Drunk and reeking of alcohol, Connor stumbled back into the room. The moment he climbed into bed, he pulled her into his arms, wrapping himself around her from behind, his hand fitting snugly around her narrow waist.

In a low, raspy voice, he murmured her name. "Samantha... Samantha, I missed you so much."

His words and his touch were thick with tenderness, so convincing that Samantha found herself hesitating.

Her back stiffened slightly. She placed her hand over his, inhaling deeply before testing him. "Connor, do you really love me?"

His chin nuzzled into her hair like a kitten seeking warmth. Without a pause, he said, "I love you. I love you so much. Samantha, let's never be apart. Ever."

Her eyes were blank, unfocused. She gently guided his hand to her chest, right over her heart.

After a long silence, she echoed, "Alright. Let's never be apart."

If Connor was willing to throw himself into this cruel game of revenge, then she was just as willing to offer up her entire life in return.

Later, his breathing evened out. He'd fallen asleep.

Samantha sat up suddenly, reached for his phone, and tried unlocking it with her birthday. Wrong password.

Her lips curled into a bitter smile. Then she entered Cathy Simone's birthday.

The screen lit up.

The shame of her own blindness hit her hard—how easily she'd trusted him, how oblivious she'd been to the deceit that had wrapped itself around her life like a noose.

She opened WhatsApp, scrolled through his group chats, and clicked into one with his friends.

[Connor, it's almost Cathy's death anniversary. Let's do something big that day, really give Samantha a lesson she won't forget. Consider it a tribute to Cathy.]

[Yeah. I've got an idea—let her relive that nightmare from three years ago. But we'll make it worse. When the fire starts, you swoop in and 'save' her again. She'll be even more obsessed with you. Then when she's madly in love, just dump her.]

There was a long pause before Connor replied: [Alright. But don't take it too far. Safety first.]

His friends replied:

[Connor, you're still too nice to her. Have you forgotten? If it weren't for her, Cathy wouldn't be dead.]

[You're not actually falling for her, are you?]

His reply came instantly. [As if. She killed Cathy. I could never love her. Not in this lifetime.]

Samantha stared at that message. She could almost picture the look on his face as he typed it—eyes cold, jaw tight.

He must hate her. Hate her so much he could barely stand it.

And yet, for years, he'd played the role of the doting lover. How much pain must he have endured, pretending every day?

Her chest felt hollow. But her thoughts were already settling into clarity.

On Cathy's death anniversary—one month from now—she would "die". Right in front of him.

She'd give him what he wanted: release.

But she also had a parting gift for him.

She was going to uncover the truth behind Cathy's death.

Because that death had always been strange. And she had nothing to do with it.

The day it happened, they had been practicing dance together at the studio. The security cameras confirmed no one else had entered or left the building.

Then out of nowhere, Cathy jumped.

No signs of suicidal thoughts. No reason to end her life. So naturally, everyone pointed fingers at Samantha.

But she was innocent.

Her fingers clenched into fists. She could already imagine the moment Connor found out that Cathy's death had nothing to do with her.

And by then, she would already be gone—destroyed by his revenge.

She couldn't wait to see the look on his face.

The next day, Connor said he wanted to take Samantha out to a bar.

Samantha declined, saying she wasn't feeling well.

But he held her tightly, his voice low and soft against her ear, coaxing. "Come on, baby. After what happened at the hotel, everyone's still worried about you. Just come out, relax a little, yeah?"

Samantha stared straight into his eyes. She couldn't tell what game they were playing this time—or what kind of revenge they were planning now.

After a pause, she forced a smile. "Sure. Let's go."

At the bar, people kept coming over to toast her. Samantha accepted every glass without hesitation.

Seeing her drink so freely, everyone around her smiled in satisfaction.

"Samantha, a toast to you." Hannah Simone walked up to her, grinning, a drink in hand.

Hannah was Cathy's twin sister. They looked nearly identical. For years, she'd been by Connor's side.

Back then, Samantha had simply thought of her as a friend. But after learning the truth about Connor and his revenge, Samantha couldn't help but look at Hannah differently now.

"Alright." Samantha tipped the glass back and downed it in one go.

Suddenly, Hannah stumbled slightly, and the glass in her hand tipped forward. The drink spilled down the front of Samantha's clothes.

"Oh no! Are you okay?" Hannah asked, feigning concern.

"I'm fine." Samantha's cheeks were slightly flushed, and she rubbed her temple as if she were tipsy.

"Samantha, your clothes are soaked. You'll catch a cold like this. I'll take you upstairs to change, alright?"

Samantha glanced at Connor. He gave a small nod. "It's fine. Go ahead."

So she got up, staggering a little as Hannah helped her walk.

There were clean, private rooms upstairs in the bar. Hannah led her into one of them and said gently, "Take off your clothes first. I'll go grab something clean for you. Just wait here, okay? Don't wander."

"Mhm. Got it."

As soon as the door clicked shut behind her, the hazy look in Samantha's eyes disappeared. Her gaze turned sharp.

She had taken hangover medicine in advance. The drinks they'd poured into her earlier had no effect at all.

She was playing along, just to see what they were really planning.

She pulled out her phone. Earlier, she had slipped a bug inside Connor's jacket.

Now, with a single tap, the voices of Connor and his friends came through clearly into her ear.

"Don't worry, Connor. Everything's ready. The intel's solid. Matt Wilson is coming here tonight to talk business. That room upstairs is prepped for him."

"Everyone knows Matt isn't into women. So many people tried to cozy up to him, even sent girls to his bed—he beat them half to death."

"Anyway, Samantha's not getting out of this tonight. And tomorrow morning, you'll rush in looking all panicked and worried. Show up right when she's barely hanging on. She'll love you even more after that."

Connor didn't say a word. His head hung low, face unreadable.

"But… what if he actually does something to her?" he finally asked, hesitant, after a long silence.

Just then, Hannah came back. She rested her hand on his shoulder, her voice sweet and playful. "Connor, are you actually worried about her? Everyone knows Matt's a weirdo. No matter how hot a girl is, even if she's on his bed in her birthday suit, he won't even look at her. And besides, Samantha killed Cathy. If Matt decides to take Samantha tonight, she should be thanking her lucky stars."

When Cathy's name was mentioned, something in Connor's expression hardened.

Yes. It was Samantha who killed Cathy.

Whatever happened to her now—she deserved it.

And yet… why did his chest tighten ever so slightly when he thought of her, eyes red from crying, throwing herself into his arms?

He couldn't help himself. He downed several gulps of liquor. Sweat formed on his forehead. It numbed his nerves just enough to push the thought away.

Upstairs, Matt opened the door to his room. The air was thick with the sharp scent of alcohol, laced with the faint, cloying sweetness of perfume.

He instantly became alert, his voice sharp and cold. "Get out. Now."

From under the covers, a small figure stirred. Samantha's head slowly emerged from the bedding.

She looked straight at him, lips curling into a calm, almost defiant smile. "Let's make a deal."

Matt narrowed his eyes. "What kind of deal?"

"I'll give you one million. Just let me stay here for the night. You don't have to do anything. You don't even have to say anything."

He stared at her for a long time, silently, taking in the audacity of this girl who dared to speak so boldly in front of him.

She clearly had no idea who he was.

Matt was the kind of man who never lacked money. In fact, he was the richest person in Reystein City.

But for someone to offer him one million just for a night of silence—this was a first.

Strangely, he didn't hate her for it.

Instead of flying into a rage, as he normally might, he did something completely unexpected.

He agreed.

The night passed quietly. Nothing happened between them.

The next morning, there was a knock at the door.

Connor's voice rang out anxiously from the hallway. "Samantha? Are you in there? Are you okay?"

Samantha was still in the bathroom doing… something. Matt sat on the couch, arms crossed, an amused look on his face, like he was waiting for the show to begin.

When she finally stepped out, she wore a silk slip dress. Her hair was tousled, her eyes red, as if she'd just been crying.

Faint marks—bluish-purple bruises—dotted her pale, slender neck. They looked suspiciously like… hickeys.

Matt's gaze lingered on her, curious now.

Samantha walked unhurriedly to the door and opened it.

The moment it swung open, tears streamed down her face like pearls spilling off a broken string. Without a word, she collapsed into Connor's arms.

She didn't speak. Just cried.

Connor and the people behind him froze in place, stunned by what they were seeing.

"You… how could you—" His voice cracked as he held her close, his tone filled with disbelief.

She cried like a broken doll, her tears soaking his shirt, clinging to him like a kitten that had been kicked one too many times.

"Connor… I… I… what do I do… I don't want to live anymore…"

His eyes slid past her, settling on the man still seated inside, and his gaze hardened into burning fury.

Matt exuded an oppressive stillness, a cold and eerie aura.

The friends behind Connor sensed something was off. One by one, they tugged at his sleeve, urging him to calm down.

Connor clenched his jaw, face twisted in fury. Without a word, he bent down, scooped Samantha into his arms, and walked off. His expression was like ice.

The group followed behind, lost and unsure.

Back in the room, Matt sat casually, lips curling into a faint smile. In his hand was the bank card Samantha had given him.

"Interesting," he murmured.

Samantha continued to cry.

No matter what Connor asked, she wouldn't respond.

He held her tightly, gently patting her shoulder in an attempt to soothe her—as if afraid that if he pressed even a little too hard, she might shatter.