After My Prison Release, I Was Already Dying

Three years after she killed her boyfriend's mother, Tricia Fletcher was released from prison. The person who came to pick her up was Officer Blake—the very man who had put her behind bars.

"Tricia, have you really thought this through? Becoming my informant is dangerous."

Tricia gave a bitter smile. "I've thought it through. I won’t live long anyway. At least this way, I can do something meaningful."

Officer Blake sighed. "Why did you make such a mistake back then?"

He had handled countless cases, but Tricia stood out. The day he arrested her, he couldn’t shake the feeling that she wasn’t a bad person. Yet, she had insisted she was the murderer.

In prison, she was a model inmate, working hard to reduce her sentence. Her good behavior earned her an early release.

But fate was cruel. A final medical checkup before her release revealed she had advanced gastric cancer.

At most, she had three months left to live.

Knowing Officer Blake was struggling to find an informant, she volunteered for the job.

"I won’t find a decent job after prison anyway. Working at the club will let me help with your case and support myself. It's a winwin. If I can take down criminals before I go, at least my life won’t have been for nothing." She forced a smile.

"But promise me one thing," she added.

"Anything," Officer Blake said immediately.

"If I die, bury me at Glenwood Cemetery, next to Aunt Kara's tombstone." She lowered her head.

That way, whenever Phil Knight visited his mother’s grave, she could see him—just once more.

Officer Blake saw the sorrow in her eyes. Though he didn’t understand it, he nodded.

That night, Tricia followed his instructions and started working at Beehive Club as a waitress.

She was beautiful, so they assigned her to the VIP section.

She exhaled.

Officer Blake had told her a drug lord was hiding in the club and would be making a deal soon. She needed access to VIPs to get close to the target.

But she never expected to run into Phil first.

Phil—Boston’s golden boy, heir to the Knight family, and her former boyfriend.

Once, they were a couple everyone envied. He had vowed, in front of countless people, that he would only love her, that only she could be Mrs. Knight.

He had even cut ties with his family for her, renouncing his status as the Knight family's heir, forcing them to accept their marriage.

But on the eve of their wedding, his mother was found dead in a pool of blood—her murder weapon in Tricia’s hands.

She would never forget Phil’s eyes that night, filled with fury and despair.

The woman he loved most had killed the mother he cherished.

In his rage, he had grabbed her by the throat, demanding to know why.

But she couldn’t tell him the truth.

Because if she did, Phil’s life would be over.

So she lied. "Your mother was against our marriage, so I killed her. Now, nothing stands in my way. I’ll be the only mistress of the Knight family. I’ll have endless money, and no one will ever look down on me for being an orphan again."

She watched as his disbelief turned to disgust, then hatred.

Phil was the one who sent her to prison.

His last words to her had been: Never appear in front of me again. If you do, I’ll make you wish you were dead.

Now, seeing him again, Tricia panicked and turned to leave.

But Sister Wilma stopped her. "Tricia, where are you going? Hurry and pour Mr. Knight a drink."

She was shoved forward—right in front of Phil.

Her heart pounded. Would he humiliate her?

But he only stared at her, silent. As if she were a stranger.

That made sense. Three years in prison and a terminal illness had left her thin and frail. Heavy makeup masked her features. He probably didn’t recognize her.

Taking a shaky breath, she steadied her trembling hands and poured his drink.

But she was too nervous. Her hands slipped.

Red wine spilled onto his expensive leather shoes.

"Where did you find this idiot? She can’t even pour a drink properly," Phil snapped, kicking her over.

The bottle fell from her hands, shattering on the floor.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Knight," Sister Wilma said quickly. "She’s new. I’ll make her clean it up."

She grabbed Tricia and shoved her to the floor.

Shards of glass pierced her knees and arms, but she didn’t dare make a sound. She trembled, eyes stinging with tears.

Just as she was about to lower her head to lick the spilled wine off his shoes, Phil grabbed her.

"You think you're worthy of licking my shoes?" he sneered and let go.

Caught off guard, she stumbled—straight into his arms.

"Throwing yourself at me?" Phil’s voice dripped with mockery. "Fine. I’ll grant your wish."

His hand moved to tear at her dress.

She instinctively raised her arms to block him.

Laughter rang out around them.

"This girl’s got a nice body. Master Knight, once you're done, let us have a turn."

Phil smirked. "Sure. It’s always more fun with a crowd."

The man who spoke grinned, reaching for her.

Terror seized Tricia. She trembled violently, biting her lip to keep from crying out.

But then—

Phil’s expression turned cold.

He slapped the man’s hand away. "Get lost."

Everyone froze. Then, one by one, they obeyed.

Phil grabbed her chin, his grip like iron. "Tricia," he said through gritted teeth.

Her eyes widened in shock.

He had recognized her all along.

She stared at him, her vision blurring.

The Phil she remembered had been gentle. He had made her brown sugar water for her period cramps, wiped away her tears, and whispered sweet words to her. He had spoiled her like a princess, shielding her from any pain.

But now, the same man had humiliated her in front of everyone.

Tricia choked back a sob. "I didn’t know you’d be here. I wasn’t trying to see you. I’m just… working."

Phil’s eyes flickered to the glass shards embedded in her skin. His lips curled into a cruel smile.

"Of course. A woman like you—an excon—can only survive by selling herself in places like this. After all, you’re just a golddigging whore who only cares about money."

His words cut deep.

For a split second, she wanted to tell him the truth.

His mother hadn’t been killed by him—she had been stabbed to death by his sister, Kirsten Knight.

It was Kirsten who had handed Tricia the paternity test report, revealing a devastating truth: Phil’s mother had cheated. He wasn’t President Knight’s biological son.

Phil, the man everyone admired, the golden boy of the Knight family, wasn’t even a true Knight.

If the truth ever came out, he would fall from grace overnight. A man like him—proud, untouchable—could never accept such a reality.

And worse, if he ever learned that his beloved sister had murdered his real mother, it would break him completely.

She knew how much Phil adored Kirsten.

So when Kirsten whispered her offer—Take the blame for me, and I’ll make sure my father hands the Knight family business to Phil. He’ll still be the young master everyone looks up to, still the highranking president he was meant to be—Tricia made her choice.

For him, she swallowed the truth.

She sat at the crime scene, gripping the bloodstained dagger, while Kirsten ran off to fetch Phil and call the police.

But now, three years later, she had only three months to live. Revealing the truth would do nothing but bring Phil more pain.

So she bit her lip until it bled, refusing to say a word.

Since he despised her, then let him go on hating her.

Her silence only fueled Phil’s rage. His fury surged like fire, his voice dripping with contempt.

"If you’re going to sell yourself, why not sell yourself to me?"

He pulled out a stack of bills from his wallet and threw them in her face.

"Take off a piece, and I’ll give you ten thousand."

Tricia wiped away her tears and, without hesitation, removed the thin camisole from her upper body.

Her obedience only stoked his fury.

"You think you’ve won?" He abruptly stood, yanking off his suit jacket and throwing it at her. "Put it on and get out. Don’t ever show your face in front of me again. Next time, I’ll keep my word and make you wish you were dead."

He didn’t even look back as he walked out of the room.

The moment he left, the tears Tricia had been holding back fell freely.

This was it. The last time they would ever meet.

Through blurred vision, she bent down and gathered the scattered bills.

She needed the money—not for herself, but to build connections with the other women at the club, to gain information for Officer Blake’s case.

She thought she was done with the Knight family.

Then, days later, Kirsten showed up.

"Who’s been fooling around with my brother in this club?" she snapped. "Bring her to me!"

Before Tricia could react, she was dragged into a private room.

The moment Kirsten saw her, her expression stiffened. Fear flickered in her eyes, quickly masked by anger. "Tricia? You’re out of prison?"

Tricia nodded.

Kirsten narrowed her gaze, warning, "If you dare say a word about what happened back then—"

"Don’t worry," Tricia interrupted flatly. "I won’t say anything. Just stay away from me. And from Phil."

This place was dangerous. She had already discovered something suspicious. A storm was brewing. If Phil got caught up in it, something terrible could happen.

Kirsten studied her for a moment, then smirked. "Fine. Finish that bottle of wine, and I’ll consider your request."

Tricia just wanted her gone. Without a word, she grabbed the bottle and started drinking.

The fiery liquid burned its way down her throat, setting her insides ablaze. Pain surged through her stomach, so sharp she dug her nails into her palms to keep steady.

A few gulps in, her stomach twisted violently.

She barely had time to react before a thick mouthful of blood spilled from her lips. The world spun as she collapsed onto the floor.

Kirsten, engrossed in her phone, didn’t even glance her way.

Hearing the sound, she sighed. "Tch. Your alcohol tolerance is pathetic."

But in truth, she never trusted Tricia’s silence.

The only way to guarantee a secret stayed buried… was to bury the one keeping it.

She got up, locked the room, and walked away without looking back.

Tricia lay on the cold tile, barely conscious.

She had to move. Had to get up.

Then the door creaked open.

She thought Kirsten had returned. Weakly, she whispered, "I drank it all…"

A sinister chuckle answered her.

"Good. Now you won’t struggle so much."

Through her hazy vision, she saw them.

A group of greasylooking men, eyes glinting with perverse excitement.

Her heart clenched in terror.

One of them reached for her, fingers tugging at her clothing.

Realization crashed over her.

They weren’t here to help her. They were here to destroy her.

Panic surged through her veins. With every ounce of strength she had left, she screamed.

"Help! Someone, please help me!"

But her cries were drowned out by the pounding music outside.

She was too weak to fight them off.

They tore at her dress. Fabric ripped.

Tears blurred her vision as despair flooded her chest.

Then—

BANG!

The door slammed open.

A tall figure stood against the light.

Tricia’s breath caught.

Phil.

"Who told you to touch her?"

Phil seized a man by the hair and slammed his facefirst into the glass coffee table. The sharp crack of shattering glass merged with the man’s scream of agony.

The others froze, their instincts screaming at them to run, but Phil gave them no chance.

Grabbing a broken wine bottle, he drove it straight through another man’s palm. A mixture of blood and alcohol splattered across his face, dripping onto his brow bone.

Blinded by fury, he turned and crushed the nose of a third man with a single, brutal punch. The man's cry choked in his throat as he collapsed.

The room vibrated with the force of the blows.

Curled up amidst the chaos, Tricia trembled, her eyes fixed on Phil’s bloodied fists. Tears blurred her vision, making it difficult to see his face clearly.

He was supposed to hate her. She was the murderer of her mother. So why…? Why did he save her?

The men lay sprawled across the floor, motionless, their bodies like discarded trash. The pounding music that had once filled the private room had died into eerie silence.

Then, she heard her own voice—weak, trembling.

"Phil… why did you save me?"

For a brief moment, something flickered in his eyes. Then, in an instant, it was gone, replaced by cold fury.

"Don’t flatter yourself," he snapped. "I wasn’t here for you. I thought Kirsten was inside. If I’d known it was you, I wouldn’t have stepped through that door."

His words were like a slap to the face.

"I gave you twenty thousand last time. Wasn’t that enough for you to leave Boston? Why the hell are you still here? Working in a place like this… you deserve whatever happens to you."

Tricia bit down on the back of her hand to stop herself from shaking. A bitter smile tugged at her lips.

"Good," she murmured. "Then you didn’t come for me. I almost thought you still had lingering feelings."

She deliberately provoked him, hoping it would push him away for good.

And it worked.

Phil’s face darkened, his anger igniting like dry tinder.

"Tricia, don’t kid yourself. As if I could ever remember you." His voice was filled with venom. "If you want to rot here, be my guest. I won’t step foot in this place again. Even if you die, it has nothing to do with me."

Tricia smiled.

That’s right. Stay away. Don’t come back.

After Phil stormed out, she dragged herself upright and made her way to the hospital.

There, disguised as a janitor, Officer Blake met her in secret. His face twisted with concern when he saw the bruises and wounds covering her body.

"Tricia," he said, his voice heavy with worry, "isn’t this enough? It’s too dangerous. You only have a few months left… find somewhere safe to spend what time you have."

Tricia shook her head. Determination burned in her eyes.

"Officer Blake, I’ve found something. We’re close. I can’t stop now."

His hands clenched into fists. "But at this rate, you might not even have three months left."

"It doesn’t matter," she said, her smile faint but unwavering. "Dying like this… at least it’ll mean something. Better than wasting away from cancer."

Officer Blake wanted to argue, but he knew her too well. With a heavy sigh, he let her go.

When Tricia returned to the club, she was immediately summoned by Mike Post, the club’s manager.

Her pulse quickened.

Rumor had it that Mike was a key enforcer for a powerful drug lord. Had he discovered her connection to Officer Blake?

To her relief, his tone was casual.

"Short on cash?" he asked, his sharp eyes assessing her. "I’ve got a job for you."

He tossed a small packet onto the table.

"Miss Knight is hosting a party in two days. She specifically requested your help. The guests will be some of the wealthiest heirs in Boston. Your job is simple—slip this into their drinks."

Tricia’s stomach twisted as she stared at the packet.

She knew exactly what it was.

Mike wanted to use her to hook the city's elite on drugs. Once addicted, they’d become lifelong customers.

He patted her shoulder. "Do this right, and I’ll make sure you’re set for life. What do you say, Tricia?"

Tricia forced a smile, masking her disgust.

"Manager Mike, don’t worry. I’ll do it." She narrowed her eyes. "The person I hate most is Kirsten."

The next day, under the guise of a hospital visit, she met Officer Blake again.

Lab tests confirmed what she already knew—the packet contained highly addictive substances.

Officer Blake handed her a bag of flour as a substitute. "Swap it out," he instructed.

She nodded.

At Kirsten’s request, Tricia attended the party as planned.

The moment she stepped inside, a hush fell over the room.

"Tricia?" someone sneered. "You actually dare show up at the Knight estate?"

Several of Kirsten’s wealthy friends turned to stare, their expressions full of scorn.

One of them scoffed. "You pathetic wretch. If you hadn’t been so reckless—if you hadn’t harmed Mrs. Knight—you wouldn’t have ended up like this."

Laughter rippled through the crowd, cold and cutting.

Tricia remained silent.

Kirsten smirked, savoring the moment.

"I invited her," she announced, her voice dripping with cruelty. "She killed my mother, so the least she can do is work like a dog to atone for her sins."

Her eyes gleamed with satisfaction.

Her last plan had failed. She had expected Tricia to take her own life after suffering humiliation at the club, but somehow, she had survived.

That didn’t matter.

Tonight, she had a new plan.

And this time, she would make sure Tricia died without a trace.

"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 handinhand 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?"

Tricia had no time to respond. She bent over, coughing violently, her knuckles pressing against her trembling lips. The flour they had stuffed into her mouth earlier irritated her throat, triggering a deep, gutwrenching retch. A moment later, she spat out a mouthful of blood.

Phil’s breath caught. His curse froze in his throat as his gaze fell on the bloodstreaked powder pooling on the ground.

His fists clenched, his eyes clouded with a storm of emotions—disgust, resentment, and frustration at his own weakness.

But in the end, all he did was sneer coldly. “Don’t act pitiful. Just because you saved me doesn’t mean I’ll forgive you. If anything happens to my sister, you can bet I’ll kill you myself.”

Tricia wiped the blood from her lips and looked at the garden, now in ruins after the explosion. Her lips curled into a bitter smile. “Just now, your sister nearly killed both you and me.”

Phil’s expression darkened. “Kirsten is still young. She got carried away playing a prank. I’ll deal with her. But you…” His voice sharpened, dripping with contempt. “A vile, disgusting creature like you has no right to judge her. You’re nothing but a maggot crawling in the gutter.”

A maggot in the gutter.

Tricia’s body stiffened, a tremor running through her limbs.

She never thought the day would come when Phil would use such cruel words to describe her.

And yet, in his eyes, Kirsten’s actions—attempting to take their lives—were nothing more than a childish prank.

She looked up at him, her gaze unreadable.

For a brief moment, Phil felt an ache in his chest.

Why?

Why did this woman still have the power to affect him after all these years?

The sight of her vomiting blood had triggered something deep inside him—an instinct, a moment of worry. His first thought had been to take her to a hospital.

But then, he forced himself to remember.

This wasn’t the Tricia he had once loved.

She was his mother’s murderer.

A disgrace addicted to drugs.

There could be no connection between them anymore.

His expression hardened as he met her eyes, his tone cutting like a blade. “From now on, stay out of my sight. Stay away from Kirsten. If I see you again, I’ll make sure there’s no trace left of you.”

Tricia didn’t flinch.

She simply nodded, turned around, and limped away.

She couldn’t fall here.

She wouldn’t let Phil find out she had stomach cancer.

—

Meanwhile, Kirsten had been trembling with fear ever since learning that Phil had been in the garden.

Panicstricken, she ran to him. The moment she saw him standing there unharmed, she threw herself into his arms and burst into tears.

“Brother, I was so scared! I thought something had happened to you!”

Phil’s jaw tightened. He pushed her away. “If something had happened to me, it would have been your fault.”

His tone was cold.

His disappointment was unmistakable.

Ever since their mother’s death, he and their father had spoiled Kirsten, shielding her from harm. He had never expected that his seemingly wellbehaved, sensible sister would go so far as to try to kill someone.

No one else could have set up that gasoline trap.

Only Kirsten had unrestricted access to the garden.

Kirsten’s face paled as she realized the weight of his words. Desperation flashed in her eyes. “Brother, I was wrong! I won’t do it again, I swear! I was just… I was too angry. I wanted her to pay for what she did to Mom.” She quickly pulled their mother’s memory into the conversation, hoping it would soften his heart.

And it did.

Phil’s rigid expression eased ever so slightly.

“But that doesn’t mean you should stain your hands with blood,” he said, his voice calmer now. “You are a daughter of the Knight family. There’s no need for you to resort to such things.”

Kirsten nodded obediently, but as she glanced around, her brow furrowed.

“Brother, where’s Tricia?”

Phil’s voice was devoid of emotion. “I let her go. Don’t trouble her anymore.”

Kirsten’s eyes widened in shock.

“Brother, how can you just let her go?”

Her voice was sharp with disbelief. “Don’t forget, she killed our mother! She’s our mother’s murderer! If you still have feelings for her, can you even call yourself worthy of Mom?”

Phil’s entire body tensed.

His hands curled into fists.

He had convinced himself that he only hated Tricia now.

But Kirsten’s words hit him like a slap, leaving him cold with realization.

Why had he felt anger when he saw her being bullied?

Why had he felt panic when he saw her coughing up blood?

Why did he still care?

Because, deep down, despite everything…

He still loved her.

But she was the woman who had killed her mother.

How could he ever forgive that?

His face remained expressionless, but his heart pounded in his chest. He forced his voice to remain steady as he said, “Don’t talk nonsense. I only let her go because I don’t want you getting hurt. Tricia is a nobody now—she’s been to prison, she has no future. But you… you have a bright one ahead of you.”

Kirsten let out a breath of relief.

She had been afraid that Phil still had feelings for Tricia.

But she wouldn’t listen to his command.

She wouldn’t leave Tricia alone.

Because there was something much bigger at stake.

Her secret could never be exposed.

And as long as Tricia was alive…

That secret was in danger.

She had to get rid of her.

After sending his sister away, Phil stood in the wreckage of the garden, staring at the charred remains of roses. His mind drifted back to memories of Tricia.

Years ago, they planted this rose garden together.

They had even buried a bottle of daughter’s red wine beneath the soil, a batch they had brewed themselves.

"Brother Phil, when we have a child in the future, let’s dig it up when they turn eighteen and celebrate their adulthood together."

"What do you think we should name our children if we have them?"

"How about Allan for a boy and Aileen for a girl?"

"Who do you think they’ll take after? I think, no matter what, they’ll be beautiful—just like you."

Even after all these years, her voice was still vivid in his mind.

They could have had so many beautiful futures.

Now, none of them will ever come true.

For years, he had lied to himself, keeping this rose garden as if preserving it would somehow preserve the past. As if it would stop time from pulling them further apart.

Now, it is gone.

Perhaps it was for the best.

They could never go back.

Phil turned and walked away.

Back in his studies, he powered on his computer and systematically erased every file, every photo, every trace of Tricia.

Then, he opened his desk drawer, where he had hidden all the gifts she had given him over the years. One by one, he tossed them into the trash.

He was determined to wipe her from his life completely.

Until he reached the last item.

A diamond ring.

Phil froze.

This was the engagement ring he had designed himself, painstakingly carved by a master jeweler.

For a long moment, he simply stared at it.

Then, with a deep breath, he walked to the artificial lake beside the villa and, without hesitation, threw it in.

The water rippled, swallowing her last piece.

"Tricia, from now on, we are nothing to each other."

From this moment forward, they were strangers.

—

Tricia staggered out of the Knight family’s villa, her steps unsteady.

She didn’t return to the club.

Instead, she went to the cemetery in Glenwood.

She had no family, no one to turn to.

After some thought, the only person she could confide in was Phil’s mother.

Standing before the tombstone, she placed a bouquet of fresh flowers down and ran her fingers lightly over the engraved portrait. The woman in the photo was smiling gently.

Tricia let out a shaky breath and whispered, “Aunt Kara, when I die, we’ll be neighbors.”

She laughed softly, though it was tinged with sorrow.

“I don’t know if you’d be angry or happy to have me here with you.”

“But… I hope you’ll be happier.”

She spoke for a long time, pouring out everything she had kept bottled inside.

By the time she left, the sky had turned an ominous shade of gray.

Twilight settled over the winding mountain road.

There were no taxis.

No people.

She had no choice but to walk.

Then, suddenly—

A heavy truck roared from behind, its headlights blinding.

Before her mind could register the danger, her body reacted on instinct.

She dove to the side, rolling into the drainage ditch just beyond the guardrail. The rush of wind from the passing truck whipped against her skin, and the impact sent her tumbling onto a pile of jagged gravel.

Pain exploded in her lower back.

Tricia gritted her teeth, forcing herself to move.

With trembling fingers, she pulled out her phone, snapped a photo of the truck’s license plate, and sent it to Officer Blake.

The moment she hit send, the sharp screech of tires cutting against asphalt split the air.

Her heart dropped.

The truck was reversing.

A chill ran down her spine.

If it succeeded, she would be crushed beneath its wheels.

Someone wanted her dead.

She didn’t have time to think about who.

Acting fast, she raised her phone to her ear and called out in a clear, strong voice, “Uncle Police, are you picking me up at the foot of the mountain? Okay! Come quickly! I was in a car accident!”

The driver hesitated.

If the police were already nearby, he couldn’t afford to linger.

A second later, the truck jerked forward, its engine roaring as it sped away.

Tricia exhaled in relief.

Her body went limp.

Darkness swallowed her.

When she woke up again, she was in a hospital bed.

The first thing she saw was Officer Blake, his face filled with worry.

“You haven’t been exposed, have you? Why would someone try to kill you?”

Tricia’s breath hitched.

Only one name came to mind.

Kirsten.

But if she implicated Kirsten, it would bring back the murder case from years ago.

And when that happened, Phil’s true identity would also be exposed.

Everything she had worked to conceal all these years would be for nothing.

Tricia lowered her gaze, her voice calm and detached. “I don’t know. Maybe it was just a coincidence. You know how those big trucks are—they have high insurance payouts. If they kill someone, they can claim insurance. But if the person survives, they have to pay out of pocket.”

Officer Blake considered this and nodded. “That’s possible.” He sighed and advised her to take care of her injuries.

“It’s just a scratch,” Tricia said, shaking her head. “Nothing serious. I’ll be back at the club tonight.”

She didn’t know how much time she had left.

But however long that was, she intended to make use of it.

That night, she took her medical records to Mike, explaining why she had failed her task earlier.

“Manager Mike, I have stomach cancer. I won’t live much longer. I just want to save enough to buy myself a decent burial plot. If there’s any way to make quick money, please help me.”

Mike called the hospital to confirm her diagnosis. Then he decided to keep her.

A woman fresh out of prison, riddled with a terminal illness—what a waste it would be not to use her.

People like her were the easiest to control.

So he gave Tricia a small job.

With Officer Blake’s help, she completed it flawlessly.

Her efficiency earned Mike’s trust.

Finally, the day arrived for their most important operation.

This time, the deal would take place at the extravagant wedding of a wealthy heir in the neighboring city.

The event required an enormous shipment of flowers. The drugs would be hidden among them.

Even the elusive drug lord himself was expected to make an appearance.

Tricia passed the intel to Officer Blake, coordinating the plan to take them down in one decisive strike.

But she never expected to see Phil there.

“Tricia,” he growled through clenched teeth. “Didn’t I tell you never to show your face in front of me again?”

He hadn’t expected to run into her—not here, not now.

Tricia’s heart clenched.

She had to get him out of here. If anything went wrong, Phil would be caught in the crossfire.

“I needed money,” she said, feigning indifference. “A sponsor paid me to attend this wedding. It has nothing to do with you. If you hate me so much, then leave. That way, you won’t have to see someone as ‘vicious and disgusting’ as me.”

She deliberately provoked him.

“Or,” she sneered, “do you secretly miss me? Following me everywhere I go?”

Phil’s face darkened. “Tricia, don’t flatter yourself. Just looking at you makes me sick. If I’d known you’d be here, I wouldn’t have set foot in Seattle.”

With that, he threw his gift aside and turned to leave.

Tricia exhaled in relief.

But deep inside, her chest ached.

If this was their last meeting, would it really have to end like this?

Not a single kind word.

Not even one good memory to hold onto.

Then, chaos erupted.

Sirens wailed.

A swarm of police officers stormed the wedding venue.

Panic spread like wildfire.

“Why are the cops here?!” someone shouted.

Mike bolted.

Tricia chased after him, trying to hold him down before he could escape.

“You damn bitch,” he spat, kicking her viciously. “This is your doing, isn’t it?”

She refused to let go.

Mike’s face twisted in fury. He turned to his men and barked, “Kill her. We’re not getting out of here anyway—we might as well take her down with us.”

A group of thugs surged forward, their faces twisted with rage.

Everything at the wedding—tables, cutlery, bottles—became their weapons.

A knife and fork pierced through Tricia’s hand. A lit cigarette seared into her back. A wine bottle shattered against her ribs.

Pain swallowed her whole.

But she didn’t beg for mercy.

She had expected this.

She had always known this day would come.

The only regret—

Her last words to Phil had been so cruel.

She wished she could take them back.

She didn’t know how long it lasted.

At some point, snow began to fall.

Tiny flakes, fine as salt, drifted down from the sky.

A thin layer of frost settled on her lashes.

Phil’s face flickered through her fading consciousness.

With the last of her strength, she traced a string of numbers into the snow.

Before everything went black, she heard the police rushing in—

Heard Officer Blake’s voice, shouting for her to hold on.

Her lips trembled, forming the final words of her life:

“Don’t… tell Phil.”

A knock echoed through the Knight family’s door.

When Kirsten saw the police standing outside, her face turned pale with fear.

Had they already discovered that she had ordered someone to run Tricia down?

But to her surprise, they weren’t here for her.

“We need to see Phil.”

Phil stepped forward, immediately recognizing the man in uniform.

“Officer Blake, it’s been a long time.”

This was the same officer who had handled his mother’s case all those years ago.

Officer Blake gave him a curt nod. “Mr. Knight, it has been a while. I’m here today because I need your help with something.”

Phil frowned slightly. “What is it?”

Without a word, Officer Blake handed him a photograph.

In the image, a snowy field was speckled with blood. Etched into the snow was a string of numbers: 755143.

The moment his eyes landed on those digits, Phil froze.

Officer Blake caught the shift in his expression. “Mr. Knight, do you recognize this number?”

Phil hesitated before looking back at him, suspicion flickering in his gaze.

“This is the password for all of Tricia’s personal belongings. Why don’t you just ask her directly?”

Officer Blake’s lips pressed into a thin line.

He wanted to tell Phil the truth. But Tricia had left a final request, and he had no choice but to keep the truth from him.

“She’s… not in a position to answer my questions right now,” he said carefully. “But this number is linked to a major case. Please, Mr. Knight, tell me what 755143 really means.”

A memory surfaced in Phil’s mind—

A moment from long ago, when he had asked Tricia the very same question.

“What does 755143 mean?”

She grinned at him, mischief dancing in her eyes.

“Look at the keypad. The ninesquare grid. Type out your name and ‘I love you.’ PLKILY—it matches 755143. Clever, right? Only you and I will ever understand it.”

“Mr. Knight?” Officer Blake’s voice pulled him back to the present. “What does it mean?”

Phil lowered his gaze. His throat tightened as he forced out the words.

“It means… Phil, I love you.”

Silence stretched between them.

Then, Officer Blake let out a quiet breath and tucked the photo away.

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Knight. Goodbye.”

As he turned to leave, Phil couldn’t stop himself from calling after him.

“How… is she?”

Officer Blake paused at the threshold. His fingers twitched as he wiped the corner of his eye.

“She’s doing well.”

Then he strode away without looking back.

Phil stood motionless, unease creeping into his chest.

Officer Blake was hiding something. He was certain of it.

But what?

The officer’s visit stirred old memories, reminding him that he hadn’t visited his mother’s grave in a long time.

So, that afternoon, he bought a bouquet of fresh flowers and drove to Glenwood Cemetery.

When he arrived at her tombstone, his steps halted.

There, resting against the cold marble, was a wilted bouquet of lisianthus.

His breath caught.

He knew exactly who had placed it there.

His family always brought chrysanthemums. The only person he had ever told about his mother’s favorite flower was Tricia.

To confirm his suspicion, he went to the cemetery office and requested the latest surveillance footage.

The moment Tricia appeared on the screen, he knew.

She had been there.

Just as he was about to ask the security guard to turn it off, the footage continued—

And then, in the background, a large truck barreled straight toward her.

His stomach lurched.

“Wait,” he ordered sharply, gripping the security guard’s mouse to pause the video.

He watched as Tricia dodged the first hit.

But the truck didn’t stop.

It reversed—aiming to finish the job.

Phil’s hands curled into fists.

This wasn’t an accident. This was a premeditated attempt to kill her.

His eyes flicked to the date in the footage.

It was the same day he had thrown her out of the Knight family villa.

That same day, his sister had tried to burn Tricia alive with gasoline.

His pulse pounded in his ears.

Could this truck… could this attempted murder also be connected to his sister?

Phil immediately launched an investigation.

The results came back quickly.

It really was Kirsten.

“Why did you hire someone to kill her?”

His voice was cold, sharp enough to send shivers down Kirsten’s spine.

She opened her mouth to deny it, but the moment Phil threw stacks of evidence in front of her, her prepared excuses lodged in her throat.

“She killed my mother! I wanted revenge—what’s wrong with that?!”

Fearful that he might uncover more than just this, she quickly turned defensive, trying to take moral high ground.

“Brother, why are you always protecting her? Do you still love her?”

“That’s impossible!” Phil denied it immediately.

“Then why do you care so much about her?” Kirsten pressed, unwilling to let it go.

“I don’t care about her,” he said stiffly. “I care that you’re going down the wrong path. Didn’t I already tell you—don’t get blood on your hands?”

He forced himself to suppress the storm of emotions her words had stirred.

He couldn’t still love Tricia. He couldn’t afford to love her.

It would be an insult to his mother’s memory.

“You bullied her first, then treated her like a stray dog. When that wasn’t enough, you tried to burn her alive with gasoline. And when that failed, you hired a car to kill her.”

His voice turned steely.

“Kirsten, do you really think this is the way a woman should act?”

Kirsten let out a silent breath of relief.

So he only knew this much.

Putting on a pitiful expression, she whined, “Brother, I just couldn’t stand it. How could she still be walking around, alive and well, after our mother died?”

Phil clenched his jaw.

A flash of Tricia’s bloodied lips overlapped with the memory of his mother’s lifeless body in a pool of red.

A throbbing pain pulsed through his temples.

She had killed his mother.

And yet, he still shamelessly… loved her.

Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to bury those feelings once and for all.

“I warned her last time. She won’t show up in front of us again.” His voice was distant.

“That’s good.” Kirsten smiled sweetly. “Brother, don’t worry, I won’t do anything like this again. You focus on your work—I’ll leave you alone now.”

Without waiting for a response, she slipped out of his studies, moving as if she were running for her life, afraid that lingering any longer would expose her further.

Phil exhaled slowly, forcing himself to shove every thought of Tricia out of his mind.

He had more important things to focus on.

But that very night, he ran into something related to her once again.

“Didn’t I tell you to stop arranging business meetings in this damn place?”

His eyes darkened as he glared at the Beehive Club’s glowing sign, directing his frustration at his assistant.

The assistant quickly bowed his head. “I’m sorry, Mr. Knight. The venue was chosen by Mr. Mike—it was too late to change it.”

This was a crucial deal for the Knight Corporation.

Even if he hated it, he had to go in.

Yet, the moment he stepped inside, his gaze involuntarily drifted toward the staff carrying trays of drinks.

Was she here?

Would he see her?

But by the time the contract was signed, Tricia never appeared.

“Excuse me.”

A few glasses of alcohol had left his mind in a haze. He stepped out, hoping the cool night air would clear his head.

And then—

Just as he turned the corner, he overheard two club waiters chatting.

“You’ve been throwing up every day. You should really get checked. Remember our old colleague? He kept ignoring it, and by the time he went to the hospital, he found out it was stomach cancer.”

“Who was it? Is he still working here?”

“Tricia something… Oh! Tricia!”

At the sound of her name, Phil froze midstep.

Before he even realized it, his body had moved faster than his mind.

He strode up to the girl and enunciated each word carefully.

“Who did you just say has stomach cancer?”

The waitress gasped. “PPresident Knight?”

She took a nervous step back, startled by the intensity in his gaze.

Quickly, she stammered, “It—it’s one of our old colleagues. Tricia.”

It was really her.

A sharp ringing filled his ears.

His voice turned hoarse. “Did Tricia tell you to say this in front of me?”

Was this her way of making him feel guilty?

Was she trying to make him… forgive her?

The two waitresses shook their heads frantically.

“No! She hasn’t worked here in a long time.”

He asked again and again, but their answers never changed.

It wasn’t a lie.

Tricia… had really been diagnosed with stomach cancer.

Phil clenched his fists and turned to his assistant.

“Go to the hospital. Find out if it’s true.”

The next day, a medical report was placed on his desk.

For a long moment, he just stared at it.

Then, finally, he reached out—

And opened it.

As soon as his eyes landed on the words "latestage gastric cancer," Phil’s grip on the medical record tightened.

In an instant, the scene from that night—the raging fire, the pool of blood, the white powder stained with red—came alive in his mind.

So the blood she coughed up that day…

It wasn’t an act.

It wasn’t a pathetic attempt to gain his sympathy.

She had been sick all along.

She had been dying all along.

He snapped the file shut, his mind replaying Officer Blake’s words from that day:

"She’s not in a position to answer right now."

So that’s what he meant.

Tricia was unconscious. Too sick to respond.

A hollow laugh escaped his lips.

"Stomach cancer? So what? She deserved it."

The moment he realized he was thinking about her again, anger surged through him.

With a scowl, he crumpled the medical record and shoved it into his pocket.

He needed a distraction.

“Come in,” he barked.

His assistant entered, standing stiffly in front of the desk.

“That business deal we discussed recently—what happened with the He family?”

The assistant quickly flipped through some notes.

“There was an incident, Mr. Knight. The deal was canceled.”

Phil frowned. “Canceled? I just attended his son’s wedding.”

The thought immediately brought back another memory—

Tricia, standing in the wedding hall.

Her expression distant, her voice mocking.

"I’m just here because someone paid me. You don’t have to worry—it has nothing to do with you. If you hate me so much, then leave. That way, someone as vicious and disgusting as me won’t ruin your mood."

"Or… could it be that you’re still obsessed with me? That’s why you keep running into me wherever you go?"

The way she had smirked when she said those words—it lingered in his mind like a curse.

He exhaled sharply.

He had made up his mind to cut ties completely.

So why did she keep showing up in his life?

The assistant’s voice pulled him back to the present.

“There was an incident at the wedding. I heard it involved a drug trafficking operation.”

Phil stiffened.

“We were lucky to leave early,” the assistant continued. “If we had stayed, we could have been caught up in it.”

A thought flashed in Phil’s mind, and his expression darkened.

So that’s why she was there.

She was buying drugs.

That must be why she couldn’t answer Officer Blake’s questions—not because she was sick, but because she was too drugged out to function.

His lips curled in disgust.

“Enough,” he said coldly. “I don’t want to hear another word about her.”

Dismissing his assistant, he forced himself to focus on work.

He worked late into the night, long after the last employees had left the office.

Only when a dull pain throbbed in his stomach did he realize he hadn’t eaten all day.

Instinctively, his mind drifted to her again.

Tricia…

Whenever he worked overtime, she would always prepare a meal for him, nagging endlessly.

"Brother Phil, you always skip meals. It’s bad for your health. I’ll be worried."

He pressed a hand to his stomach, shaking his head.

He needed to eat.

He got into his car, intending to find a quick meal.

But before he knew it, he had already driven to that small restaurant.

Their small restaurant.

He hesitated.

“No big deal,” he muttered to himself. “It’s the only place open this late. It has nothing to do with her.”

Convincing himself, he started the engine.

But before he could reach his destination, his exhaustion got the better of him.

For just a second, his mind drifted—

And then—

BANG!

He slammed the brakes.

The impact wasn’t too strong, but the figure in front of his car had already been thrown a meter away.

Heart pounding, he rushed out to check.

His breath caught in his throat.

"Officer Blake?"

The man grimaced. “Looks like my lower leg is broken.”

Phil exhaled sharply. Of all people…

Without another word, he helped Officer Blake into the car.

As he settled into the passenger seat, something fell from Phil’s coat pocket.

A single sheet of paper fluttered onto Officer Blake’s lap.

He picked it up, and his face darkened.

“You know,” he murmured.

Phil glanced at the report.

His expression was unreadable.

“So what if I do?” His voice was eerily calm. “It doesn’t change anything. I won’t feel sorry for her.”

His fingers curled around the steering wheel.

“A murderer like her deserves to have stomach cancer.”

A heavy silence filled the car.

Then, Officer Blake laughed bitterly.

“I don’t believe Tricia is a murderer.”

Phil’s gaze snapped to him.

“What did you say?”

Officer Blake met his eyes.

“You and Tricia—how close were you?”

“Don’t get the wrong idea.” Officer Blake sighed. “I just don’t think she’s capable of murder.”

Phil scoffed.

“She was at a drug deal, wasn’t she? What kind of person does that make her?”

Officer Blake’s expression suddenly hardened.

Then, without hesitation, he said—

“She wasn’t taking drugs.

She was a hero in drug enforcement.”