Through my sobs, I managed to speak, "How... how did Grandpa die?"

Zoe's eyes were red, and she looked at me with hesitation, as if struggling with whether to tell me.

After a long pause, she finally spoke.

"Deborah... last night, are you... are you okay? It’s all my fault. If only I had stopped you, none of this would’ve happened!"

I froze. How did Zoe know about last night?

"How do you know..."

My voice was hoarse.

With her eyes brimming with tears, Zoe bit her lip and handed me Grandpa's phone after tapping a few times.

"Last night, when you weren't answering your phone and didn’t come home, Grandpa got worried and called me. While we were out looking for you, he suddenly received this video. It was when he saw this... that his heart gave out."

The explicit content on the screen burned my eyes.

The girl in the video... it was me—drugged and helpless—and the ones recording it were Calvin and Jack.

I clutched my head in agony, letting out a piercing scream.

Seeing my reaction, Zoe quickly shut off the video and hugged me, pretending to console me with false sympathy.

"It's okay, it's okay, Deborah. It's over now. I know it's not your fault... I'm still here for you."

I couldn’t fully grasp what had happened that night, but I knew that within just a few hours, the video had spread across the internet.

Hateful comments flooded my social media. People who knew me whispered and pointed behind my back. Under the crushing weight of public shame, I threw myself into the river.

…

When I woke up, I was lying in a hospital bed.

I tried to sit up, but my body felt too weak.

"Don't move. You're still recovering. Eat something first."

I looked toward the voice. It was a well-maintained middle-aged woman, though exhaustion was etched on her face. She had a gentle beauty, and there was something familiar about her eyes.

Beside her stood a middle-aged man, his eyes bloodshot and his hair half-turned gray. He stared at me, his eyes red and filled with emotion.

“Who are you? Why am I here?”

"Sweetheart, I’m your mother!"

What...!?

After talking with them and reviewing the DNA report, I finally believed that the couple in front of me were indeed my long-lost parents.

According to my mother, after I was born, I had health issues and stayed in an incubator. That was when human traffickers infiltrated the hospital and kidnapped me, along with two other babies. I was only two months old at the time, and by the time they tried to track us down, we had disappeared without a trace.

They spent years searching for me but had no luck—until the DNA database matched my blood sample during a health exam before the college entrance exams.

My parents traveled a great distance to reunite with me, only to find me just as I was about to jump into the river, and they saved me.

No, it wasn’t a "jump."

It wasn't a suicide attempt—it was attempted murder.

I never intended to end my life.

After Grandpa’s passing, as I was leaving to handle his funeral arrangements, I was drugged and knocked out. Before I lost consciousness, I saw his face—it was Calvin.

Afraid that I would expose what had happened, they threw me off the bridge, staging it to look like I had taken my own life.

Everyone believed I’d committed suicide under the pressure of public shame, but I knew the truth—it was murder.

“How long has it been?” I asked.

My mom’s eyes were filled with tears again.

“It’s been two years already, sweetheart. You barely survived.”

It was only then that I realized when my parents pulled me from the water, I was barely clinging to life. I had been submerged for too long, suffocating on the edge of death.

My parents took me to the best hospitals, but each time, it felt like we were just one step away from a breakthrough.

I was in a vegetative state, and even though the prognosis seemed bleak, they refused to give up.

They took me abroad in search of treatment, patiently nurturing my body until today—when I finally woke up.

I glanced down at myself.

After two years of being bedridden, the excess weight was long gone.

I hadn’t eaten in two years, surviving solely on nutrients, leaving me emaciated, reduced to nothing but skin and bones.

My parents immediately worked to erase the video and arranged for Grandpa’s burial.

Upon investigation, they discovered that Calvin and Jack had deliberately sent the video to Grandpa, but by then, too much time had passed, and many of the crucial pieces of evidence had been lost.

With the limited evidence we had, it was impossible to convict them.

My parents had wanted to seek revenge for me, but fearing I might never wake up, they held off. They decided to use the desire for justice as a driving force for my recovery, leaving the decision in my hands once I was strong enough to face it.

It took all my strength, but after more than half a year of rehabilitation, I finally regained the use of my atrophied muscles and was able to walk normally again.

There were some things that needed closure.

Calvin and Jack had gotten away with their crimes for far too long—it was time for them to pay the price.

Once I recovered, my parents and I returned home.

The first thing I did was visit the cemetery.

Standing in front of Grandpa’s gravestone, with his smiling face etched into the stone, I hadn’t cried in so long, but I couldn’t stop the tears from welling up.

“Grandpa, I’m sorry. I’ll avenge you, and myself.”

During this time, I learned that my father was a well-known businessman overseas, with our family’s assets ranking among the top abroad.

While our influence in the country wasn’t as strong, it didn’t matter.

Though the Preston and Simpson families were powerful, if my parents wanted to, bringing down Calvin and Jack was still within their reach.

But I stopped them.

This was my revenge, and I wanted to carry it out with my own hands.

I wanted to see Calvin and Jack pay for their crimes, to make sure they faced the full force of the law and went to prison where they belonged.

I stared at my reflection in the mirror, and I hardly recognized the person looking back at me.

I had transformed completely—slender, yet with a quiet strength, no longer the timid 220-pound girl I once was.

Even Grandpa might not recognize me if he were here now.

Calvin and Jack had both gotten into the same prestigious university, one of the top-tier schools.

How ironic.

My parents arranged for me to assume the identity of an international student, and under the guise of a foreign exchange student, I enrolled at A University.

---

On my first day at school, I quickly gathered most of the information I needed about Calvin and Jack.

They were well-known, of course.

Even back in high school, they had been the heartthrobs, admired by all the girls.

Good looks, great family backgrounds, and solid academic performance—what really set them apart was the perfect "nice guy" persona they had crafted.

Who could have imagined that beneath those polished exteriors lurked such vile, disgusting souls?

The dormitory for international students was a two-person room. When I walked into my assigned dorm, I froze for a moment upon seeing my roommate.

She looked a lot like Zoe, but far more beautiful.

"Hi, I'm Zoe Simpson. Are you the new exchange student?"

I froze. It really was Zoe, but why did she look so different? A seed of doubt was planted in my mind.

"Hi, I’m Deborah Hope."

The moment I said my name, I saw the shock on her face. There was no joy in her expression; instead, a flicker of fear crossed her eyes, and she looked utterly incredulous. Her reaction didn’t resemble that of someone reunited with an old friend after many years.