The fabric on Serafina's chest still retained the warmth of Elena's body, from a comforting embrace that Serafina had initiated when Elena appeared terrified by the chaos on the yacht.

She said she was just frightened by the crowd, the alarm sounds, and the fight between Julian and Marcus.


But Serafina, during that brief embrace, discreetly took a strand from her scattered golden hair.

It now lay quietly in a transparent evidence bag, placed side by side with another sample in front of Serafina, the latter being skin tissue extracted from under Anya's fingernails.

Logan sat across from her, his black hoodie almost blending with the night darkness of the Paradise Tower apartment. He was an executor from the shadows, efficient, and never asking too many questions.


"You suspect her?" his voice showed not a ripple of emotion.

"I suspect everyone," Serafina said.


Her gaze turned toward the window; the yacht party fiasco had ended, Cassandra was quickly rescued after falling into the river, but that fear had already spread within the Tower Elite Club. Half of her objective had been achieved.

And the other half, the culprit who pushed Anya down, seemed to be surfacing as well.

When the fireworks exploded and the alarm suddenly went off, Serafina saw a fleeting expression on Elena's face. It wasn't simple panic, but rather a complete terror mixed with guilt.

That expression, she had seen it once before, on the faces of Anya's adoptive parents when she told them Anya was dead.

"Send them for testing, as quickly as possible." Serafina pushed two evidence bags toward Logan.

He nodded, stood up, and disappeared silently behind the door.

Only Serafina remained in the apartment, the air filled with the cold scent of victory and newly formed doubts. She walked to the liquor cabinet and poured herself a glass of whiskey, the ice cubes making a crisp sound as they hit the glass.

She didn't want to believe her intuition.

Elena, who like herself came from the bottom of society, a mother who would stop at nothing for her daughter's future; that ally whose eyes burned with the same flame as she denounced the upper class's cruelty in front of her.

How could she possibly be the murderer?

If it was her, then the so-called alliance between them, the so-called empathy, was nothing but an elaborately planned deception. She had exploited Serafina's desire for revenge, disguising herself as a victim, hiding under her wings.

This thought made Serafina feel nauseated. If it were true, then the web of revenge she had spun for Anya had caught its first victim - herself.

Time stretched unbearably long in the waiting.

Three days later, Serafina met Elena again at a café by the Hudson River.

She looked much more haggard, with faint dark circles under her eyes, though she tried hard to conceal them with makeup. She told Serafina that Maya's waitlist admission had been confirmed because a previously selected child had an "accident" at home and voluntarily gave up the spot.

As she spoke, her eyes were evasive, avoiding direct eye contact with Serafina.

"That's wonderful." Serafina stirred the coffee in front of her, her tone flat. "It seems your efforts weren't wasted."

"Yes," she forced a strained smile, "it's all because of you, Serafina. You gave me the courage to challenge them."

Serafina's phone vibrated on the table, indicating a new message.

It was from Logan, containing only an address and a time: one hour from now. That was his designated secure location for conveying critical information.

The report was out.

She looked at Elena's face filled with gratitude, and a complex, indescribable emotion welled up in her heart. How she wished her suspicions were wrong.

"I have to go now." She stood up, not looking at her again.

She drove to the location Logan had specified, an abandoned warehouse in the Brooklyn area. Her heartbeat quickened with the roar of the engine, and an ominous feeling gripped her throat.

Logan's car was already waiting there. He didn't get out, just rolled down the window and handed Serafina a manila envelope.

"The results are inside." His expression was as calm as ever, but there seemed to be something in his eyes that she had never seen before, perhaps pity.

Serafina took the envelope, those few light sheets of paper feeling as heavy as a thousand pounds.

She didn't open it immediately, but placed it on the passenger seat, then started the car and drove aimlessly through the streets of New York. The sunset stretched the shadows of skyscrapers long, imprisoning her within them.

What was she afraid of after all?

Afraid of the truth? Or afraid that the truth would destroy her remaining beliefs?

She parked the car in a quiet corner by the East River, with Manhattan's brilliant lights in the distance, so close yet so far away.

Her hands trembling, she tore open the envelope.

Inside was a DNA test report. She skipped over those complex technical terms, her eyes locked firmly on the conclusion on the last page.

"The DNA sequences of submitted sample A (hair) and sample B (epithelial tissue)... 99.99% match."

Match.

This word burned fiercely onto her retina.

The world before her instantly lost its sound and color, leaving only the cold conclusion on the report spinning and magnifying frantically.

Not Julian, not Cassandra, nor any of those tower residents she despised to the core.

It was Elena.

It was the woman she once thought could fight alongside her, the woman she saw as another version of herself, who had killed her daughter.

For a damned school admission spot.

A tsunami of enormous absurdity and pain instantly engulfed Serafina. She collapsed over the steering wheel, unable to make any sound from her throat, yet her body convulsed violently. Tears flowed uncontrollably, blurring the lights before her eyes, transforming the entire world into a chaotic ocean.

She had planned everything for Anya, she had used everyone, she had turned the entire Upper East Side upside down, yet she never imagined that the true devil had been by her side all along, smiling at her, sharing in her "pain," accepting her "kindness."

She had helped her daughter's killer.

She had even paved the way for her daughter to enter Vanguard Academy, a path paid for with her daughter's life!

A mouthful of metallic sweetness rose to her throat. Serafina violently pushed open the car door and retched violently toward the cold river water until there was nothing left to expel from her stomach, only a burning pain remaining.

Hatred had never been so clear and sharp. It was no longer a vague rage directed at a social class, but had crystallized into a specific face—Elena's face.

Meanwhile, in the top-floor office of Thorn Capital, the lights were blazing.

Julian Thorne leaned back in his spacious office chair, his fingers rhythmically tapping on the desk as he listened to the woman's report in front of him.

"...Serafina had met that hacker called Logan before the party. The chaos on the yacht was orchestrated by him." Elena's voice carried a hint of perfectly measured timidity and ingratiation. "She suspects that you and Cassandra are connected to Anya's death. She wants to destroy you, Mr. Thorne."

Julian's expression didn't change at all, only his gaze grew increasingly profound. He looked at this woman who had come forward voluntarily to inform on others.

"Why are you telling me this?" he asked, his voice low and oppressive. "Aren't you her ally?"

"I just want my daughter to have a secure future." Elena bent her waist even lower, clearly aware of what her only bargaining chip was now. "Serafina is insane, she will destroy everyone. And you, Mr. Thorne, you are the order of New York, only you can stop her."

She raised her head, her eyes filled with ambition and determination. That humble real estate agent struggling in Queens was already dead.

"I can help you," she licked her dry lips, "I know her every planned move."

Julian's lips finally curled into a cold smile.

He reached out and gently lifted Elena's chin.

"Very good," he said, "from now on, you work for me."