The moment the money hit my account, I canceled my old phone number, changed my address, and hit the enter key.

That was the final failsafe the original owner of this body had left behind.

It was a time-delayed logic lock.

Once I, the admin account holder, processed my own resignation from the backend, the entire core system of the Newark Group would begin its countdown to self-destruction.

While I sat back in peace, counting my money, all hell broke loose inside the Newark Group tower.

"Mr. Newark! We have a major problem!"

The tech director stumbled into the chairman's office.

"Every encrypted file is locked! The client database is sealed off! There's nothing on the system screen but a red countdown clock. It says… it says we have twenty-four hours before all the data gets wiped!"

"What?!"

The coffee cup shattered in Gary's hand.

"Quick! Get Cathleen in here! She built this system. She'll know what to do."

Half an hour later, they rushed Cathleen from the beauty parlor straight to the company.

In the tech department, dozens of eyes locked onto her like she was their only savior.

"Cathleen, hurry—unlock this logic lock!" Gary's forehead dripped with sweat. "The board of directors is blowing up my phone!"

Cathleen sat down at the master control terminal. She stared at the screen—dense, alien lines of code that might as well have been written in another language. Cold sweat soaked through her back in an instant.

What did she know about code?

Whenever a problem came up before, she'd just whine and throw a tantrum at home until the original owner of this body pulled an all-nighter to fix it. Then she'd take the USB drive to the office the next day and claim the credit.

But now, the original owner was gone, along with 10 million dollars.

"I… I'll try…"

Cathleen's fingers trembled over the keyboard. She tapped a few keys. The screen flashed a giant red skull, followed by a piercing alarm.

[UNAUTHORIZED ACCESS. COUNTDOWN REDUCED TO 12 HOURS.]

"Cathleen! What did you just do?!" the tech director screamed.

Gary stared at his prized daughter in disbelief. "Cathleen… do you even know what you're doing?!"

Cathleen burst into tears. "Dad… I… I forgot the key. Abby must have changed the password…"

"You useless fool!" Gary slammed his palm on the desk. "Didn't you tell me you developed that system yourself?!"

The news couldn't be contained.

By that afternoon, word had already spread: the Newark Group's entire system was down, and their core data was on the brink of total loss.

The stock price crashed the moment trading opened. Billions in market value evaporated overnight.

The board of directors issued an ultimatum: if the system wasn't restored by tomorrow morning, Gary would resign in disgrace.

Back at the Newark family villa, Cathleen curled up in the corner of the sofa, listening to her father's roar echoing from the study.

She knew the truth. She was finished. If she couldn't fix this, she wouldn't just lose her inheritance—she'd become the laughingstock of the entire elite circle.

"This is all Abby's fault… that bitch did this to me…"

A flash of venom lit up Cathleen's eyes.

If the gentle approach wouldn't work, she'd play hardball. All she had to do was catch Abby, force her to hand over the password, and squeeze that ten million back out of her. Then, stage a little accident. Make the problem disappear for good.

Her hands shaking, she pulled up a number stored in her encrypted photo album and dialed.

"Hello? Justin? I need you to kidnap someone for me…"

Of course, I knew Cathleen wouldn't let things end there. But I didn't expect her to move so fast—or play so dirty.

On my way back from the bank after wiring the funds, a plain white van with no license plates suddenly cut off my taxi. Several men in black ski masks piled out, yanked open the door without a word, and pressed an ether-soaked rag over my mouth and nose.

I held my breath and played along, pretending to pass out. I didn't mind playing the bait if it meant trapping the rats.

When I came to, I found myself in an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of town.

The air stank of grease and mildew.

Rough hemp rope bound me to a rusty iron chair. Seven or eight burly men with clubs stood around me. And Cathleen loomed above, looking down like she'd already won.

"Abby. Look at you now."

She twirled a folding knife in her hand, every trace of fake kindness ripped from her face. Underneath was something ugly and vicious.

"What's the password? Transfer that 10 million back, and maybe I'll let you die quickly."

I shifted my bound wrists. Instead of panicking, I let out a soft laugh.

"Cathleen, you're not just stupid. You're rotten to the core. You think killing me will lock you into the Newark family heiress spot forever?"

"Shut up!"

My laugh sent her over the edge. She swung her hand toward my face.

I tilted my head slightly, dodging the slap, and my eyes went ice cold.

"I treated you like a sister. Wrote your code. Took the blame for you. And you want me dead. Cathleen, a stolen life always comes due."

"Due? Why should I pay anything back? I'm Mom and Dad's favorite daughter! Once you're dead, no one will ever know you wrote that code!"

Cathleen's voice rose to a hysterical shriek. She spun to the thugs and screamed, "Beat her! Break her hands! Let's see her type code then! Don't stop until she begs for mercy!"

The lead thug stepped forward with a grin. He raised a steel pipe as thick as a wrist, aimed at my knee, and swung down hard.

"Sorry, sweetheart. Shouldn't have pissed off the wrong people."

The pipe whistled through the air.

I flicked my wrist. The micro-blade hidden in my sleeve sliced through the rope like butter.

The next second, I exploded upward. My foot slammed into the thug's chest.

A two-hundred-pound man flew backward like a ragdoll and crashed into a stack of oil drums with a deafening clang.

Dead silence.

Cathleen's scream caught in her throat. Her eyes looked ready to pop out of her skull.

I rolled my wrists, cracked my neck, and swapped my calm expression for something cold and ruthless.

"Been a while since I stretched my legs."

I picked up the fallen steel pipe, hefted it in my hand, and curled my lips into a cruel smile.

"Hope you boys can take a hit. I hate being bored."

"Get her! All of you! Kill her!" Cathleen scrambled backward, shrieking orders.

The remaining six thugs charged at once. But against a gold-tier agent from the Quick Transmigration Bureau, these so-called tough guys were nothing but slow-motion punching bags.

I moved so fast I was barely a blur. Every strike came with the crack of breaking bones and a fresh scream of agony.

Three minutes. That was all it took. Every last thug lay writhing on the floor, clutching broken arms and legs. Not one of them could stand.

I dropped the now-bent pipe, stepped over the mess, and walked toward Cathleen, who had curled herself into the corner.

She'd already pissed herself in terror. The knife had fallen from her hand. She shook like a leaf in a hurricane, tears and snot smeared across her face.

"Wh-who are you… you're not Abby… Abby is a useless coward. She couldn't—she couldn't do this…"

I crouched down, reached out, and patted her bloodless cheek. My voice came out soft and sweet—and absolutely terrifying.

"Who I am doesn't matter. What matters, sister dearest, is this: the game has only just begun."