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.

"Kirsten is right. You should atone for your sins. What should we make her do first?"

Excitement flickered in the group’s eyes as they considered ways to torment Tricia.

"Let’s start by treating her like a dog," Kirsten sneered, tossing a ball into the swimming pool beside her.

A nearby puppy immediately leaped in, paddling toward the ball.

"Tricia, Manager Mike said you have to obey me today," Kirsten said, smiling sweetly.

Tricia bit her lip, suppressing the humiliation, and jumped into the icy water.

She had come here today to gain Mike’s trust. She couldn’t just walk away.

Struggling against the dog, she finally grabbed the ball, but just as she swam back to the edge, sharp blows rained down on her. Brooms and sticks struck her body, forcing her back into the water.

The pool water surged into her nostrils, burning her throat. Her body convulsed violently, instinctively gasping—only to suck in more water.

Her ears rang from the water pressure, the world around her blurring into muffled echoes of laughter.

But she fought.

She had to survive.

She couldn’t die yet.

After what felt like an eternity, a net dragged her out. She collapsed onto the cold ground, her body trembling, her soaked clothes clinging to her like a second skin. Her face was deathly pale.

Kirsten crouched beside her, sneering. "Lucky you."

Then, as if rewarding a pet for an amusing trick, she said, "Since you worked so hard, I’ll be generous. Do you remember the garden my brother prepared for you? I’ll let you visit it. Go with Alex and pick some flowers for me."

Tricia stiffened.

Of course, she remembered.

Once, she had loved roses, and Phil had planted an entire garden for her behind the villa. He had promised that when they married, the roses they grew together would decorate their wedding.

But that day would never come.

With hollow eyes, she turned and walked toward the abandoned garden.

Watching her leave, Kirsten’s lips curled.

Since Tricia had gone to prison, Phil had forbidden anyone from entering that place. It had long been abandoned.

She wasn’t sending Tricia there to pick flowers.

She was sending her to die.

A glance at her bodyguard, Alex, was all it took. He nodded, understanding the silent order.

—

As Tricia approached the withered garden, she was suddenly stopped.

"Don’t go in," a guard said. "The young master is inside. No one is allowed to disturb him."

Hearing this, Tricia immediately turned around to leave.

She couldn’t see Phil.

She was afraid—afraid that if she did, she might falter, might crave the warmth of the past and abandon her mission.

But then—

The other guard’s face paled. His eyes widened in panic.

"No…! Call the young master out now! There’s gasoline inside—the fire will start any moment!"

Tricia froze.

Gasoline?

Her heart clenched as realization crashed over her.

Kirsten hadn’t just wanted to kill her—she had set this trap to burn Phil alive.

Without thinking, she bolted inside.

"Phil!" she shouted. "Get out! There’s gasoline in here!"

Inside the glass house, Phil sat alone, lost in the memories of a love that had long since turned to ashes.

But through the quiet, he thought he heard her voice.

His body tensed.

He turned, and through the dim light, he saw her rushing toward him.

His chest tightened.

Tricia…?

He moved instinctively, stepping out of the glass house.

The moment he did, she grabbed his hand.

"Run!" she gasped. "It’s dangerous!"

She was drenched, shivering, her strength seemingly drained. Yet somehow, she managed to pull him forward with desperate force.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Phil demanded as she dragged him.

But his mind flashed back—to a different time, a different place.

In college, she had once pulled him like this, laughing, saying she wanted to experience the romance of an idol drama couple running hand-in-hand by the lake.

That day, they had ended up breathless, sharing a kiss by the water.

Now, they were running again. But this time, it wasn’t for romance.

It was for survival.

Just as they reached the garden’s edge—

BOOM!

A deafening explosion erupted behind them.

The force sent them flying, flames swallowing the garden whole.

Phil instinctively shielded Tricia with his body as they hit the ground.

For a moment, there was only the roar of the fire.

Then, as the heat seared his back, realization dawned.

She rushed in recklessly—to save him.

His gaze dropped on her, a storm of emotions churning in his chest.

Before he could say a word, something tumbled from Tricia’s pocket.

His hand shot out, grabbing it before she could react.

His fingers curled around the small package.

His stomach twisted.

Slowly, he looked up at her, disbelief in his eyes.

"Tricia," he murmured. "What the hell is this?"

Her face changed. "It has nothing to do with you. Give it back."

Before he could stop her, she snatched it from his grip—then shoved it into her mouth, swallowing it whole.

Phil’s blood ran cold.

Understanding hit him like a brick.

"No wonder you’re desperate for money," he said, his voice eerily calm. "You got involved with this stuff in prison, didn’t you?"

His fingers clenched. His jaw tightened. "And you brought it here today… Were you planning to give it to Kirsten and the others?"

The fury inside him ignited, burning away the moment of hesitation, the flicker of warmth.

Tricia had killed his mother.

She should have hidden like a rat, living in shame.

But instead—she had dared to target his sister.

His voice was a low growl, full of barely restrained rage.

"You killed my mother. And now, you want to destroy my sister too?"

His eyes locked onto hers, dark with fury.

"Tricia… how can you be so utterly vile?"