"Kirsten is right. You should atone for your sins. What should we make her do first?"
Excitement flickered in the group’s eyes as they considered ways to torment Tricia.
"Let’s start by treating her like a dog," Kirsten sneered, tossing a ball into the swimming pool beside her.
A nearby puppy immediately leaped in, paddling toward the ball.
"Tricia, Manager Mike said you have to obey me today," Kirsten said, smiling sweetly.
Tricia bit her lip, suppressing the humiliation, and jumped into the icy water.
She had come here today to gain Mike’s trust. She couldn’t just walk away.
Struggling against the dog, she finally grabbed the ball, but just as she swam back to the edge, sharp blows rained down on her. Brooms and sticks struck her body, forcing her back into the water.
The pool water surged into her nostrils, burning her throat. Her body convulsed violently, instinctively gasping—only to suck in more water.
Her ears rang from the water pressure, the world around her blurring into muffled echoes of laughter.
But she fought.
She had to survive.
She couldn’t die yet.
After what felt like an eternity, a net dragged her out. She collapsed onto the cold ground, her body trembling, her soaked clothes clinging to her like a second skin. Her face was deathly pale.
Kirsten crouched beside her, sneering. "Lucky you."
Then, as if rewarding a pet for an amusing trick, she said, "Since you worked so hard, I’ll be generous. Do you remember the garden my brother prepared for you? I’ll let you visit it. Go with Alex and pick some flowers for me."
Tricia stiffened.
Of course, she remembered.
Once, she had loved roses, and Phil had planted an entire garden for her behind the villa. He had promised that when they married, the roses they grew together would decorate their wedding.
But that day would never come.
With hollow eyes, she turned and walked toward the abandoned garden.
Watching her leave, Kirsten’s lips curled.
Since Tricia had gone to prison, Phil had forbidden anyone from entering that place. It had long been abandoned.
She wasn’t sending Tricia there to pick flowers.
She was sending her to die.
A glance at her bodyguard, Alex, was all it took. He nodded, understanding the silent order.
—
As Tricia approached the withered garden, she was suddenly stopped.
"Don’t go in," a guard said. "The young master is inside. No one is allowed to disturb him."
Hearing this, Tricia immediately turned around to leave.
She couldn’t see Phil.
She was afraid—afraid that if she did, she might falter, might crave the warmth of the past and abandon her mission.
But then—
The other guard’s face paled. His eyes widened in panic.
"No…! Call the young master out now! There’s gasoline inside—the fire will start any moment!"
Tricia froze.
Gasoline?
Her heart clenched as realization crashed over her.
Kirsten hadn’t just wanted to kill her—she had set this trap to burn Phil alive.
Without thinking, she bolted inside.
"Phil!" she shouted. "Get out! There’s gasoline in here!"
Inside the glass house, Phil sat alone, lost in the memories of a love that had long since turned to ashes.
But through the quiet, he thought he heard her voice.
His body tensed.
He turned, and through the dim light, he saw her rushing toward him.
His chest tightened.
Tricia…?
He moved instinctively, stepping out of the glass house.
The moment he did, she grabbed his hand.
"Run!" she gasped. "It’s dangerous!"
She was drenched, shivering, her strength seemingly drained. Yet somehow, she managed to pull him forward with desperate force.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Phil demanded as she dragged him.
But his mind flashed back—to a different time, a different place.
In college, she had once pulled him like this, laughing, saying she wanted to experience the romance of an idol drama couple running hand-in-hand by the lake.
That day, they had ended up breathless, sharing a kiss by the water.
Now, they were running again. But this time, it wasn’t for romance.
It was for survival.
Just as they reached the garden’s edge—
BOOM!
A deafening explosion erupted behind them.
The force sent them flying, flames swallowing the garden whole.
Phil instinctively shielded Tricia with his body as they hit the ground.
For a moment, there was only the roar of the fire.
Then, as the heat seared his back, realization dawned.
She rushed in recklessly—to save him.
His gaze dropped on her, a storm of emotions churning in his chest.
Before he could say a word, something tumbled from Tricia’s pocket.
His hand shot out, grabbing it before she could react.
His fingers curled around the small package.
His stomach twisted.
Slowly, he looked up at her, disbelief in his eyes.
"Tricia," he murmured. "What the hell is this?"
Her face changed. "It has nothing to do with you. Give it back."
Before he could stop her, she snatched it from his grip—then shoved it into her mouth, swallowing it whole.
Phil’s blood ran cold.
Understanding hit him like a brick.
"No wonder you’re desperate for money," he said, his voice eerily calm. "You got involved with this stuff in prison, didn’t you?"
His fingers clenched. His jaw tightened. "And you brought it here today… Were you planning to give it to Kirsten and the others?"
The fury inside him ignited, burning away the moment of hesitation, the flicker of warmth.
Tricia had killed his mother.
She should have hidden like a rat, living in shame.
But instead—she had dared to target his sister.
His voice was a low growl, full of barely restrained rage.
"You killed my mother. And now, you want to destroy my sister too?"
His eyes locked onto hers, dark with fury.
"Tricia… how can you be so utterly vile?"
