Chapter 2

A faint scent of disinfectant mixed with the fresh smell of new sheets.

The apartment wasn't large, one bedroom and a living room, but it was spotlessly clean. The furniture was simple and practical: a bed, a desk, a wardrobe. No unnecessary decorations, none of the pink I detested, none of Emily's imposed preferences.

I dropped my old canvas bag on the floor and unzipped it.

The laptop and hard drive lay quietly beneath a few old clothes.

I didn't touch them immediately. Instead, I walked into the bathroom.

I turned on the shower, and hot water cascaded over me.

I closed my eyes, letting the water wash over my body. The wound on my forehead stung as it met the hot water, making me flinch. I reached up and touched it. The congealed blood was washing away, and fresh blood began to seep out again.

I looked at myself in the mirror, at the gash on my forehead from the vase.

When my father George threw it, his eyes were filled with disgust and rage.

He would probably never know that it wasn't the first time he wanted me dead.

Seven years ago, when the Tristian family first took me in, I was small and thin from years of hunger, my skin dull and dark-a living contrast to their gilded world.

Once, he brought me to a business dinner. I didn't know how to use a fork and knife. I mangled my steak, and the juice splattered onto a lady's designer purse beside me.

Her face tightened.

My father apologized over and over. At home, he locked me in the basement.

"How could I have a daughter so...unpresentable!"

"You are simply a disgrace to our family!"

His roar from the other side of the door was warped with rage.

I starved for a day and a night in that cold, damp dark. Curled in the corner, I was sure I would die there.

Then, Lucas came.

He secretly brought me bread and milk.

Through the door, his voice was as gentle as moonlight.

"Sylvia, don't be scared. You're just not used to it yet. It'll get better."

"I'll always be here for you."

That sliver of kindness became the sole light I clung to for survival over the next seven years.

Now, it was laughable.

That light was merely scraps tossed to a beggar, yet I treated it as a feast.

I turned off the water and toweled dry. The first-aid kit held antiseptic and bandages. I dressed the wound, clumsy but thorough.

After all that, I felt alive again.

I opened the wardrobe. Inside were a few new T-shirts and jeans, all simple, plain. I pulled one on, walked into the living room, took a bottle of water from the fridge, twisted the cap, and drank half of it down without stopping.

The cold liquid slid down my throat and into my stomach, extinguishing the last bit of burning pain.

Alright.

Time for business.

I placed the laptop on the table, plugged it in, and inserted the encrypted hard drive.

Booting up, I entered a long, complex password.

The screen lit up, its pale blue light washing over my face.

Inside the hard drive, hundreds of files sat sorted into folders:

George Tristian-Overseas Assets-Illegal Transfers

Justin Tristian-Underground Racing-Gambling-Money Laundering Evidence Chain

James's Group-Project Bidding-Bribery Records

Emily Tristian...

My finger hovered over Emily's folder.

I clicked it open. Inside, there was a single video file.

The footage was shaky, clearly shot in secret.

In the clip, Emily was sitting with a greasy middle-aged man, giggling coquettishly.

"Mr. Tyler, I'm really counting on you for this one," Emily said sweetly, pushing a glass of wine towards the man.

The man's hand went straight to her thigh, giving it a squeeze. "Don't worry, it's just about ruining your sister, right? Easy. I've prepared the drugs; she'll have a great 'time' with all those men."

Emily showed not the slightest reluctance; instead, she smiled even sweeter. "Mr. Tyler, you're so good. After this is done, I'll be sure to reward you properly."

"How will you reward me?"

"What do you think?" She winked, her finger tracing circles on the man's chest.

The video ended there.

I had bought this from one of Mr. Tyler's henchmen.

Emily probably never dreamed that the pawn she'd used to scheme against me had betrayed her for a price.

I closed the video, my face devoid of emotion.

They all thought I was a docile lamb, but they didn't know that a lamb, pushed to its limits, could become a biting wolf.

For seven years, while playing the part of their “Sylvia,” I'd been gathering evidence in the shadows.

Every one of them had a lever I could pull.

Now it was time for them to learn how it felt-to fall from the clouds and land in the dirt.

I didn't start with Emily.

That fruit, I'd save for last. It would taste sweetest once she'd climbed to her peak.

My eyes settled on Justin's folder.

My dear, hot-headed, oblivious brother.

He'd be the perfect gauge for the Tristian family's reaction.

From the pile of recordings and footage, I chose the shortest clip.

It happened six months ago. Justin had been out partying, drank himself blind, and got dragged home by his friends. As I brought him water, he was on his group chat, bragging to his usual crowd.

"That Sylvia...she's bad luck. If it wasn't for her, my sister wouldn't be suffering. I've wanted to get rid of her for ages."

"Last time, under the bridge...those homeless guys were useless. Should've filmed it and leaked it. Would've ruined her for good."

On the recording, his voice was slurred, but every word dripped with hate.

I edited the audio, cutting out his friends' voices until only his drunken monologue remained.

Then, I hacked into the city's most exclusive supercar club's group chat.

Justin was a member-one of the loudest ones.

What he cared about most was his rep-his standing with the crew.

I created a burner account and dropped the recording like a piece of hot gossip.

"You won't believe this. Tristan Group's golden boy, drunk off his ass, confessing to everything he did to his own sister."

Having done all that, I closed my laptop.

The clock read three in the morning.

The grand rooftop finale must have reached the police by now.

I turned on the TV to the local news channel.

A breaking news banner scrolled across the bottom of the screen:

"BREAKING: Sylvia Tristian, daughter of Tristian Group's chairman, fell to her death early this morning from the 50th floor of Hua Ding Tower. Police are investigating."

Fell to her death.

Four words. They wrote the final period on my twenty-four years.

I watched, a faint smile on my lips.

No need to rush.

The real show was just beginning.