I coldly swept my eyes over Yvonne and her mother. "I want the entire questioning process to be recorded with a bodycam."

"You’re guilty! You’re feeling guilty!" Yvonne screamed while pointing at me. "You're afraid the officer will see the scratches on the back of his hand, aren't you?"

Looking at Yvonne's face that was twisted with excitement, the last bit of sympathy I had disappeared.

If I just let them go inside to have a look, this farce would be over.

But they were too greedy, too eager to solidify the "molestation" charge and too desperate for the so-called emotional trauma compensation.

Since they were so confident, even making up details like "calluses on the hands", "left hand grabbing the neck" and "scratches on the back of the hand", then I would help them.

I turned to the officer and said, "Okay, I'll cooperate with the investigation. But like I said, my husband can't move right now. I'll go to the police station with you to make a statement. As for the injury verification..."

I smirked mysteriously. "You can examine him as much as you want in court."

-

Being a famous influencer, Yvonne was a pro at editing videos.

That evening, a video titled "Rich Man Molests Innocent College Girl In The Elevator, The Wife Arrogantly Says: Sue Me If You Dare!" went viral.

In the video, she cut out all the parts that did not fit her narrative, only keeping the scenes where I laughed coldly and stopped the police officer from entering my apartment.

The caption was even more sensationalized: "So this is the power of money? Even the police can't go in! How can a weak woman like me protect her rights?"

The comments section exploded. Tens of thousands of negative comments flooded in.

[They're so arrogant! We have to dox them!]

[The man's hiding in his shell like a turtle. He must have the scratch marks!]

[That woman's no good either. She looks like a spiteful witch!]

[They need to be put behind bars! Stay strong, girl, we're all behind you!]

Even worse, someone dug up my phone number from the community's homeowner group.

My phone was instantly bombarded with all sorts of vile and abusive text messages.

Someone even photoshopped my husband's funeral photo and sent it to my phone.

Yvonne took advantage of the popularity and started a livestream.

In the livestream, she lay weakly in a hospital bed with a thick bandage around her neck, although the background was clearly a hotel. Jenny was next to her, wiping her tears.

"Thank you for all the well wishes... the doctor said I'm traumatized, I might... I might have depression..."

Yvonne choked up, "We don't want to take things too far. As long as they publicly apologize and pay us the emotional trauma compensation we ask for, we'll consider dropping the charges... After all, we should always be merciful when we can."

Watching all the donations and subscriptions pouring in on the livestream, I was so furious that my hands trembled.

Chris was lying on the bed. Although he did not have hands, he used his face to gently rub my cheek.

There was pain in his eyes, but there was also encouragement.

I took a deep breath, held his face and kissed the scars that had healed yet remained hideous.

"Don't worry, honey. If it's popularity they want, I'll give them a big boost."

I opened the X app, formerly known as Twitter, and registered a new account with the handle "Chris Gomez's Wife".

No nonsense, no sob stories.

I tagged Yvonne and posted a short tweet:

"Stop playing the victim. Forget a million dollars. If you can prove in court that those hands actually exist and have touched even just one of your fingers, I'll give you both my properties, both my cars, and 15 million dollars in cash on top."

This tweet exploded online.

[What the hell! 15 million?]

[This woman's crazy! She's giving away money for free!]

[She's betting that the man didn't leave fingerprints. So sneaky!]

[Can't wait to see her get humbled! Go for it, Yvonne! Take everything she has!]

Yvonne replied almost immediately: "Challenge accepted! See you in court! Don't come crying to me then!"

On the day of the trial, the area outside the court was filled with reporters and fans who were holding up signs supporting Yvonne.

Yvonne, wearing a plain white dress, walked into the courtroom supported by her lawyer and her mother.

When she saw me sitting alone in the defendant's family seat, a flicker of smug mockery crossed her eyes.

The trial began.

Yvonne's lawyer was the first to strike, his words sharp:

"Your Honor, the defendant Chris Gomez took advantage of the enclosed space in the elevator to forcibly commit sexual assault against my client. His actions were despicable, causing serious physical and mental harm to my client!"

Then, Yvonne took the stand as a witness.

She described, once again, in even greater detail than before, the non-existent crime.

"That day, I entered the elevator, and the defendant followed me in. Because there were only two of us in the elevator, I was very scared. He suddenly hugged me from behind. His hands... were very strong. They felt like iron clamps."

Yvonne closed her eyes. As if recalling something terrifying, her body trembled uncontrollably.

"There was something hard on his left hand's index finger. It felt like a ring. It hurt my neck so much. His right hand... his right hand tore at my collar. The rough sensation moved around my collarbone... I could even feel the sting from the dirt in his fingernails scratching my skin!"

Gasps erupted throughout the courtroom.

The crowd was outraged. Many people pointed at me, and faint curses were audible.

"I'm disgusted!"

"If she can remember in such detail, it must be true!"

"Where is Chris Gomez? Is he too ashamed to show his face?"

Yvonne wiped away her tears and looked at the judge. "Your Honor, I beg you to severely punish the culprit! He even threatened me. He said if I dared to call the police, he would strangle me to death!"

The judge frowned and turned to the defendant's table. "Why is the defendant not present?"

I slowly stood up, straightened my clothes, and looked expressionlessly at Yvonne.

At that moment, the air in the courtroom seemed to freeze.

"Your Honor, it's not that my husband is unwilling to attend, but because of his physical condition, he has difficulties moving around."

Yvonne's lawyer scoffed. "Difficulties moving around? Or on the run to avoid punishment?! He can attend even if he's in a wheelchair, right?"

I ignored his mockery. My eyes were locked on Yvonne, and my voice was clear and firm.

"Miss Shaw, you testified under oath earlier that you could clearly feel the ring on the defendant's left hand, the rough fingertips of his right hand, and even the dirt in his fingernails, correct?"

Yvonne was slightly unnerved by my gaze, but still said stubbornly, "Yes! I'll remember those hands until the day I die!"

"Good."

I nodded and turned to face the courtroom door. I suddenly raised my voice. It trembled a little, but was still very loud:

"Since Miss Shaw remembers so clearly, let’s all open our eyes and take a good hard look at the hands she claimed choked her! Open the door! Bring in the defendant, Chris Gomez!"

As a loud creaking sound filled the courtroom, the massive wooden doors slowly opened to both sides.

All the cameras, all the eyes, all the angry, contemptuous, curious gazes, focused on the door.

Against the light, a custom-made electric wheelchair slowly rolled in.

A man was sitting in the wheelchair.

His empty sleeves swayed gently, blown by the cold air from the air conditioning...