becoming my informant is dangerous."

Tricia gave a bitter smile. "I've thought it through. I won’t live long anyway. At least this way, I can do something meaningful."

Officer Blake sighed. "Why did you make such a mistake back then?"

He had handled countless cases, but Tricia stood out. The day he arrested her, he couldn’t shake the feeling that she wasn’t a bad person. Yet, she had insisted she was the murderer.

In prison, she was a model inmate, working hard to reduce her sentence. Her good behavior earned her an early release.

But fate was cruel. A final medical checkup before her release revealed she had advanced gastric cancer.

At most, she had three months left to live.

Knowing Officer Blake was struggling to find an informant, she volunteered for the job.

"I won’t find a decent job after prison anyway. Working at the club will let me help with your case and support myself. It's a win-win. If I can take down criminals before I go, at least my life won’t have been for nothing." She forced a smile.

"But promise me one thing," she added.

"Anything," Officer Blake said immediately.

"If I die, bury me at Glenwood Cemetery, next to Aunt Kara's tombstone." She lowered her head.

That way, whenever Phil Knight visited his mother’s grave, she could see him—just once more.

Officer Blake saw the sorrow in her eyes. Though he didn’t understand it, he nodded.

That night, Tricia followed his instructions and started working at Beehive Club as a waitress.

She was beautiful, so they assigned her to the VIP section.

She exhaled.

Officer Blake had told her a drug lord was hiding in the club and would be making a deal soon. She needed access to VIPs to get close to the target.

But she never expected to run into Phil first.

Phil—Boston’s golden boy, heir to the Knight family, and her former boyfriend.

Once, they were a couple everyone envied. He had vowed, in front of countless people, that he would only love her, that only she could be Mrs. Knight.

He had even cut ties with his family for her, renouncing his status as the Knight family's heir, forcing them to accept their marriage.

But on the eve of their wedding, his mother was found dead in a pool of blood—her murder weapon in Tricia’s hands.

She would never forget Phil’s eyes that night, filled with fury and despair.

The woman he loved most had killed the mother he cherished.

In his rage, he had grabbed her by the throat, demanding to know why.

But she couldn’t tell him the truth.

Because if she did, Phil’s life would be over.

So she lied. "Your mother was against our marriage, so I killed her. Now, nothing stands in my way. I’ll be the only mistress of the Knight family. I’ll have endless money, and no one will ever look down on me for being an orphan again."

She watched as his disbelief turned to disgust, then hatred.

Phil was the one who sent her to prison.

His last words to her had been: Never appear in front of me again. If you do, I’ll make you wish you were dead.

Now, seeing him again, Tricia panicked and turned to leave.

But Sister Wilma stopped her. "Tricia, where are you going? Hurry and pour Mr. Knight a drink."

She was shoved forward—right in front of Phil.

Her heart pounded. Would he humiliate her?

But he only stared at her, silent. As if she were a stranger.

That made sense. Three years in prison and a terminal illness had left her thin and frail. Heavy makeup masked her features. He probably didn’t recognize her.

Taking a shaky breath, she steadied her trembling hands and poured his drink.

But she was too nervous. Her hands slipped.

Red wine spilled onto his expensive leather shoes.

"Where did you find this idiot? She can’t even pour a drink properly," Phil snapped, kicking her over.

The bottle fell from her hands, shattering on the floor.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Knight," Sister Wilma said quickly. "She’s new. I’ll make her clean it up."

She grabbed Tricia and shoved her to the floor.

Shards of glass pierced her knees and arms, but she didn’t dare make a sound. She trembled, eyes stinging with tears.

Just as she was about to lower her head to lick the spilled wine off his shoes, Phil grabbed her.

"You think you're worthy of licking my shoes?" he sneered and let go.

Caught off guard, she stumbled—straight into his arms.

"Throwing yourself at me?" Phil’s voice dripped with mockery. "Fine. I’ll grant your wish."

His hand moved to tear at her dress.

She instinctively raised her arms to block him.

Laughter rang out around them.

"This girl’s got a nice body. Master Knight, once you're done, let us have a turn."

Phil smirked. "Sure. It’s always more fun with a crowd."

The man who spoke grinned, reaching for her.

Terror seized Tricia. She trembled violently, biting her lip to keep from crying out.

But then—

Phil’s expression turned cold.

He slapped the man’s hand away. "Get lost."

Everyone froze. Then, one by one, they obeyed.

Phil grabbed her chin, his grip like iron. "Tricia," he said through gritted teeth.

Her eyes widened in shock.

He had recognized her all along.

She stared at him, her vision blurring.

The Phil she remembered had been gentle. He had made her brown sugar water for her period cramps, wiped away her tears, and whispered sweet words to her. He had spoiled her like a princess, shielding her from any pain.

But now, the same man had humiliated her in front of everyone.

Tricia choked back a sob. "I didn’t know you’d be here. I wasn’t trying to see you. I’m just… working."

Phil’s eyes flickered to the glass shards embedded in her skin. His lips curled into a cruel smile.

"Of course. A woman like you—an ex-con—can only survive by selling herself in places like this. After all, you’re just a gold-digging whore who only cares about money."

His words cut deep.

For a split second, she wanted to tell him the truth.

His mother hadn’t been killed by him—she had been stabbed to death by his sister, Kirsten Knight.

It was Kirsten who had handed Tricia the paternity test report, revealing a devastating truth: Phil’s mother had cheated. He wasn’t President Knight’s biological son.

Phil, the man everyone admired, the golden boy of the Knight family, wasn’t even a true Knight.

If the truth ever came out, he would fall from grace overnight. A man like him—proud, untouchable—could never accept such a reality.

And worse, if he ever learned that his beloved sister had murdered his real mother, it would break him completely.

She knew how much Phil adored Kirsten.

So when Kirsten whispered her offer—Take the blame for me, and I’ll make sure my father hands the Knight family business to Phil. He’ll still be the young master everyone looks up to, still the high-ranking president he was meant to be—Tricia made her choice.

For him, she swallowed the truth.

She sat at the crime scene, gripping the bloodstained dagger, while Kirsten ran off to fetch Phil and call the police.

But now, three years later, she had only three months to live. Revealing the truth would do nothing but bring Phil more pain.

So she bit her lip until it bled, refusing to say a word.

Since he despised her, then let him go on hating her.

Her silence only fueled Phil’s rage. His fury surged like fire, his voice dripping with contempt.

"If you’re going to sell yourself, why not sell yourself to me?"

He pulled out a stack of bills from his wallet and threw them in her face.

"Take off a piece, and I’ll give you ten thousand."

Tricia wiped away her tears and, without hesitation, removed the thin camisole from her upper body.

Her obedience only stoked his fury.

"You think you’ve won?" He abruptly stood, yanking off his suit jacket and throwing it at her. "Put it on and get out. Don’t ever show your face in front of me again. Next time, I’ll keep my word and make you wish you were dead."

He didn’t even look back as he walked out of the room.

The moment he left, the tears Tricia had been holding back fell freely.

This was it. The last time they would ever meet.

Through blurred vision, she bent down and gathered the scattered bills.

She needed the money—not for herself, but to build connections with the other women at the club, to gain information for Officer Blake’s case.

She thought she was done with the Knight family.

Then, days later, Kirsten showed up.

"Who’s been fooling around with my brother in this club?" she snapped. "Bring her to me!"

Before Tricia could react, she was dragged into a private room.

The moment Kirsten saw her, her expression stiffened. Fear flickered in her eyes, quickly masked by anger. "Tricia? You’re out of prison?"

Tricia nodded.

Kirsten narrowed her gaze, warning, "If you dare say a word about what happened back then—"

"Don’t worry," Tricia interrupted flatly. "I won’t say anything. Just stay away from me. And from Phil."

This place was dangerous. She had already discovered something suspicious. A storm was brewing. If Phil got caught up in it, something terrible could happen.

Kirsten studied her for a moment, then smirked. "Fine. Finish that bottle of wine, and I’ll consider your request."

Tricia just wanted her gone. Without a word, she grabbed the bottle and started drinking.

The fiery liquid burned its way down her throat, setting her insides ablaze. Pain surged through her stomach, so sharp she dug her nails into her palms to keep steady.

A few gulps in, her stomach twisted violently.

She barely had time to react before a thick mouthful of blood spilled from her lips. The world spun as she collapsed onto the floor.

Kirsten, engrossed in her phone, didn’t even glance her way.

Hearing the sound, she sighed. "Tch. Your alcohol tolerance is pathetic."

But in truth, she never trusted Tricia’s silence.

The only way to guarantee a secret stayed buried… was to bury the one keeping it.

She got up, locked the room, and walked away without looking back.

Tricia lay on the cold tile, barely conscious.

She had to move. Had to get up.

Then the door creaked open.

She thought Kirsten had returned. Weakly, she whispered, "I drank it all…"

A sinister chuckle answered her.

"Good. Now you won’t struggle so much."

Through her hazy vision, she saw them.

A group of greasy-looking men, eyes glinting with perverse excitement.

Her heart clenched in terror.

One of them reached for her, fingers tugging at her clothing.

Realization crashed over her.

They weren’t here to help her. They were here to destroy her.

Panic surged through her veins. With every ounce of strength she had left, she screamed.

"Help! Someone, please help me!"

But her cries were drowned out by the pounding music outside.

She was too weak to fight them off.

They tore at her dress. Fabric ripped.

Tears blurred her vision as despair flooded her chest.

Then—

BANG!

The door slammed open.

A tall figure stood against the light.

Tricia’s breath caught.

Phil.

"Who told you to touch her?"

Phil seized a man by the hair and slammed his face-first into the glass coffee table. The sharp crack of shattering glass merged with the man’s scream of agony.

The others froze, their instincts screaming at them to run, but Phil gave them no chance.

Grabbing a broken wine bottle, he drove it straight through another man’s palm. A mixture of blood and alcohol splattered across his face, dripping onto his brow bone.

Blinded by fury, he turned and crushed the nose of a third man with a single, brutal punch. The man's cry choked in his throat as he collapsed.

The room vibrated with the force of the blows.

Curled up amidst the chaos, Tricia trembled, her eyes fixed on Phil’s bloodied fists. Tears blurred her vision, making it difficult to see his face clearly.

He was supposed to hate her. She was the murderer of her mother. So why…? Why did he save her?

The men lay sprawled across the floor, motionless, their bodies like discarded trash. The pounding music that had once filled the private room had died into eerie silence.

Then, she heard her own voice—weak, trembling.

"Phil… why did you save me?"

For a brief moment, something flickered in his eyes. Then, in an instant, it was gone, replaced by cold fury.

"Don’t flatter yourself," he snapped. "I wasn’t here for you. I thought Kirsten was inside. If I’d known it was you, I wouldn’t have stepped through that door."

His words were like a slap to the face.

"I gave you twenty thousand last time. Wasn’t that enough for you to leave Boston? Why the hell are you still here? Working in a place like this… you deserve whatever happens to you."

Tricia bit down on the back of her hand to stop herself from shaking. A bitter smile tugged at her lips.

"Good," she murmured. "Then you didn’t come for me. I almost thought you still had lingering feelings."

She deliberately provoked him, hoping it would push him away for good.

And it worked.

Phil’s face darkened, his anger igniting like dry tinder.

"Tricia, don’t kid yourself. As if I could ever remember you." His voice was filled with venom. "If you want to rot here, be my guest. I won’t step foot in this place again. Even if you die, it has nothing to do with me."

Tricia smiled.

That’s right. Stay away. Don’t come back.

After Phil stormed out, she dragged herself upright and made her way to the hospital.

There, disguised as a janitor, Officer Blake met her in secret. His face twisted with concern when he saw the bruises and wounds covering her body.

"Tricia," he said, his voice heavy with worry, "isn’t this enough? It’s too dangerous. You only have a few months left… find somewhere safe to spend what time you have."

Tricia shook her head. Determination burned in her eyes.

"Officer Blake, I’ve found something. We’re close. I can’t stop now."

His hands clenched into fists. "But at this rate, you might not even have three months left."

"It doesn’t matter," she said, her smile faint but unwavering. "Dying like this… at least it’ll mean something. Better than wasting away from cancer."

Officer Blake wanted to argue, but he knew her too well. With a heavy sigh, he let her go.

When Tricia returned to the club, she was immediately summoned by Mike Post, the club’s manager.

Her pulse quickened.

Rumor had it that Mike was a key enforcer for a powerful drug lord. Had he discovered her connection to Officer Blake?

To her relief, his tone was casual.

"Short on cash?" he asked, his sharp eyes assessing her. "I’ve got a job for you."

He tossed a small packet onto the table.

"Miss Knight is hosting a party in two days. She specifically requested your help. The guests will be some of the wealthiest heirs in Boston. Your job is simple—slip this into their drinks."

Tricia’s stomach twisted as she stared at the packet.

She knew exactly what it was.

Mike wanted to use her to hook the city's elite on drugs. Once addicted, they’d become lifelong customers.

He patted her shoulder. "Do this right, and I’ll make sure you’re set for life. What do you say, Tricia?"

Tricia forced a smile, masking her disgust.

"Manager Mike, don’t worry. I’ll do it." She narrowed her eyes. "The person I hate most is Kirsten."

The next day, under the guise of a hospital visit, she met Officer Blake again.

Lab tests confirmed what she already knew—the packet contained highly addictive substances.

Officer Blake handed her a bag of flour as a substitute. "Swap it out," he instructed.

She nodded.

At Kirsten’s request, Tricia attended the party as planned.

The moment she stepped inside, a hush fell over the room.

"Tricia?" someone sneered. "You actually dare show up at the Knight estate?"

Several of Kirsten’s wealthy friends turned to stare, their expressions full of scorn.

One of them scoffed. "You pathetic wretch. If you hadn’t been so reckless—if you hadn’t harmed Mrs. Knight—you wouldn’t have ended up like this."

Laughter rippled through the crowd, cold and cutting.

Tricia remained silent.

Kirsten smirked, savoring the moment.

"I invited her," she announced, her voice dripping with cruelty. "She killed my mother, so the least she can do is work like a dog to atone for her sins."

Her eyes gleamed with satisfaction.

Her last plan had failed. She had expected Tricia to take her own life after suffering humiliation at the club, but somehow, she had survived.

That didn’t matter.

Tonight, she had a new plan.

And this time, she would make sure Tricia died without a trace.