Chapter 7

"Do you have any humanity left?!"

"Rachel." Vivian's voice was weak. She struggled to move her fingers, signaling Rachel not to lose control.

Rachel bit her lip, shot Patrick a furious glare, and finally stepped back.

Patrick turned back to Vivian. "You've got quite the fan club. Even after all this, people still defend you."

He paused, his gaze sweeping the room, a cold smile on his lips. "Vivian, you're really good at playing people, aren't you?"

Vivian closed her eyes. Tears slid down her temples.

Playing people?

Who had she played?

She'd loved him for fifteen years. Given him the best years of her youth. Shaped herself into everything he wanted. She'd never lied to him. Never.

But he didn't believe a word.

"Patrick," Mr. Perkins stepped forward, his voice hoarse. "Things might not be what you think. Could we just—"

"No." Patrick cut him off without even looking at him. "Mr. Perkins, your older daughter killed your younger daughter. And you still have the nerve to plead for her? Is your younger daughter's life worth so little to you?"

Mr. Perkins' face flushed red. His lips trembled, but no words came out.

"Anyway," Patrick turned toward the door. "Since you're awake, get ready. I've already contacted the police. Someone will be here tomorrow to take you in. You killed Jenny. She deserves justice."

Vivian's eyes flew open.

The police?

He was turning her in?

She tried to sit up, but she had no strength. All she could do was watch Patrick's back as he walked farther and farther away.

"Patrick!" Rachel rushed forward and blocked him. "What proof do you have that Vivi did it? Surveillance can be faked, witnesses can be bought. How can you be so sure it was her?"

Patrick stopped. He turned to look at her.

His eyes were frighteningly cold.

"Because I saw it myself," he said, each word deliberate. "Jenny jumped from that building and Vivian was right there."

Rachel froze.

Patrick continued. "Ms. Summers, you say evidence can be faked. Then tell me—who could fake all this? Who would use their own life to frame someone else?"

Rachel opened her mouth. No words came.

He was right. Who would use their own life to frame someone?

Unless that person didn't actually die. But if she said that, who would believe her?

Patrick, seeing she had nothing to say, turned to leave.

At the door, he stopped. "Vivian, I'm giving you two options. Either you turn yourself in and serve time for Jenny's death, or I'll send you in and make sure your parents get a taste of prison too."

Mr. Perkins' head snapped up. "Patrick, what are you saying?"

Patrick ignored him. "I had someone look into your company's finances. Tax evasion, fraud—enough to put you away for a few years. Your parents are getting old. I can't guarantee they'd make it out alive."

Mr. Perkins' face went deathly pale. "No... you can't..."

"Of course I can." Patrick finally looked back, his gaze landing on Vivian. "Vivian, you choose."

The room fell deathly silent.

Vivian stared at him. At the face she'd loved for fifteen years. Her heart felt like it was being carved up, piece by piece. The pain made her whole body shake.

She closed her eyes. Tears slid down her face and into the pillow.

"Okay."

Her voice was barely audible, stripped of all strength. "I'll turn myself in."

"Vivi!" Rachel cried out.

"No!" Mrs. Perkins threw herself at the bedside. "Vivi, you can't. You can't..."

Vivian didn't open her eyes. She just lay there, like a shell with no soul left inside.

Patrick stood at the door, staring at the pale, almost translucent woman on the bed. He wanted to leave.

But his feet felt nailed to the floor. He couldn't move.

Vivian finally opened her eyes and looked at him.

Those eyes held only emptiness and despair. And something else he couldn't understand.

"Patrick, if you ever find out I'm innocent... will you regret this?"

Patrick's pupils contracted slightly.

Regret?

Why would he regret anything?

The evidence was right there. Witnesses, physical proof—she'd killed Jenny with her own hands. What was there to regret?

But looking into her eyes, an inexplicable irritation rose in his chest. It came out of nowhere, like a thorn lodged in his heart, faintly aching.

He sneered, shoving the feeling down. "Vivian, even now, you're still trying to play games?"

Vivian looked at him. The corner of her mouth lifted slightly.

The curve was so faint it was almost invisible. But somehow, it made Patrick's chest tighten.

"I'm not playing games," she said. "I finally understand where I went wrong. I was too stupid."

Patrick's heart lurched.

Understand?

Understand what?

He wanted to ask, but the words stuck in his throat.

No. He couldn't ask. Asking meant he cared. Caring meant he might be...

"Vivian," his voice came out cold. "You killed Jenny, and now you think you can fool me with this nonsense? Let me tell you something—once you're in prison, stay there and repent. Don't expect anyone to save you."

He paused, his gaze sweeping over Mr. and Mrs. Perkins. "As for your family, as long as you confess, I'll leave them alone. Otherwise—"

He didn't finish, but the threat was clear.

Mrs. Perkins swayed on her feet, nearly fainting. Mr. Perkins' face was ashen, his lips trembling. He wanted to plead again but was too afraid of provoking Patrick further.

"Vivi!" Rachel rushed over and grabbed her hand. "You can't do this! You didn't do anything—why should you go?"

Vivian opened her eyes and looked at her best friend. Her eyes finally reddened.

"Rachel," she gripped her hand, her voice breaking. "Please take care of my parents."

"I won't!" Rachel's tears fell in streams. "You take care of them yourself! When you get out, you take care of them! Vivian, do you hear me?"

Vivian didn't answer. She just looked at her and squeezed her hand tightly.

Patrick walked out of the hospital. It was already dark.

He stood at the entrance, staring up at the black sky. An inexplicable emptiness settled in his chest.

His phone rang. It was his assistant.

"Mr. Sterling, the police station is all set. Ms. Perkins will be sent directly to detention tomorrow. After the court ruling, she'll be transferred to prison."

"Good."

"Also, about the Perkins family company records—do you want me to move forward now or—"

"Leave it for now." Patrick cut him off. "Wait until after she's sentenced."

A pause on the other end. "Understood."

Patrick hung up. He stood there, unmoving.

It had started raining again. Fine, steady drops fell on his hair and shoulders.