His mother hadn’t been killed by him—she had been stabbed to death by his sister, Kirsten Knight.
It was Kirsten who had handed Tricia the paternity test report, revealing a devastating truth: Phil’s mother had cheated. He wasn’t President Knight’s biological son.
Phil, the man everyone admired, the golden boy of the Knight family, wasn’t even a true Knight.
If the truth ever came out, he would fall from grace overnight. A man like him—proud, untouchable—could never accept such a reality.
And worse, if he ever learned that his beloved sister had murdered his real mother, it would break him completely.
She knew how much Phil adored Kirsten.
So when Kirsten whispered her offer—Take the blame for me, and I’ll make sure my father hands the Knight family business to Phil. He’ll still be the young master everyone looks up to, still the high-ranking president he was meant to be—Tricia made her choice.
For him, she swallowed the truth.
She sat at the crime scene, gripping the bloodstained dagger, while Kirsten ran off to fetch Phil and call the police.
But now, three years later, she had only three months to live. Revealing the truth would do nothing but bring Phil more pain.
So she bit her lip until it bled, refusing to say a word.
Since he despised her, then let him go on hating her.
Her silence only fueled Phil’s rage. His fury surged like fire, his voice dripping with contempt.
"If you’re going to sell yourself, why not sell yourself to me?"
He pulled out a stack of bills from his wallet and threw them in her face.
"Take off a piece, and I’ll give you ten thousand."
Tricia wiped away her tears and, without hesitation, removed the thin camisole from her upper body.
Her obedience only stoked his fury.
"You think you’ve won?" He abruptly stood, yanking off his suit jacket and throwing it at her. "Put it on and get out. Don’t ever show your face in front of me again. Next time, I’ll keep my word and make you wish you were dead."
He didn’t even look back as he walked out of the room.
The moment he left, the tears Tricia had been holding back fell freely.
This was it. The last time they would ever meet.
Through blurred vision, she bent down and gathered the scattered bills.
She needed the money—not for herself, but to build connections with the other women at the club, to gain information for Officer Blake’s case.
She thought she was done with the Knight family.
Then, days later, Kirsten showed up.
"Who’s been fooling around with my brother in this club?" she snapped. "Bring her to me!"
Before Tricia could react, she was dragged into a private room.
The moment Kirsten saw her, her expression stiffened. Fear flickered in her eyes, quickly masked by anger. "Tricia? You’re out of prison?"
Tricia nodded.
Kirsten narrowed her gaze, warning, "If you dare say a word about what happened back then—"
"Don’t worry," Tricia interrupted flatly. "I won’t say anything. Just stay away from me. And from Phil."
This place was dangerous. She had already discovered something suspicious. A storm was brewing. If Phil got caught up in it, something terrible could happen.
Kirsten studied her for a moment, then smirked. "Fine. Finish that bottle of wine, and I’ll consider your request."
Tricia just wanted her gone. Without a word, she grabbed the bottle and started drinking.
The fiery liquid burned its way down her throat, setting her insides ablaze. Pain surged through her stomach, so sharp she dug her nails into her palms to keep steady.
A few gulps in, her stomach twisted violently.
She barely had time to react before a thick mouthful of blood spilled from her lips. The world spun as she collapsed onto the floor.
Kirsten, engrossed in her phone, didn’t even glance her way.
Hearing the sound, she sighed. "Tch. Your alcohol tolerance is pathetic."
But in truth, she never trusted Tricia’s silence.
The only way to guarantee a secret stayed buried… was to bury the one keeping it.
She got up, locked the room, and walked away without looking back.
Tricia lay on the cold tile, barely conscious.
She had to move. Had to get up.
Then the door creaked open.
She thought Kirsten had returned. Weakly, she whispered, "I drank it all…"
A sinister chuckle answered her.
"Good. Now you won’t struggle so much."
Through her hazy vision, she saw them.
A group of greasy-looking men, eyes glinting with perverse excitement.
Her heart clenched in terror.
One of them reached for her, fingers tugging at her clothing.
Realization crashed over her.
They weren’t here to help her. They were here to destroy her.
Panic surged through her veins. With every ounce of strength she had left, she screamed.
"Help! Someone, please help me!"
But her cries were drowned out by the pounding music outside.
She was too weak to fight them off.
They tore at her dress. Fabric ripped.
Tears blurred her vision as despair flooded her chest.
Then—
BANG!
The door slammed open.
A tall figure stood against the light.
Tricia’s breath caught.
Phil.
