Chapter 8
566words
Damian was left penniless.
Overnight, his name disappeared from the board of directors of all listed companies, his credit cards were frozen, and his luxury cars and private jet were sealed by the court.
The world he once owned completely abandoned him.
And I, holding the address sent by the private investigator, arrived at a motel on the edge of the city that reeked of mold and cheap disinfectant.
Half of the neon sign was broken, making a "sizzling" sound in the night, like a dying insect. I stopped in front of room 307, where dim light and vague, frantic rummaging sounds leaked through the door crack.
I didn't knock, but directly used the spare key card to open the door.
Scarlett was inside.
She was wearing a faded T-shirt, frantically stuffing cheap clothes into a worn-out suitcase. The room was a mess, with credit cards and cash scattered across the bed. Seeing me enter, she froze like a startled rabbit, the color draining from her face.
"Ava..." Her voice was dry and trembling.
I looked at her calmly, my gaze sweeping across her face that appeared especially haggard with fear. Her former ambition and calculations had now transformed into a pitiful disarray.
"You don't need to be so afraid of me," I said flatly. "I'm not here to catch you."
She didn't believe me, her body remaining tense.
"After the trial broadcast, an old man called Martin Lewis also discovered that he had been deceived," I stated a fact as if I was reporting the weather. "He thought he was the only 'true love' who spent millions on you and promised to marry you. He's not as easy to bring down as my father. I've heard his men are already looking for you."
Scarlett's body swayed, and the last trace of color drained from her lips. She finally understood that she wasn't facing one avenger, but two. Her elaborate scam had been completely exposed because of the globally broadcast trial.
"My mother could have made all your scams public," I looked at her, "but she didn't."
Scarlett was stunned.
"Not because of forgiveness, but because of disdain." I turned to leave, then paused, "You ruined my father, which avenged your father. But you also ruined yourself."
As I left, I heard her suppressed crying.
That wasn't the apology I wanted to hear, nor the repentance I was looking for.
Just the final struggle of another person destroyed by hatred.
A few days later, I received an anonymous delivery package with no card, no message, just a velvet box.
Opening it, my mother's most treasured necklace, inlaid with sapphires, lay quietly inside. It had been silently returned.
Holding the necklace, I returned to the empty mansion once called "home." Everything was still maintained as it was, but devoid of any human presence, like an enormous, magnificent specimen.
On the living room table lay a note from Catherine, her handwriting as elegant and strong as ever.
"I'm waiting for you in Provence. Home is where we are together."
I picked up the note and smiled.
Beneath the note was a brand-new document, with a pristine white envelope bearing the emblem of a renowned university.
It was an acceptance letter from a law school.
I packed my bags and took one last look at this vast mansion.
Time to leave.
