The man was still on the call with Vincent.
A cold, detached voice came through the speaker:
【Forty minutes. Once time’s up, the reporters arrive. They’re broadcasting live. You’ll tell them you were performing a standard examination on Violet when she suddenly snapped.】
【You can touch her—but keep your hands to yourself. Don’t go anywhere you shouldn’t. If I find out you overstepped, I’ll cut your hands off.】
“Understood, Mr. Vincent. Absolutely understood.”
The call ended. The man’s subservient tone vanished, replaced by a contemptuous sneer.
“What an idiot. Capable of a scheme this vicious, yet still pretending to care. Tsk. A real beast.”
“But with all the cameras disabled… who’s to stop me from having a little fun?”
Violet cracked her eyelids open—just a slit.
Vincent’s man was leaning over her.
The smell of antiseptic mixed with stale tobacco washed over her senses.
“Heh. Vincent really has all the luck. Both his wives are such lookers…”
His voice dropped to a whisper, a disgusting chuckle grating in his throat.
Violet fought back nausea. Through blurred vision, she spotted it: a small stun gun tucked in his shirt pocket.
Her heart hammered. She forced her breathing to stay even.
His fingers were already undoing the first button of her hospital gown.
Her stomach churned.
Memories of that rainy night in middle school flooded back. The dark alley. Hands tearing at her uniform. That suffocating despair.
A psychological wound she’d never fully overcome.
Once, she believed she’d never recover.
Now, she was forcing herself to endure it.
Sophie was waiting.
If she was declared mentally incompetent, nothing she said would ever be trusted again.
For Sophie, she had to overcome this. No matter what.
Violet’s eyes snapped open. Her right hand shot toward his pocket.
He hadn’t expected her to wake up—froze for a full second before reacting.
But a second was all she needed. She yanked the stun gun free and jammed it hard against his neck.
*Zzzt.*
A flash of electricity. His eyes rolled back. His body convulsed, then collapsed to the floor with a heavy thud.
Violet scrambled off the bed, ignoring the pain screaming through her body. A quick pat-down—and she pulled a phone from his pocket.
“Please still work.”
Biting her lip, she punched in a number she hadn’t dialed in seven years. One she’d never forgotten.
The call connected almost instantly.
A deep, authoritative voice answered. 【Yes?】
Violet’s throat tightened. “I don’t know if you remember me—”
【Ms. Violet.】
He said her name. Just like that.
Tears welled up. No time to wonder how he knew. She hurried through an explanation, words tumbling out in the fastest way she could manage.
From the other end: the scrape of a chair, followed by rapid commands issued in another language.
A few seconds later, his voice returned to her. 【Protect yourself. Wait for me.】
After hanging up, Violet felt a sliver of calm—even as her headache intensified.
But there was no time to rest.
She stripped the man of his clothes, used the phone to take several compromising photos of his naked, unconscious form.
Then, she pressed the stun gun to his neck and shocked him awake.
“You fucking—”
“Shh.” Violet held the phone screen in front of his face. “Make one sound, and these photos go viral tomorrow.”
“And don’t think about grabbing this phone to destroy the evidence. It’s all uploaded to a cloud drive with a timed release. If I don’t cancel it… Dr. Lowe, was it? Are you sure you can handle the fallout?”
The man’s face went sheet-white. “What do you want?”
Violet looked utterly composed. “First, get me a phone. My own phone. Second, you’re going to help me put on a show.”
Right then, hurried footsteps echoed from the hallway, followed by the rapid *click-click-click* of camera shutters.
The reporters had arrived.
