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The moment my daughter, Jane Madison, had a knife pressed to her throat by a gangster, I looked at my husband, Shane Madison. He was the top sniper in the entire city, yet at this moment, he was searching for another woman through his rifle scope. "The more critical the situation, the less I can play favorites," Shane said. Then he pulled the trigger and saved his first love, Lola Diaz. My daughter's throat was slashed. I broke down, confronting him in hysteria. Shane said flatly, "We can have another child if this one's gone." He then turned to Lola, his eyes rimmed red. "But if she's gone, she's gone forever." I held my daughter's gradually cooling body in my arms and jumped off the rooftop. When I opened my eyes again, I had traveled back to the very day when my daughter and Lola were taken hostage by the gangsters separately. This time, I raised my hand directly, pressing the gun muzzle against the back of Shane's head. "Since you refuse to play favorites, you'll join our daughter in death with me." After all, my daughter was gone. There was no point in holding onto this family, or this husband.