Chapter 7

My cold gaze swept over the three of them.

Jeremy's face had gone pale.

He looked like he wanted to say something, to beg, but my expression stopped him.

Rocky stared at the floor, avoiding my eyes.

Only Tiffany kept looking at me, her eyes full of hate.

"I'll give you one minute," I said. "I'm starting the timer now."

I tapped my phone. The red numbers began to count down.

The silence was suffocating.

Each second felt heavy, as if it were pounding against Tiffany's chest.

The numbers on the stopwatch kept ticking, cold and unforgiving.

The air in the living room felt so heavy that it was hard to breathe.

Tiny beads of sweat gathered on Rocky's forehead.

Jeremy's lips had gone pale.

Only Tiffany's face kept changing color, flashing from ghost white to burning red, twisted with rage.

Thirty seconds had passed.

Tiffany's chest heaved as she fought to steady her breathing.

I could see the battle going on inside her.

If I called the police, her reputation would be destroyed. Every neighbor in the community would point fingers and whisper behind her back.

She might even end up getting arrested.

But if she apologized, cleaned up the trash, and admitted what she had done in front of everyone, then her pride would be trampled into the dirt.

Both options were hell.

But one of those hells was more than she could bear.

I began the countdown. "Ten. Nine."

My voice was calm, not loud, but each number landed like a hammer in the hearts of the three of them.

I continued, "Eight."

Rocky was the first to crack. He grabbed Tiffany's arm. "Just apologize. Isn't this humiliating enough for you?"

Jeremy's voice broke as he begged, tears in his eyes.

"Mom, please. I'm begging you. We can't keep doing this," he said. "If this keeps going, this family is really going to fall apart."

Seeing her husband and son break down was the final blow.

When I reached three, Tiffany's body suddenly went slack as if all the strength had drained out of her.

The hatred and madness in her eyes disappeared in an instant.

All that remained was a hopeless, lifeless despair.

"Fine," she said through clenched teeth. "I accept your terms."

I slipped my phone back into my pocket and stepped aside, my face blank. "Then begin."

The next hour became the most humiliating hour of Tiffany's life.

I stood beside her, watching in silence.

She picked up the broom and dustpan and slowly swept the greasy leftovers and scattered trash into a pile.

Then, she knelt on the floor with a rag and scrubbed away the soup stains.

The sour stench of rotting food filled the hallway.

A few times, I saw her gag from the smell.

But she didn't dare stop.

I stood there the whole time, like a guard watching a prisoner.

Rocky and Jeremy stayed in their doorway, heads lowered, unable to watch.

When the cleaning was finally done, the harder part began—the apology.

I walked beside Tiffany as she knocked on the first door on the floor.

A young woman opened it and stared at us in surprise.

Tiffany's face flushed red with shame.

She stared down at the floor, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry. I was the one who left the trash at Belle's door a few days ago. I came to apologize."

The girl blinked in confusion for a few seconds, then seemed to understand.

She gave an awkward little smile. "It's okay. Really, it's okay."

Then she quickly shut the door.

Then came the second apartment. Then the third. Then the fourth.

Each time a door opened, it felt like another round of public humiliation.

The neighbors' expressions shifted from surprise to disgust to pity.

Each look felt like a needle sinking into Tiffany's skin.

At first, shame and anger flashed across her face. But after a while, even that disappeared. She went numb.

When the last door finally closed, Tiffany stood frozen in the hallway, head bowed, unable to move.

I looked at her white hair and the slight bend in her back.

I felt no sympathy for her.

I knew people were not pitiful for no reason. Sometimes they suffered because of the hateful things they had done.

I finally said, "Mrs. Shelton, I hope this is the last time.

"Because if it happens again, I promise you, what comes next will be a hundred times worse than today."

She didn't say a word.

She slowly raised her head and looked at me.

The hatred in her eyes had changed. It was no longer simple anger or resentment.

It was deeper and colder than that. It looked like something crawling out of hell.

A chill ran down my spine.

But I did not back away. I held her gaze without fear.

At last, she turned around and dragged herself back toward her apartment.

Then the door slammed shut behind her with a loud bang, cutting her from sight.

I went back to my room and closed the door.

Leaning against the door, I let out a deep breath.

I had won. I had won completely.

But I did not feel relieved, not even a little.

I knew this was not the end, not even close.

No one could predict what someone would do when they were backed into a corner with nothing left to lose.