I'm a covert field agent working on an overseas archaeological mission. After being recalled early for meritorious service, I was preparing to marry my arranged partner.

But as soon as I reached his office door, his childhood sweetheart berated me, "Your father wrecked the entire parking lot and set a fire that nearly destroyed the whole building!"

Our family home, passed down for over a dozen generations, was transferred to Miguel Hines's name because my father couldn't afford the compensation.

That same night, a mysterious post popped up on my social media feed, [Oak Ridge Has Hot Goods—Hurry Over]

Oak Ridge—wasn't that precisely where my house stood?

That was how I learned there was something beneath my house—not gold or treasure, but secrets about my father.

Of course, my father had been in a vegetative state for seven years now. 

That car-smashing arsonist absolutely wasn't him!

***

No sooner had I returned to my country than my blind date informed me he wanted to break up.

I tracked him down at his company, only to learn he'd taken over the Rose Cottage passed down through eighteen generations of my family.

His childhood sweetheart even turned around and took me straight to the police station.

Martha Potter angrily pulled out her phone in front of the officers, "The surveillance footage shows it clearly!"

On the screen, an old man who looked almost identical to my father was swinging a hammer wildly at cars in the parking lot.

"Officer, my father has been bedridden for seven years. He was taken back to the countryside long ago."

Thinking I was trying to deny it, Martha exploded, "Your father's name is Duncan Howard, right? How could this be fake?!"

I froze. "That is indeed my father's name."

Martha's tone turned sharp, "So it was your father who did this and you're deliberately playing dumb?"

Officer Lewis motioned for her to quiet down and produced the police report, "Ms. Howard, your father did commit these crimes. This is the police report from back then." 

"If your partner hadn't compensated promptly, your father would likely be in prison by now." 

I examined the police report closely. My father's signature was indeed at the bottom.

Martha seized the moment to ask me, "When did you give the keys to the Rose Cottage to Mr. Hines?"

"That old house—what kind of crappy door is that? It even needs a custom lock."

The main gate of our house was made of special iron. The lock itself features an intricate pattern impossible to replicate—finding a locksmith to open it was out of the question.

I shook my head, unusually calm as I said, "My father would never give the Rose Cottage to anyone else."

She snorted coldly, "Miguel spent over a million to settle things with your father and now you're back, expecting to reclaim the house?!"

Martha's voice echoed throughout the police station, instantly drawing a crowd of onlookers.

"Look, everyone! Here's the contract in black and white. Her father couldn't afford the compensation, so he transferred the Rose Cottage to us. And now she refuses to acknowledge it!"

Countless stares pinned me to the spot. 

Someone advised me, "Your father signed the papers. It's not right for you to renege on the agreement now."

"You should have some conscience. They've already compensated you."

Even the police officer urged me, "Ms. Howard, the contract is crystal clear. You should hand over the keys to the new owner as soon as possible."

I watched as the faces surrounding me gradually twisted into looks of contempt.

Martha eyed me smugly, then lunged at me the next second. 

"Let me see—do you have the keys on you now?!"

She clamped her hands tightly around my arm, searching my entire body. I couldn't break free. I had no choice but to shove her away with all my strength.

Martha staggered before regaining her balance. "Bitch, you dare to push me?!"

Before I could say anything, a familiar low voice snapped.

It was Miguel. After years apart, our reunion happened at the police station.

Martha instantly changed into a delicate, vulnerable demeanor, "Miguel, she refuses to hand over the keys."

His face darkened as he addressed me coldly, "Your house is now mine. Hand over the keys, or I'll have to break in!"

Watching my former matchmaking partner embrace Martha, I suddenly understood. 

My voice turned icy, "It wasn't you who broke up with me—you were the one who cheated on me. I don't want you."

"I'll look into the Rose Cottage, but I don't have the keys."

I shoved Miguel hard. His face turned ashen, clearly embarrassed.

I composed myself and walked out of the police station without looking back.

After getting home, I called my dad several times but couldn't reach him. 

But then I stumbled upon a post, [Oak Ridge Has Hot Goods—Hurry Over]

Oak Ridge—wasn't that precisely where my house stood?

I worked in overseas archaeology, specializing in ancient traces of carbon-based lifeforms.

"Hot goods"—that was slang used only in the tomb-raiding underworld.

I replied privately, [I know. I can come help you.]

After arranging a time and location with the poster, I immediately reported the situation to my superiors.

Another tomb-raiding lead—looked like we might catch them red-handed.

I booked the earliest train back to my hometown. But strangely, the entire village was already deserted, eerily silent.

Without a key, I couldn't even enter the front gate of the Rose Cottage. But suddenly, I remembered the graves my father often visited.

Weeds had overgrown the graveyard, obscuring the paths. By chance, I stepped on a hidden compartment—inside was the key to the old house.

Just then, I heard faint footsteps behind me. Before I could turn around, a sack was suddenly pulled over my head.

I woke up inside the Rose Cottage.

"Brenda, I knew you'd come." Martha slapped me across the face. "Didn't you say you didn't know where the keys were?"

"You bitch, you tricked us!"

She threw the Rose Cottage's key at me in fury while I was bound and utterly powerless to resist.

I spat out a mouthful of blood as I confronted, "What do you think you're doing?"

Miguel glanced at Martha. Then, she pushed someone out from beside her—it was my cousin.

Lucio Howard, seeing me, cried out in distress, "Brenda, save me! I took care of your father for so long—you can't just stand by and watch me die."

Before I could react, Miguel gripped my chin tightly as he threatened, "Now that you've come to these mountains, no one can save you."

"Let me tell you the truth—there's treasure hidden beneath this house. But I never imagined your father would pour concrete over the basement door."

"You'd better remember if there's any other way down there!"

I shook my head. "You're mistaken. There can't be any treasure down there. The only thing of real value in this Rose Cottage is this black iron door."

Miguel suddenly erupted in rage, "Shut up! I know you know."

He pulled out his phone and showed me the very post I had replied to. 

It suddenly clicked, so I roared, "You posted that thread? You deliberately lured me back?"

Martha clicked her tongue. "Too late to figure it out now. Time waits for no one—go find the entrance!"

She shoved me hard to the ground, my hands still bound behind my back. The rough hemp rope dug painfully into my wrists.

"Where's my dad? Where did you take him?!"

A wave of intense dread surged through me, nearly choking me.

Miguel kicked my struggling cousin aside with a cold sneer, "The old bastard? He's right here in the Rose Cottage, of course. And we owe that to your cousin—he gave us the idea."

Knowing my father was likely unharmed, I breathed a sigh of relief.

I glanced at Lucio. His eyes darted around, avoiding mine entirely.

Now wasn't the time to press the issue. I had to stall for time until reinforcements arrived from headquarters.

After all, I'd informed headquarters that tomb raiders were suspected to be active here. If I could hold out for another hour and a half, they would definitely help me.

Forcing myself to stay calm, I managed a cold smile, "Miguel, if you want the key, just say so. Why invent lies about my dad smashing cars and burning the city?"

He suddenly slammed his foot down hard on the back of my hand. That was the hand I used to hold tools, examine traces and conduct archaeological work.

I heard the bone dislocate with a distinct crack and excruciating pain shot through my entire body.

Martha sneered, "Your father was just a decoy—the goal was to get you to hand over the key. Since you refuse to give it willingly, don’t blame us for being ruthless!"

"No... please... my hand!"

Agony made me tremble uncontrollably. My tendons and bones felt crushed, cold sweat instantly soaking my back.

He lifted his foot, his voice dripping with contempt. "I never cared for you. A year ago, I found out this house had the goods on the dark web and I started looking for the right person."

"Never imagined you'd actually fall for it, you fool."

His words barely registered as the excruciating pain in my hand consumed my consciousness. 

As my face drained of color, he clicked his tongue lightly, "You're an archaeologist abroad, right? If you don't cooperate, I'll make sure your hand never lifts again!"

He yanked me up abruptly, pointing at the room, "Hurry!"

I forced myself to stand and entered the inner room, only to find my father lying on the floor.

I nearly lost control as I rushed over—thankfully, he was still breathing.

"Dad! Dad!" I cried out repeatedly.

My father showed no sign of response. The ground beneath him was even stained with excrement.

Miguel walked over impatiently and smacked me hard across the back with his baton, "Stop dawdling, or I'll make sure your father never wakes up again!"

I wiped away my tears and gritted my teeth, "I have no idea where the underground passage is, I haven't been back to this house in years!"

Hearing my words, he frowned deeply.

Martha snapped angrily, "You're his daughter! How could you not know, huh?"

At that moment, my cousin, bound outside the door, timidly spoke up, "I think that's right. My mom once told me that back in the last century, they buried a lot of things here."

I glared at him, my eyes nearly killing him. He fell silent at once, terrified.

Seeing my hesitation, Miguel drew a dagger from his waist. He thrust it straight toward my shoulder blade.

Gripping the dagger in pain, I felt blood spill onto the ground. 

"You dare resist?!" He kicked me three meters away in disgust.

Lying on the ground, I stared at the clock on the Rose Cottage.

Thirty minutes left.

Struggling to my feet, I had no choice but to pretend to search.

"You wasted ten minutes! Do you really want him dead?!" Miguel suddenly grabbed my father by the throat.

I lunged forward and bit down hard on his arm.

Martha yanked my hair and screamed, "You bitch! How dare you bite him?!"

The pain made me release my grip. Miguel glanced at his bleeding arm and swiftly backhanded me across the face. "At least you've got some backbone."

Martha delivered several slaps in quick succession. My cheeks swelled instantly, blood seeping from the corner of my mouth.

She shook her hand and said angrily, "My hand hurts from hitting you, so you better talk now, how do we get into the basement, or none of us will live!"

Miguel clamped his hand around my throat, choking me nearly to the point of suffocation. Still, I forced out the words, "You're dreaming... I'd rather die than tell you!"

I did know of another way down. What lay hidden in that basement was a secret. My father had told me, as long as he was alive, no one was to open it!

Miguel sneered coldly, "So you do know." He suddenly released his grip. "You're not afraid of dying, but what about your father?"

He lunged at my father, yanked him up and slammed him hard onto the sofa. 

“Dad!” I screamed reflexively. “Miguel, let him go!”

My eyes bulged with fury, but Martha forcibly bound me to the pillar. She also shoved Lucio inside.

Lucio shouted at me, "Brenda, just tell them! I don't want to die here, please."

Seeing no response from me, his expression suddenly hardened as he screamed, "Brenda, you fucking heartless bitch! You're trying to kill me."

Seeing my cousin's distorted face, my heart turned to ice.

"Your blood relatives are all here. If you don't tell me the entrance, I'll kill them first," Miguel said as he bound my cousin and my father together.

Lucio trembled and cursed me.

"We'll start with your cousin." Miguel sneered coldly and the blade instantly pierced Lucio's chest.

"Brenda, even as a ghost, I'll never let you off!" He screamed hoarsely as the blade sank another inch deeper. 

Lucio's body convulsed violently as he begged, "I don't want to die young, please help me!"

My hands clenched into fists as my mind spun in chaos.

Five minutes left, but could reinforcements arrive in time?

Miguel noticed me checking the time and suddenly changed his mind.

He looped ropes around my father and cousin's necks. Martha tightened the one around my father's.

"I'll count to three. If you don't talk, we all die!" Without giving me any time to react, he began counting down, "Three! Two! One!"

The appointed time had come, but no one came to rescue us. 

The rope tightened violently, digging into flesh. 

I watched as Lucio's face turned a terrifying purplish-red in an instant. 

The sound of suffocation pierced my eardrums. 

"Okay, I'll talk!"

After all, I couldn't just stand by and watch them die.

After being untied, I pulled a key from the secret compartment and unlocked the hidden door.

Miguel motioned for me to lead the way, while Martha was tasked with keeping watch above.

The staircase descended over a dozen steps, the air thick with the musty scent of aged paper and dust. Yet the basement held no treasure—only rows of iron shelves stacked high with yellowed case files.

"How is this possible?!" 

Miguel couldn't believe it as he frantically flipped through the papers. His face instantly drained of color.

I caught glimpses of several file covers stamped with the vivid red word "CONFIDENTIAL."

The corners of Miguel's eyes instantly turned crimson as he roared, "You're mocking me?! How dare you mock me!" 

He spun around violently, slamming me hard against the cold iron table. The force of the impact made my vision go dark.

"I didn't know... This is my first time down here... Really..."  I gasped for breath, struggling to defend myself.

"Then die!" Rage consumed him entirely.

A cold gleam flashed as a dagger plunged into my side. I collapsed instantly.

He frantically pulled out a lighter and set fire to the stacked cardboard boxes. Flames roared upward, thick smoke spreading rapidly.

"Ah!" Through the haze of consciousness, I heard Martha's wretched scream from upstairs.

"Freeze! Everyone gets down!" A thunderous roar pierced through the chaos!

I saw a group of people in police uniforms surge into the basement!