It was already noon by the time I walked home on foot.
But as soon as I reached my front door, I found the entire house surrounded by police.
“There he is! He’s the one who stole Uncle Briggs’s dragon-etched jade pendant!”
I was still completely baffled when Oscar suddenly jumped out of a patrol car and rushed over to grab me.
“He’s the thief! Just look at him—you can tell he’s no good!”
“I heard it was a dragon-patterned jade once treasured by a Tang Dynasty emperor—absolutely priceless. This young man got greedy!”
“Scum like him deserves to rot!”
Accusations and jeers exploded all around me, and only then did I begin to realize something was terribly wrong.
Panicked, I scanned the crowd and spotted the elderly antique collector. I dropped to my knees and kowtowed to him, tears in my eyes, begging him to tell the truth and clear my name.
But the man who had once treated me with such warmth now glared down with a face full of rage.
He grabbed my sleeve and shouted, “You shameless thing! You dare steal a national treasure I planned to donate to the museum? I was kind enough to let you into my home, and this is how you repay me? Have you no conscience?”
With both Oscar and the collector pointing fingers at me—and the jade bracelet that had mysteriously shown up in my bag—any words I said in defense sounded hollow and pathetic.
My family and fiancée were dragged into the mess. They lost everything—reputation, money, peace of mind—and were reduced to the laughingstock of the neighborhood.
And me? Before I even made it to prison, I was hacked to death by a group of deranged antique fanatics. They left me in pieces and tossed my body into the wilderness like garbage.
The blood and betrayal of my past life clung to my soul like an old scar—its pain feeding a hatred that burned deep and bright.
But this time, I made sure to stand directly beneath a surveillance camera, with both video footage and a blood test to back me up.
Let’s see who dares pin this on me now.
After the blood draw, I curled up on a cold, hard hospital bench and caught a bit of sleep. Despite the discomfort, I’d never felt more at ease.
When I woke up, the nurse informed me that my blood alcohol level wasn’t high enough to be considered drunk driving. The officers had no choice but to let me go.
It was already noon—I'd perfectly dodged the time when Oscar had framed me in my past life.
To be extra cautious, I shamelessly told the traffic officer that my vehicle had been impounded and politely asked if he could give me a ride home.
He agreed, and the moment I stepped off his motorcycle, a mob of police officers waiting outside my building swarmed toward me.
Leading the charge was none other than Oscar. He rushed at me with tears in his eyes, clutching my hand dramatically.
“Russell! Didn’t we agree to just look at the collection this morning? Why... why did you have to steal something?!”
I stared at him in disbelief, eyes wide open.
Even the traffic officer beside me looked stunned.
I’d spent the entire night and morning at the hospital—how could he still manage to throw dirt on me?
Frowning, I started to explain, “I was questioned for suspected drunk driving last night, and I’ve been—”
But before I could finish, Oscar’s face lit up with fake panic. He cut me off mid-sentence.
“Drunk driving?! Oh my god, Russell, what did you do last night? Even if you were drunk, it’s not an excuse to steal a national treasure!”
The surrounding onlookers, already curious, were now whipped into a frenzy by his words. Anger erupted all around me.
My explanation was drowned in the roar of voices.
In less than a minute, hands grabbed at me from all sides. I couldn’t even count how many blows landed on me. My arms were already bruised in several spots.
Thankfully, the officers nearby realized something was wrong and rushed in to disperse the crowd.
Finally able to catch my breath, I glared at Oscar and shouted, “I wasn’t drunk, and I didn’t steal anything! Can you people stop accusing without evidence?!”
Oscar’s expression darkened for a split second, but he quickly replaced it with a look of concern.
Turning to the officers, he pleaded, “Officers, you heard him, right? My friend is still drunk—he doesn’t know what he’s saying."
“Please, he didn’t mean to steal anything. I beg you, take it easy on him.”
Just as he reached out to drag me toward the patrol car, the officer who had driven me home forcefully pried his hands off me.
