Chapter 16
1088words
I sat in the coffee shop, looking at the terrified woman across from me. Her name was Lindsay Cooper, once a part-time clerk at that boutique, now an ordinary accountant. Her hands were trembling, causing the teacup to make slight tapping sounds against the table.
"I... I really don't want to remember that night again," Lindsay's voice was almost a whisper, "I thought this was all behind us."
"But it never was," my voice was soft, yet carried an unyielding firmness, "You are the last witness to Río Martínez's death."
Lindsay closed her eyes, tears sliding from the corners.
**That night fifteen years ago**
After Serafina fled in panic, only deathly silence remained in the boutique. Lindsay hid in the fitting room, watching Rio who lay in a pool of blood through the door crack.
She waited for a long time, making sure those people had truly left, before tremblingly pushing the door open.
Rio was still breathing.
Weak, intermittent, but definitely still alive. His head had bled profusely after being struck by the bottle, but the wound wasn't fatal. If he received medical attention promptly, he could certainly survive.
Lindsay crouched beside Rio, looking at his pained expression. Her phone was in her bag; she only needed to dial 911, and everything could change.
But she didn't.
She remembered Serafina's mockery of her at school, remembered the contemptuous looks from those socialites, remembered the humiliation her mother endured when working as a cleaner in this store, being ordered around by these wealthy young ladies.
Rio, the person who dared to defy them, was now lying before her like a wounded animal.
She could save him, or she could do nothing.
And doing nothing was safer.
Lindsay stood up, turned off the lights in the store, locked the door, and left as if nothing had happened.
Río Martínez died alone in the darkness, from blood loss and complications from brain trauma.
"So, you were actually the last person to kill Rio," I looked at Lindsay's collapsing expression, "Not Serafina, but you."
"I didn't kill him!" Lindsay stood up excitedly, "I just... I just didn't save him!"
"Legally, this is called failure to render aid resulting in death," I said calmly, "But morally, this is murder."
Lindsay collapsed back into the chair, her entire body trembling.
I took out a voice recorder from my bag, "Now, tell me everything. Every detail."
**The same evening, Sara's art exhibition**
"Hallucination·Rebirth"—this is the theme of Sarah Blanchard's personal art exhibition. The gallery was filled with New York's art elite and socialites, but everyone knew they weren't here for the art, but to watch a spectacle unfold.
Sarah stood in the center of the gallery, wearing a black backless gown, but even careful makeup couldn't hide the bloodshot in her eyes and the sickly pallor of her cheeks. Her hands trembled slightly, clearly having taken something again to get through the evening.
Her paintings covered the walls—twisted human bodies, blood-like red, and those eerily not-quite-human faces. Each piece exuded an atmosphere of madness and desperation.
"Sarah, darling," a sharp female voice came from the crowd, "these paintings are...quite distinctive."
The speaker was Victoria Whitman, a socialite from another circle who had been secretly competing with Sara. She was accompanied by several reporters and cameramen.
Sara turned around and forced a smile. "Thank you for coming, Victoria."
"You're welcome." Victoria approached a painting, pretending to appreciate it carefully. "Although I must say, these paintings remind me of... hmm, the hallucinatory symptoms of drug users. Are you doing alright lately?"
The conversations in the gallery suddenly became much quieter. Several cameras discreetly turned toward them.
Sara's face instantly turned even paler. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Oh, darling," Victoria's smile grew more malicious, "all of New York knows about the Blanchard family scandal. Your father's business is finished, your brother is under police investigation, and you..." she paused, "you use that white powder to inspire your creativity, don't you?"
Sara's hands began to shake violently. She had just snorted cocaine to get through the night, and now the drug was taking effect, making her senses extraordinarily sharp, with every sound infinitely amplified.
Victoria continued, "You see, the blood red in this painting is as vivid as your family's shame."
Whispers spread around, along with the clicking of camera shutters. Sara felt the whole world spinning, those mocking faces twisted and distorted in her eyes, just like the demons on her canvas.
"Shut up..." Sara said in a low voice.
"What?" Victoria deliberately asked loudly, "What did you say, darling?"
"I said shut up!" Sara suddenly exploded, her voice echoing through the gallery.
Then, she saw the palette knife on the table.
That small silver knife she had used countless times, now gleaming coldly under the lights.
Everything happened within seconds.
Sara suddenly grabbed the palette knife, the drugs making her strength unnaturally powerful. She lunged at Victoria, the blade piercing accurately into her shoulder.
Blood gushed out instantly, and Victoria let out a piercing scream.
"You bitch!" Sara roared frantically, "All of you go to hell! Go to hell!"
Chaos immediately erupted at the scene. People screamed and scattered in all directions, security guards rushed over, and camera flashes flickered frantically.
Sara was pinned to the ground, but she continued to struggle madly, constantly cursing. Her white long dress was stained red with blood, as horrifying as her paintings.
Victoria was rushed to the hospital, and everything was fully documented by the media present at the scene.
The next day, every newspaper in New York had the same photo on their front page: socialite Sarah Blanchard holding a bloody razor blade, with a crazed smile on her face.
The headline read: "The Final Madness of an Heiress."
I was enjoying my breakfast when my phone rang. It was Julian.
"Ella, you need to see the news right now." His voice was tense, "Serafina... she just publicly announced at a press conference that she's suing you for defamation, extortion, and intentional harm. She's hired the best legal team in New York."
I put down my coffee cup, a smile curling at my lips.
"Good. Let her come."
"You don't understand," Julian's voice grew more urgent, "She also said... she said she has evidence proving you're Sophia Chen, the one who attempted suicide eighteen years ago. She wants to reveal your true identity to the world."
