I grabbed Kathleen's arm and turned to leave, but Cyril's fist connected with my face before I could take a single step.

"Do you have any idea who Old Mr. Gilbert is in Seaview City?" he snarled. "When that man tells you to shut up, you don't even breathe loud. You think his son would be some pathetic loser like you?" He jabbed a finger at me. "A nobody cook trying to bluff me? Beat his ass!"

They lifted their boots and drove them into my skull, one kick after another.

Kathleen was caught in the crossfire. I threw myself over her, shielding her body with mine, taking every blow across my back.

"Francis!" Cyril roared. "My wife doesn't need your protection!"

He bent down and snatched up an iron rod, swinging it high overhead—straight at my head.

I hunched forward, bracing for the impact, but Kathleen shoved me aside.

The rod cracked against her shin. A bruise bloomed instantly, angry and swollen.

"Kathy!"

Something inside me snapped.

I balled my fists and threw them into Cyril's face—once, twice, again and again—hammering his nose until I felt cartilage shift. The thugs stumbled back, wariness flickering in their eyes.

I had Cyril pinned beneath me. Blood streamed from his nostrils as he thrashed, unable to break free, fury and panic twisting his expression.

"Honey!"

Kathleen's scream cut through the chaos. I turned on instinct.

A wooden bat filled my vision—

CRACK.

Agony exploded across the top of my skull. Hot blood slid down my forehead, my temples, pooling in my eyes. Stars burst white and jagged.

I staggered sideways and collapsed against the cabinet. Through the haze, I saw Kathleen cradling Cyril's face in her hands, her eyes soft with worry.

Grief and rage ripped through me in equal measure.

She hadn't been calling for me.

Something toppled from the top of the cabinet and landed at my feet with a sharp clap. A red cloth unfurled across the floor, revealing what it had been hiding.

A photograph.

Kathleen stood in a pool of blood, smiling. Beside her, Cyril pressed his lips to the back of her hand.

The date stamped in the lower right corner of the frame was the exact day my wife had supposedly been raped and killed.

The caption read: A Happy Moment.

My heart seized. Every drop of blood in my body turned to ice.

Cyril crouched down, his face split in a mocking grin, and patted my cheek—once, twice, slow and deliberate.

"Well, well. Looks like you've stumbled onto the truth."

Kathleen leaned her head against Cyril's shoulder and smiled at me—at the hollowed-out shell of me—like I was the funniest thing she'd ever seen.

"Francis, three years later and you're still this stupid."

My voice came out broken. "Kathy... you never lost your memory..."

Laughter erupted around me. They pointed at the devastation on my face and howled.

"Look at him—like a beaten dog!"

"He actually believed it! Didn't even know he'd been played!"

Kathleen tilted her head toward Cyril's ear, her breath warm against his skin.

"Honey, what if he finds out I faked my death? He did stab a man to death. What if he stabs me too?"

Cyril's arm slid around her waist, pulling her close.

"Then we make sure he goes back to prison for a few more years. Or better yet—" His lips curled. "He dies."

He pulled out his phone and dialed.

"Carina. The man who killed your father is at my place. If you want revenge, come get it."

I dragged myself up and threw my arms around Kathleen's legs.

"Kathy—what are you talking about? What is this?"

She lifted her foot. The stiletto of her heel dug into my cheek.

"Francis, you stabbed her father to death. We're just inviting her to settle the score."

My lips trembled. "Kathy, you were raped—everything I did was to avenge you!"

She doubled over laughing. Cyril watched me with the lazy amusement of a cat toying with something half-dead.

"But she was never raped, Francis. The only truth in any of it is that you lost your mind and killed a man."

A tremor started in my legs and climbed through my entire body.

"How could you frame me like this? I killed the breadwinner of an entire family!"

Cyril grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked my head back. "Oh, it gets better. You also ruined a girl who'd been accepted to a top university. She had to drop out because of you."

A roar tore from my throat. "Cyril! I'm the one who sponsored you out of that mountain village! I'm the one who got you into a top law firm! And this is how you repay me?"

Cyril narrowed his eyes and reached out, patting my cheek with one hand.

"Don't talk to me about sponsorship. Everything I've achieved is because of my own talent."

"Besides, whatever you gave me, Francis? Kathy earned that for me."

"Kathy is my real benefactor. You? You're nothing but a tool that got used up."

My mouth stretched wide, a raw cry tearing from my throat. I reared my head back and slammed it toward his skull.

"You backstabbing pair of scum—I'll kill you both!"

"Kill us?" He didn't even flinch. "You think you have what it takes?"

One of the thugs caught my arms mid-lunge and wrenched them apart, pinning me spread-eagle. I couldn't move an inch.

Ding-dong.

The doorbell rang.

Cyril opened the door and led in a small, thin girl. She looked barely old enough to be out on her own.

He pointed a finger at me and leaned close to her ear.

"That's the man who killed your father."

The girl lifted her head. The hatred in her eyes was so thick it was almost liquid.

"Francis Gilbert—you killed my dad. I'm going to make you pay!"

She aimed the blade straight at my chest.

A wet, sickening sound—the knife sank half an inch into the flesh over my heart before it stopped.

Agony ripped through me. My face drained of color. "Carina Smith—I'm a victim too. The real enemy is Cyril."

"If you kill me, you'll go to prison. Don't throw your life away for this. He's lying to you!"

"Let me get to the bottom of everything first. However you want me to make it right after that, I will. Okay?"

Cyril reached over and gripped Carina's trembling arm. He pushed gently, and the blade slid another half inch deeper.

He stared at the twisted agony on my face, whispering into her ear with a grin.

"Don't be afraid, Carina. Uncle Cyril is a big-shot attorney, remember?"

"I'll tell the judge it wasn't intentional homicide—it was self-defense."

"Don't forget: you used to have a happy family. You'd already been accepted to the university of your dreams. You were supposed to have a bright future. Francis Gilbert destroyed all of it."

"Carina—" I blurted, desperate. "After it happened, I sold my house and transferred every cent to you. I never meant to hurt you!"

Carina's teeth ground together. She screamed, "You liar! You never gave me a dime!"

A tremor ran through my entire body. I looked at Cyril, who stood there smiling, saying nothing.

Back then, he'd been my defense attorney. He was the one who handled the compensation paperwork for me.

Carina's reaction made it hit me all at once—he'd pocketed every dollar from the sale of my house.

This house. This house was the one he'd bought.

He'd shuffled the money from one hand to the other and turned everything I had into his own.

"Ha ha Haha! "

Cyril stroked Carina's hair and threw his head back, laughing.

Carina let out a wrenching cry. Her right hand tightened around the knife, and she drove it forward with everything she had.

But a moment passed—and no fresh agony bloomed in my chest.

I opened my eyes. Cyril was crumpled on the floor, a blood-soaked knife buried in his thigh.

"Honey!"

Kathleen shrieked and threw herself over him, pressing both hands against the wound as blood pulsed through her fingers.

Cyril writhed on the ground, cursing through the pain.

Kathleen shot to her feet, seized a fistful of Carina's hair, and slapped her—once, twice, again and again.

"You ungrateful little wretch! Without my husband's charity, you'd have frozen to death this winter, you orphan! And this is how you repay him?"

Carina spat out a mouthful of blood.

"You two really thought you could fool me?"

"Charity? That money was bought with my father's life."

"I didn't come here to kill Francis. I came here to kill you, Cyril!"

She turned her head and looked at me. Something complicated moved behind her eyes.

"Francis... I'm sorry. My dad wronged you."

"He didn't expose their scheme. He had a terminal illness, and he wanted to trade his life for some security for mine."

"But I investigated you in secret, and that's when I realized what a good person you truly are. I couldn't live off blood money like that. So I chose to drop out on my own—it was never your fault."

Kathleen's face twisted with rage. She lunged forward and locked both hands around Carina's throat.

"You little bitch, I'll strangle you!"

Her fingers dug in. Carina's face turned purple as she thrashed on the ground.

Cyril clutched his wounded leg and staggered upright, snatching a wooden stick from the floor.

"You think you're clever? You think you can play me?" He swung the stick down hard on Carina's thigh. "I'll make you wish you were dead!"

Carina let out a muffled groan as she hit the ground—but seized the moment. Her hand shot out, gripping the handle of the knife still buried in Cyril's leg, and wrenched it sideways.

"Honey!"

"Boss!"

Cyril screamed and crumpled to the floor.

Kathleen and the thugs pinning me down rushed over to check on him.

I crouched beside Carina and gathered her upper body into my arms. I didn't know what to feel.

She lay against my chest, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

"I'm sorry... Francis. In the end, I still couldn't finish him off for you."

"You need to go. Now. They won't let you walk out of here."

"Go?" Cyril's voice rose behind us, unhinged and seething. "Where exactly do you think you're going? My leg is practically shattered—you think I'm letting either of you leave?!"

He hauled himself up, his expression dark and deranged.

The thugs closed in from every direction, forming a tight ring around us.

I narrowed my eyes. "Cyril. What are you doing?"

A vicious grin split his face. "What am I doing? Sending you right back to prison."

He jerked his chin at the men. "Strip her. Every last stitch. Francis here got a little too excited—tried to rape and murder her."

The thugs' gazes crawled over Carina without shame. She flinched, shrinking against me, but forced the words out through clenched teeth.

"Cyril. I'm the one who stabbed you. Let Francis go. Whatever you want to do to me—I won't fight back."

Cyril's hand whipped across her face. Blood welled at the corner of her lip.

"You're not going anywhere. And this worthless piece of trash isn't either."

The thugs seized my limbs and shoved me down in front of Carina.

I fought against them, every muscle straining, but it was useless. "Cyril! Kathleen! This is a crime! Does the law mean nothing to you?!"

Cyril let out a derisive laugh. "The law? The law is where poor men like you go begging for evidence. I'm the one who controls the evidence."

They'd torn away nearly all of Carina's clothes when I thrashed harder—and they beat me for it.

Then my phone rang. The sound came from my pocket, shrill and sudden.

Cyril snatched it before I could blink, dangling it in front of my face.

"Calling the police?"

He leaned in, teeth bared. "You're so naive, Francis. When the cops see the scene I'm about to arrange, it'll play out exactly like it did three years ago—Francis Gilbert, attacking in a fit of rage."

"And even if you appeal, even if you beg for help, it won't matter. Every lawyer in this city gives me face. You're a dead man walking."

He answered the call with a smirk and hit speaker.

"Officer, this is Attorney Jennings from Elite Law Firm. I'm reporting a crime—a rape and murder at my residence. The perpetrator's name is Francis Gilbert."

Silence.

The line stayed dead.

A full thirty seconds passed before a voice came through—low, commanding, heavy with authority.