"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?"

Tricia had no time to respond. She bent over, coughing violently, her knuckles pressing against her trembling lips. The flour they had stuffed into her mouth earlier irritated her throat, triggering a deep, gut-wrenching retch. A moment later, she spat out a mouthful of blood.

Phil’s breath caught. His curse froze in his throat as his gaze fell on the blood-streaked powder pooling on the ground.

His fists clenched, his eyes clouded with a storm of emotions—disgust, resentment, and frustration at his own weakness.

But in the end, all he did was sneer coldly. “Don’t act pitiful. Just because you saved me doesn’t mean I’ll forgive you. If anything happens to my sister, you can bet I’ll kill you myself.”

Tricia wiped the blood from her lips and looked at the garden, now in ruins after the explosion. Her lips curled into a bitter smile. “Just now, your sister nearly killed both you and me.”

Phil’s expression darkened. “Kirsten is still young. She got carried away playing a prank. I’ll deal with her. But you…” His voice sharpened, dripping with contempt. “A vile, disgusting creature like you has no right to judge her. You’re nothing but a maggot crawling in the gutter.”

A maggot in the gutter.

Tricia’s body stiffened, a tremor running through her limbs.

She never thought the day would come when Phil would use such cruel words to describe her.

And yet, in his eyes, Kirsten’s actions—attempting to take their lives—were nothing more than a childish prank.

She looked up at him, her gaze unreadable.

For a brief moment, Phil felt an ache in his chest.

Why?

Why did this woman still have the power to affect him after all these years?

The sight of her vomiting blood had triggered something deep inside him—an instinct, a moment of worry. His first thought had been to take her to a hospital.

But then, he forced himself to remember.

This wasn’t the Tricia he had once loved.

She was his mother’s murderer.

A disgrace addicted to drugs.

There could be no connection between them anymore.

His expression hardened as he met her eyes, his tone cutting like a blade. “From now on, stay out of my sight. Stay away from Kirsten. If I see you again, I’ll make sure there’s no trace left of you.”

Tricia didn’t flinch.

She simply nodded, turned around, and limped away.

She couldn’t fall here.

She wouldn’t let Phil find out she had stomach cancer.

—

Meanwhile, Kirsten had been trembling with fear ever since learning that Phil had been in the garden.

Panic-stricken, she ran to him. The moment she saw him standing there unharmed, she threw herself into his arms and burst into tears.

“Brother, I was so scared! I thought something had happened to you!”

Phil’s jaw tightened. He pushed her away. “If something had happened to me, it would have been your fault.”

His tone was cold.

His disappointment was unmistakable.

Ever since their mother’s death, he and their father had spoiled Kirsten, shielding her from harm. He had never expected that his seemingly well-behaved, sensible sister would go so far as to try to kill someone.

No one else could have set up that gasoline trap.

Only Kirsten had unrestricted access to the garden.

Kirsten’s face paled as she realized the weight of his words. Desperation flashed in her eyes. “Brother, I was wrong! I won’t do it again, I swear! I was just… I was too angry. I wanted her to pay for what she did to Mom.” She quickly pulled their mother’s memory into the conversation, hoping it would soften his heart.

And it did.

Phil’s rigid expression eased ever so slightly.

“But that doesn’t mean you should stain your hands with blood,” he said, his voice calmer now. “You are a daughter of the Knight family. There’s no need for you to resort to such things.”

Kirsten nodded obediently, but as she glanced around, her brow furrowed.

“Brother, where’s Tricia?”

Phil’s voice was devoid of emotion. “I let her go. Don’t trouble her anymore.”

Kirsten’s eyes widened in shock.

“Brother, how can you just let her go?”

Her voice was sharp with disbelief. “Don’t forget, she killed our mother! She’s our mother’s murderer! If you still have feelings for her, can you even call yourself worthy of Mom?”

Phil’s entire body tensed.

His hands curled into fists.

He had convinced himself that he only hated Tricia now.

But Kirsten’s words hit him like a slap, leaving him cold with realization.

Why had he felt anger when he saw her being bullied?

Why had he felt panic when he saw her coughing up blood?

Why did he still care?

Because, deep down, despite everything…

He still loved her.

But she was the woman who had killed her mother.

How could he ever forgive that?

His face remained expressionless, but his heart pounded in his chest. He forced his voice to remain steady as he said, “Don’t talk nonsense. I only let her go because I don’t want you getting hurt. Tricia is a nobody now—she’s been to prison, she has no future. But you… you have a bright one ahead of you.”

Kirsten let out a breath of relief.

She had been afraid that Phil still had feelings for Tricia.

But she wouldn’t listen to his command.

She wouldn’t leave Tricia alone.

Because there was something much bigger at stake.

Her secret could never be exposed.

And as long as Tricia was alive…

That secret was in danger.

She had to get rid of her.