Chapter 3

In a haze, it felt like I was thrown back to that morning when Andrew kicked the door open.

His hands were trembling, as if something vital had been torn out of him, and his eyes were bloodshot.

Andrew said, "Olivia, are you going to explain?"

I stared at him and stayed quiet for a long time.

After what felt like forever, I said softly, "I'm tired. Let's break up."

The coffee table lay overturned, and ornaments were shattered everywhere. The whole room was a mess.

Andrew balled his fist and moved to hit Ethan, but he pulled his hand back at the last second.

He looked at me, his face growing distant. "Olivia, you'll regret this."

Those memories were still so vivid, but five years had slipped by.

On the other end of the line, Andrew continued slowly, "Ms. Lynn, if you want to apologize, you need to specify the matter first."

A faint metallic taste of blood rose in my throat, and when I spoke, my voice barely sounded like mine. "I'm sorry for going to Ethan's place that night five years ago."

Andrew acted as if it had suddenly dawned on him. "So you visited Ethan. What went on there that makes you think you owe me an apology?"

A cold shudder swept over me, and my body shook more and more violently.

Everything from that night slowly came back crystal clear.

Ethan's voice rang in my ears again. "Olivia, are you really going to call the cops?

"Olivia, maybe you should make a better choice.

"Only you can save Andrew."

My forehead was slick with cold sweat. My hands shook uncontrollably, and I moved to hang up the call.

But then Andrew's voice came through again, stripped of all that fake confusion and doubts.

There was a hint of deep-seated hatred, mixed with the satisfaction of finally letting it out. "Olivia, does that mean you regret it?"

I stared into the pale, empty air, feeling my soul and senses slip away from my body.

I heard myself say, "Yes, I regret it."

Silence lingered on the line.

After what felt like forever, Andrew let out a cold laugh. "Too bad. It's too late."

I set my phone down and slowly got to my feet.

Andrew's voice came out a little muffled. "How much did Mr. Shaw pay you that night five years ago?

"How about I pay you the same amount? Want a new backer, Ms. Lynn?"

I couldn't listen anymore, so I hung up.

Emily suddenly spiked a fever in the middle of the night. I was in a panic, scrambling to call an ambulance and rushing her to the hospital.

After the tests, the doctor looked at me with a stern face and said, "Her heart condition has gotten worse again. I told you she needed to be hospitalized ages ago. Why did you wait until now?"

He handed me a form. "Go get her admitted. She'll need to be in the ICU. You should pay 10,000 dollars upfront for the treatment."

I took the form and walked out. I checked my bank account on the phone. Even scraping together 3,000 dollars was a stretch.

My friend Anna Reed had gotten fired last week, and with rent and car payments piling up, she was barely making ends meet herself.

The night was completely silent as I scrolled through my contacts again and again. In the end, I dialed that number. The call went through.

I gripped my phone tightly, my voice rough and strained. "Mr. Shaw, about that haunted house livestream job you mentioned, the one that pays 30,000 dollars a month. Can I still take it?"

He sounded surprised on the other end, and after a long pause, he laughed. "Of course. Come to my place tomorrow night, and we'll talk it over."

It felt like that night five years ago, when I begged Ethan to help Andrew. Back then, he laughed on the phone and said, "Come to my home to discuss it in detail."

At that time, I was so foolish and believed him. Now, I wasn't that naive. I knew what he was hinting at.

My nails dug into my palm, the pain sharp.

But after a long while, all I managed to say was, "Can you pay me half a month's salary up front?"

As soon as the call ended, 15,000 dollars landed in my account.

*****

By the next evening, Emily's condition had stabilized for the time being. I hired a caregiver and then took a cab to Ethan's place.

The housekeeper opened the door, her tone indifferent. "Mr. Shaw is waiting for you in the bedroom upstairs."

Jinston's weather had flipped. After a heavy autumn rain, the wind had turned cold and biting.

My steps felt heavy as I climbed the stairs slowly.

The bedroom door was left slightly ajar, and I pushed it open.

The room stayed dark, and the man sat on the sofa in the shadowy gloom.

I was trembling as I called out, "Mr. Shaw."

He didn't respond. In the dimness, I could only make him out as he patted the spot on the sofa next to him.

I forced myself to move closer slowly. Suddenly, he reached out and yanked my arm.