"Harley!" Quincy reached out and yanked Harley's arm. The sudden force made Harley's purse slip from her hand, its contents spilling onto the floor. Her cosmetics, phone, keys and a newspaper clipping.
Quincy's eyes focused on the newspaper, and she quickly picked it up from the ground. After seeing it clearly, she looked at Harley with confusion.
Harley's face darkened. "Give it back."
Seeing the panic in her eyes, Quincy smirked. Her voice dripped with mockery. "Harley, it's just a piece of newspaper. What's got you so worked up? This Mark was just a drug dealer who died years ago. Do you know how many people he harmed? And yet, you keep this like it's some kind of treasure. Scum like him deserved to die!"
"He wasn't a drug dealer! Give it back!" Harley lunged for it.
Quincy dodged, her tone turning even colder when she saw how much it meant to Harley. "If he wasn't a drug dealer, then what was he? Do you really think I don't know? Mark Lupone was a notorious drug lord, executed by the police years ago! Harley, your values are twisted!" With that, she tore the newspaper clipping into shreds.
"No!" That piece of paper held Mark's photograph. It was the only thing Harley had left to remember her father's face. Now, it was nothing but scattered scraps on the floor. Harley's pupils contracted as she watched the torn fragments slip through Quincy's fingers, just like the feeling of her heart being ripped apart. She reached out, trying to gather them, but the pieces slipped through her fingers one by one. At that moment, the light guiding her went out.
Her father was not a drug dealer. He was a hero. He had only been with her until she was nine years old. A gentle and righteous man. The team called him back, and he left after just one visit home. She remembered her mother standing at the doorway, eyes red, watching his retreating figure for a long time. Back then, she didn't understand. She thought her father was going on a work trip, but she never saw him again.
Her mother fell into a daze, plagued by nightmares, constantly fearing that one day their family would face revenge. To protect her, her mother sent her to live with the Jackmans. In all these years, she had only seen her father once.
When he returned, his temples had turned gray, his skin darkened by the sun, and his face weary. However, his gaze remained as firm as ever. He stroked her head and said, "Yelena, if something happens to me in the future, don't believe what others say. Only trust what you see with your own eyes. Your father will never do anything wrong. I will always be loyal to the people and to my country."
Then, he died. Branded as a drug dealer. No one knew the truth that he was a righteous police officer who had spent decades undercover, sacrificing his identity to protect the people and his family. No one could understand the suffering he endured. So, how could she forgive? How could she forgive Quincy's insults? Harley's cold gaze locked onto Quincy. That woman flinched under her stare, taking a few steps back.
Harley's voice was sharp and resolute. "I'll say it one more time, he was NOT a drug dealer!" She raised her hand to slap Quincy, but before she could, a strong grip caught her wrist mid-air. Pain shot through her arm, the pressure so intense it felt like her bones were about to break.
