Chapter 1

My wife was raped and beaten to death in our newly bought house by my best friend.

Yet, in court, I stood up and defended him, securing his acquittal.

My father-in-law, Arthur, had a stroke on the spot from pure rage and was rushed to the ER.

My brother-in-law, Tyler, cornered me with a knife in his hand.

"Ethan! She was your wife! She was in your new home, hanging up fairy lights and waiting for you when she was murdered!"

"Why did you protect that animal, Leo Vance?! Are you even human?!"

He pressed the blade against my throat, his eyes bloodshot and wild as he roared at me.

I didn't even blink. Feeling the sharp pain of the blade slicing into my skin, I just smiled.

"Do it."

"Send me down there to be with her."

"Let her ask me face-to-face why I did it."

Tyler’s hand shook violently. He was on the verge of a total breakdown.

"Ethan! You think I won't do it?"

The hospital corridor was packed with onlookers, their phone flashes blinking in my face.

"Isn't that Ethan Cole, the hotshot lawyer?"

"Yeah, I heard he took a massive bribe to get his own wife's killer off the hook."

"What a monster. Feeding on his wife's blood money."

"Disgusting. Why is he still breathing?"

I listened to their whispers, my expression blank, a faint, cold smile playing on my lips.

Suddenly, the VIP ward door was kicked open.

Helen, my mother-in-law, rushed out with wild, messy hair. She immediately saw me, my neck dripping with blood.

She didn't call for a doctor. She didn't try to stop Tyler’s knife.

*SLAP!*

A heavy slap landed on my face, burning hot.

My head snapped to the side, the metallic taste of blood filling my mouth.

"Get out! Get the hell out of here!"

Helen pointed at my face, her voice high-pitched and hysterical.

"You killed my Clara! Now you want to kill her father too? Why don't you just die!"

Tyler’s grip loosened, and the knife clattered to the linoleum floor.

He collapsed to his knees, sobbing uncontrollably.

I ignored the stinging on my cheek, raised my hand, and casually wiped the blood from my neck.

No explanations. No apologies.

I didn't even give them a second glance.

Turning around, I walked straight toward the elevator.

Behind me, Helen’s curses and Tyler’s weeping echoed down the hall. I kept my spine perfectly straight.

The moment I stepped out of the hospital lobby, my phone buzzed in my pocket.

The screen displayed "Vance Family."

I answered, my voice instantly switching to a warm, gentle tone.

"Hello, Mrs. Vance."

The grateful voice of an elderly woman came through the speaker. "Oh, Mr. Cole, thank you so, so much. The police just said there wasn't enough evidence. They’re releasing my Leo..."

I stopped walking and looked back at the towering hospital building.

"Don't worry. I have everything under control. Just do exactly as I said, and he'll be completely fine."

Sudden, heavy footsteps rushed up behind me.

Tyler had followed me out. He was staring death glares at the phone in my hand.

He had heard everything.

And I knew he would.

"Ethan—!"

Tyler lunged, grabbing my collar and slamming my head violently against the concrete wall.

"You took that murderer’s money, didn't you? You sold Clara's life for a paycheck! You sick piece of trash!"

Pedestrians stopped, pointing and whispering.

"Is that the corrupt lawyer?"

"Looks decent on the outside, but his soul is pure black."

Staring into Tyler’s burning eyes, I didn't defend myself.

My right hand remained in my trench coat pocket, my fingers tightly gripping a ball of unfinished, thick yarn.

It was a scarf Clara had been knitting for me before she died.

"Say something! Are you mute?!"

Tyler threw a hard punch, hitting my cheekbone.

I stumbled back a few steps, steadying myself against the wall.

I kept my head down, letting my messy hair cover my eyes. My throat tightened.

"Are you done?"

I spat out a mouthful of bloody spit.

"If you're done, go back inside and take care of your father."

With that, I pushed past Tyler and hailed a cab.

When I got home, the house was dead silent.

I didn't turn on the lights.

I grabbed a bottle of cheap whiskey from the cabinet, unscrewed the cap, and took a massive gulp.

The burning liquid scorched my throat, and tears instantly flooded my eyes.

I pulled out my phone, the dim screen illuminating my twisted face.

The screen showed a forensic photo—Clara lying in a pool of blood, her eyes still open, as if she were looking right at me.

I traced her pale face on the screen with a trembling finger.

"Clara..."

A low, wounded growl escaped my throat.

I smiled at the photo, but heavy tears kept splashing onto the glass screen.

"Soon, baby. Very soon."

The next morning, I was shaken awake by the sound of glass shattering.

The living room was a disaster zone.

Tyler had brought a few of his rough cousins. Armed with baseball bats, they were brutally smashing the small memorial table I had set up for Clara.

The flowers were trampled, and the memorial candles were kicked over.

"Trash it! Trash this monster's house!"

Tyler stepped directly on Clara's framed photograph, the sound of the glass cracking exceptionally sharp.

I stood at the bedroom door, watching the scene unfold.

My fists clenched so hard my veins turned blue.

But I didn't move.

I just watched coldly, like an outsider.