A knock echoed through the Knight family’s door.

When Kirsten saw the police standing outside, her face turned pale with fear.

Had they already discovered that she had ordered someone to run Tricia down?

But to her surprise, they weren’t here for her.

“We need to see Phil.”

Phil stepped forward, immediately recognizing the man in uniform.

“Officer Blake, it’s been a long time.”

This was the same officer who had handled his mother’s case all those years ago.

Officer Blake gave him a curt nod. “Mr. Knight, it has been a while. I’m here today because I need your help with something.”

Phil frowned slightly. “What is it?”

Without a word, Officer Blake handed him a photograph.

In the image, a snowy field was speckled with blood. Etched into the snow was a string of numbers: 755143.

The moment his eyes landed on those digits, Phil froze.

Officer Blake caught the shift in his expression. “Mr. Knight, do you recognize this number?”

Phil hesitated before looking back at him, suspicion flickering in his gaze.

“This is the password for all of Tricia’s personal belongings. Why don’t you just ask her directly?”

Officer Blake’s lips pressed into a thin line.

He wanted to tell Phil the truth. But Tricia had left a final request, and he had no choice but to keep the truth from him.

“She’s… not in a position to answer my questions right now,” he said carefully. “But this number is linked to a major case. Please, Mr. Knight, tell me what 755143 really means.”

A memory surfaced in Phil’s mind—

A moment from long ago, when he had asked Tricia the very same question.

“What does 755143 mean?”

She grinned at him, mischief dancing in her eyes.

“Look at the keypad. The nine-square grid. Type out your name and ‘I love you.’ PLKILY—it matches 755143. Clever, right? Only you and I will ever understand it.”

“Mr. Knight?” Officer Blake’s voice pulled him back to the present. “What does it mean?”

Phil lowered his gaze. His throat tightened as he forced out the words.

“It means… Phil, I love you.”

Silence stretched between them.

Then, Officer Blake let out a quiet breath and tucked the photo away.

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Knight. Goodbye.”

As he turned to leave, Phil couldn’t stop himself from calling after him.

“How… is she?”

Officer Blake paused at the threshold. His fingers twitched as he wiped the corner of his eye.

“She’s doing well.”

Then he strode away without looking back.

Phil stood motionless, unease creeping into his chest.

Officer Blake was hiding something. He was certain of it.

But what?

The officer’s visit stirred old memories, reminding him that he hadn’t visited his mother’s grave in a long time.

So, that afternoon, he bought a bouquet of fresh flowers and drove to Glenwood Cemetery.

When he arrived at her tombstone, his steps halted.

There, resting against the cold marble, was a wilted bouquet of lisianthus.

His breath caught.

He knew exactly who had placed it there.

His family always brought chrysanthemums. The only person he had ever told about his mother’s favorite flower was Tricia.

To confirm his suspicion, he went to the cemetery office and requested the latest surveillance footage.

The moment Tricia appeared on the screen, he knew.

She had been there.

Just as he was about to ask the security guard to turn it off, the footage continued—

And then, in the background, a large truck barreled straight toward her.

His stomach lurched.

“Wait,” he ordered sharply, gripping the security guard’s mouse to pause the video.

He watched as Tricia dodged the first hit.

But the truck didn’t stop.

It reversed—aiming to finish the job.

Phil’s hands curled into fists.

This wasn’t an accident. This was a premeditated attempt to kill her.

His eyes flicked to the date in the footage.

It was the same day he had thrown her out of the Knight family villa.

That same day, his sister had tried to burn Tricia alive with gasoline.

His pulse pounded in his ears.

Could this truck… could this attempted murder also be connected to his sister?

Phil immediately launched an investigation.

The results came back quickly.

It really was Kirsten.

“Why did you hire someone to kill her?”

His voice was cold, sharp enough to send shivers down Kirsten’s spine.

She opened her mouth to deny it, but the moment Phil threw stacks of evidence in front of her, her prepared excuses lodged in her throat.

“She killed my mother! I wanted revenge—what’s wrong with that?!”

Fearful that he might uncover more than just this, she quickly turned defensive, trying to take moral high ground.

“Brother, why are you always protecting her? Do you still love her?”

“That’s impossible!” Phil denied it immediately.

“Then why do you care so much about her?” Kirsten pressed, unwilling to let it go.

“I don’t care about her,” he said stiffly. “I care that you’re going down the wrong path. Didn’t I already tell you—don’t get blood on your hands?”

He forced himself to suppress the storm of emotions her words had stirred.

He couldn’t still love Tricia. He couldn’t afford to love her.

It would be an insult to his mother’s memory.

“You bullied her first, then treated her like a stray dog. When that wasn’t enough, you tried to burn her alive with gasoline. And when that failed, you hired a car to kill her.”

His voice turned steely.

“Kirsten, do you really think this is the way a woman should act?”

Kirsten let out a silent breath of relief.

So he only knew this much.

Putting on a pitiful expression, she whined, “Brother, I just couldn’t stand it. How could she still be walking around, alive and well, after our mother died?”

Phil clenched his jaw.

A flash of Tricia’s bloodied lips overlapped with the memory of his mother’s lifeless body in a pool of red.

A throbbing pain pulsed through his temples.

She had killed his mother.

And yet, he still shamelessly… loved her.

Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to bury those feelings once and for all.

“I warned her last time. She won’t show up in front of us again.” His voice was distant.

“That’s good.” Kirsten smiled sweetly. “Brother, don’t worry, I won’t do anything like this again. You focus on your work—I’ll leave you alone now.”

Without waiting for a response, she slipped out of his studies, moving as if she were running for her life, afraid that lingering any longer would expose her further.

Phil exhaled slowly, forcing himself to shove every thought of Tricia out of his mind.

He had more important things to focus on.

But that very night, he ran into something related to her once again.

“Didn’t I tell you to stop arranging business meetings in this damn place?”

His eyes darkened as he glared at the Beehive Club’s glowing sign, directing his frustration at his assistant.

The assistant quickly bowed his head. “I’m sorry, Mr. Knight. The venue was chosen by Mr. Mike—it was too late to change it.”

This was a crucial deal for the Knight Corporation.

Even if he hated it, he had to go in.

Yet, the moment he stepped inside, his gaze involuntarily drifted toward the staff carrying trays of drinks.

Was she here?

Would he see her?

But by the time the contract was signed, Tricia never appeared.

“Excuse me.”

A few glasses of alcohol had left his mind in a haze. He stepped out, hoping the cool night air would clear his head.

And then—

Just as he turned the corner, he overheard two club waiters chatting.

“You’ve been throwing up every day. You should really get checked. Remember our old colleague? He kept ignoring it, and by the time he went to the hospital, he found out it was stomach cancer.”

“Who was it? Is he still working here?”

“Tricia something… Oh! Tricia!”

At the sound of her name, Phil froze mid-step.

Before he even realized it, his body had moved faster than his mind.

He strode up to the girl and enunciated each word carefully.

“Who did you just say has stomach cancer?”

The waitress gasped. “P-President Knight?”

She took a nervous step back, startled by the intensity in his gaze.

Quickly, she stammered, “It—it’s one of our old colleagues. Tricia.”

It was really her.

A sharp ringing filled his ears.

His voice turned hoarse. “Did Tricia tell you to say this in front of me?”

Was this her way of making him feel guilty?

Was she trying to make him… forgive her?

The two waitresses shook their heads frantically.

“No! She hasn’t worked here in a long time.”

He asked again and again, but their answers never changed.

It wasn’t a lie.

Tricia… had really been diagnosed with stomach cancer.

Phil clenched his fists and turned to his assistant.

“Go to the hospital. Find out if it’s true.”

The next day, a medical report was placed on his desk.

For a long moment, he just stared at it.

Then, finally, he reached out—

And opened it.

As soon as his eyes landed on the words "late-stage gastric cancer," Phil’s grip on the medical record tightened.

In an instant, the scene from that night—the raging fire, the pool of blood, the white powder stained with red—came alive in his mind.

So the blood she coughed up that day…

It wasn’t an act.

It wasn’t a pathetic attempt to gain his sympathy.

She had been sick all along.

She had been dying all along.

He snapped the file shut, his mind replaying Officer Blake’s words from that day:

"She’s not in a position to answer right now."

So that’s what he meant.

Tricia was unconscious. Too sick to respond.

A hollow laugh escaped his lips.

"Stomach cancer? So what? She deserved it."

The moment he realized he was thinking about her again, anger surged through him.

With a scowl, he crumpled the medical record and shoved it into his pocket.

He needed a distraction.

“Come in,” he barked.

His assistant entered, standing stiffly in front of the desk.

“That business deal we discussed recently—what happened with the He family?”

The assistant quickly flipped through some notes.

“There was an incident, Mr. Knight. The deal was canceled.”

Phil frowned. “Canceled? I just attended his son’s wedding.”

The thought immediately brought back another memory—

Tricia, standing in the wedding hall.

Her expression distant, her voice mocking.

"I’m just here because someone paid me. You don’t have to worry—it has nothing to do with you. If you hate me so much, then leave. That way, someone as vicious and disgusting as me won’t ruin your mood."

"Or… could it be that you’re still obsessed with me? That’s why you keep running into me wherever you go?"

The way she had smirked when she said those words—it lingered in his mind like a curse.

He exhaled sharply.

He had made up his mind to cut ties completely.

So why did she keep showing up in his life?

The assistant’s voice pulled him back to the present.

“There was an incident at the wedding. I heard it involved a drug trafficking operation.”

Phil stiffened.

“We were lucky to leave early,” the assistant continued. “If we had stayed, we could have been caught up in it.”

A thought flashed in Phil’s mind, and his expression darkened.

So that’s why she was there.

She was buying drugs.

That must be why she couldn’t answer Officer Blake’s questions—not because she was sick, but because she was too drugged out to function.

His lips curled in disgust.

“Enough,” he said coldly. “I don’t want to hear another word about her.”

Dismissing his assistant, he forced himself to focus on work.

He worked late into the night, long after the last employees had left the office.

Only when a dull pain throbbed in his stomach did he realize he hadn’t eaten all day.

Instinctively, his mind drifted to her again.

Tricia…

Whenever he worked overtime, she would always prepare a meal for him, nagging endlessly.

"Brother Phil, you always skip meals. It’s bad for your health. I’ll be worried."

He pressed a hand to his stomach, shaking his head.

He needed to eat.

He got into his car, intending to find a quick meal.

But before he knew it, he had already driven to that small restaurant.

Their small restaurant.

He hesitated.

“No big deal,” he muttered to himself. “It’s the only place open this late. It has nothing to do with her.”

Convincing himself, he started the engine.

But before he could reach his destination, his exhaustion got the better of him.

For just a second, his mind drifted—

And then—

BANG!

He slammed the brakes.

The impact wasn’t too strong, but the figure in front of his car had already been thrown a meter away.

Heart pounding, he rushed out to check.

His breath caught in his throat.

"Officer Blake?"

The man grimaced. “Looks like my lower leg is broken.”

Phil exhaled sharply. Of all people…

Without another word, he helped Officer Blake into the car.

As he settled into the passenger seat, something fell from Phil’s coat pocket.

A single sheet of paper fluttered onto Officer Blake’s lap.

He picked it up, and his face darkened.

“You know,” he murmured.

Phil glanced at the report.

His expression was unreadable.

“So what if I do?” His voice was eerily calm. “It doesn’t change anything. I won’t feel sorry for her.”

His fingers curled around the steering wheel.

“A murderer like her deserves to have stomach cancer.”

A heavy silence filled the car.

Then, Officer Blake laughed bitterly.

“I don’t believe Tricia is a murderer.”

Phil’s gaze snapped to him.

“What did you say?”

Officer Blake met his eyes.

“You and Tricia—how close were you?”

“Don’t get the wrong idea.” Officer Blake sighed. “I just don’t think she’s capable of murder.”

Phil scoffed.

“She was at a drug deal, wasn’t she? What kind of person does that make her?”

Officer Blake’s expression suddenly hardened.

Then, without hesitation, he said—

“She wasn’t taking drugs.

She was a hero in drug enforcement.”