"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.

After sending his sister away, Phil stood in the wreckage of the garden, staring at the charred remains of roses. His mind drifted back to memories of Tricia.

Years ago, they planted this rose garden together.

They had even buried a bottle of daughter’s red wine beneath the soil, a batch they had brewed themselves.

"Brother Phil, when we have a child in the future, let’s dig it up when they turn eighteen and celebrate their adulthood together."

"What do you think we should name our children if we have them?"

"How about Allan for a boy and Aileen for a girl?"

"Who do you think they’ll take after? I think, no matter what, they’ll be beautiful—just like you."

Even after all these years, her voice was still vivid in his mind.

They could have had so many beautiful futures.

Now, none of them will ever come true.

For years, he had lied to himself, keeping this rose garden as if preserving it would somehow preserve the past. As if it would stop time from pulling them further apart.

Now, it is gone.

Perhaps it was for the best.

They could never go back.

Phil turned and walked away.

Back in his studies, he powered on his computer and systematically erased every file, every photo, every trace of Tricia.

Then, he opened his desk drawer, where he had hidden all the gifts she had given him over the years. One by one, he tossed them into the trash.

He was determined to wipe her from his life completely.

Until he reached the last item.

A diamond ring.

Phil froze.

This was the engagement ring he had designed himself, painstakingly carved by a master jeweler.

For a long moment, he simply stared at it.

Then, with a deep breath, he walked to the artificial lake beside the villa and, without hesitation, threw it in.

The water rippled, swallowing her last piece.

"Tricia, from now on, we are nothing to each other."

From this moment forward, they were strangers.

—

Tricia staggered out of the Knight family’s villa, her steps unsteady.

She didn’t return to the club.

Instead, she went to the cemetery in Glenwood.

She had no family, no one to turn to.

After some thought, the only person she could confide in was Phil’s mother.

Standing before the tombstone, she placed a bouquet of fresh flowers down and ran her fingers lightly over the engraved portrait. The woman in the photo was smiling gently.

Tricia let out a shaky breath and whispered, “Aunt Kara, when I die, we’ll be neighbors.”

She laughed softly, though it was tinged with sorrow.

“I don’t know if you’d be angry or happy to have me here with you.”

“But… I hope you’ll be happier.”

She spoke for a long time, pouring out everything she had kept bottled inside.

By the time she left, the sky had turned an ominous shade of gray.

Twilight settled over the winding mountain road.

There were no taxis.

No people.

She had no choice but to walk.

Then, suddenly—

A heavy truck roared from behind, its headlights blinding.

Before her mind could register the danger, her body reacted on instinct.

She dove to the side, rolling into the drainage ditch just beyond the guardrail. The rush of wind from the passing truck whipped against her skin, and the impact sent her tumbling onto a pile of jagged gravel.

Pain exploded in her lower back.

Tricia gritted her teeth, forcing herself to move.

With trembling fingers, she pulled out her phone, snapped a photo of the truck’s license plate, and sent it to Officer Blake.

The moment she hit send, the sharp screech of tires cutting against asphalt split the air.

Her heart dropped.

The truck was reversing.

A chill ran down her spine.

If it succeeded, she would be crushed beneath its wheels.

Someone wanted her dead.

She didn’t have time to think about who.

Acting fast, she raised her phone to her ear and called out in a clear, strong voice, “Uncle Police, are you picking me up at the foot of the mountain? Okay! Come quickly! I was in a car accident!”

The driver hesitated.

If the police were already nearby, he couldn’t afford to linger.

A second later, the truck jerked forward, its engine roaring as it sped away.

Tricia exhaled in relief.

Her body went limp.

Darkness swallowed her.

When she woke up again, she was in a hospital bed.

The first thing she saw was Officer Blake, his face filled with worry.

“You haven’t been exposed, have you? Why would someone try to kill you?”

Tricia’s breath hitched.

Only one name came to mind.

Kirsten.