"Amanda, you've had your fun. Now come home with us." My father's voice was hard.
My mother didn't say a word, but those eyes, full of disgust, said everything.
I didn't move.
"Where's Olivia? How is she?"
"Mild concussion. She's already home resting." My mother's voice was cold. "Satisfied?"
I nodded.
"Good."
I followed them out of the hospital. Gerard's car was parked right out front.
He pulled the door open for me, his eyes brimming with concern.
"Mandy, get in. I made you some soup to help you recover."
I slid into the seat, and he handed me a beautifully wrapped box.
"Didn't your phone break? I bought you a new one, and I got your SIM replaced too." He smiled, gentle as ever. "The passcode is your birthday."
I opened the box. Inside lay the latest model.
Exactly the same one he'd so thoughtfully given me in my last life.
I lifted my head and gave him a grateful smile.
"Thank you, Gerard. You're so good to me. You're all I have now."
A flicker of smugness crossed his eyes and was gone.
Back home, the air inside was so stifling it was hard to breathe.
Olivia lay on the couch, gauze taped to her forehead. The moment she saw me, she shrank behind my mother like she'd seen a ghost.
My mother instantly wrapped her up like a hen guarding her chick, glaring at me.
I ignored them and walked straight into my own room, closing the door.
I held the new phone and drew the curtains shut.
In my past life, it wasn't until I was in prison, just before I died, that I remembered how this phone always ran abnormally hot and drained its battery far too fast.
There were even several times when I was in the shower and the screen, left outside, would light up on its own.
I didn't go hunting for cameras. Instead, I pulled out an old secondhand phone and downloaded a local network sniffer tool.
Then I threw myself onto the bed and, facing the new phone, launched into a half-hour-long "complete breakdown," sobbing my heart out.
I cried the whole time while keeping my eyes locked on the screen of the secondhand phone.
Sure enough, a hidden data stream was uploading like mad.
I traced the IP address by capturing packets across the local network.
In the end, the readout showed the receiving end was right next door. My own mother's room.
I clenched my teeth hard, a chill running through my whole body.
Early the next morning, I went to the hospital for a blood draw and a hair analysis.
In the months before everything went wrong in my past life, I'd often blacked out and felt constantly drowsy. Back then I'd assumed it was just exhaustion from working too much.
Looking back now, someone had probably been tampering with my food and drink.
The rush results came back that afternoon.
My hair tested positive for residue of long-term use of neurological sedatives.
Lab report in hand, I went to an internet café and hacked into the surveillance network in my family's living room.
I pulled up the footage from those nights I'd blacked out.
On the screen, my mother took out an old ID card of mine and sat down at the computer.
She held up my phone, aimed it at my face as I lay passed out on the couch, gently pried my eyes open, and completed the facial recognition scan.
That was how she'd bound the overseas accounts that posted the private videos and the bank cards that collected the payments.
The cold shot up from the soles of my feet straight to the top of my head.
Coming out of the internet café, I dialed Adrian Dickerson.
Adrian was the man my grandfather had left for me. He acted only on instructions.
"Adrian, lend me some people. There's something I need to look into."
I deliberately created a hidden file on my own computer desktop, named "Mental Breakdown Cry for Help."
It was filled with the ravings of someone desperate to strike back.
I knew my mother's surveillance was certain to see it.
The moment they panicked, they would use that overseas IP to stir up public opinion, sealing their own crimes beyond any doubt.
