Chapter 3

The interrogation room's lights were blindingly white.

The officer across from me asked routine questions. I answered calmly.

"How was your relationship with your wife?"

"Ten years of marriage. What do you think?"

"What was your reaction when she brought her lover and illegitimate child home?"

"I refused to let her bring the child into our home."

The officer tapped the table and leaned forward, his gaze sharp.

"Then why did you ask for a divorce?"

"Because she wanted me to live under the same roof with them—father and son. I found it disgusting." My tone was matter-of-fact.

The officer fell silent, seeming to judge the truth of my words.

I added, "Vivian had hereditary heart disease."

"She relied on medication to maintain her condition. But I'm guessing today she got too agitated and forgot to take her pills."

The officer immediately called to verify.

I sat calmly in my chair, waiting for the results.

My countdown ability had existed since I could remember. It was never wrong.

Vivian's death was fate. It had nothing to do with me.

But they didn't believe that.

Two hours later, the preliminary autopsy report came out.

Cause of death: acute massive myocardial infarction.

No toxic substances were found in the deceased's blood or stomach contents.

Combined with my testimony and the medical records and medications found in her study safe, everything made perfect sense.

My suspicion was cleared.

When I walked out of the police station, dawn was breaking.

The Ashford family car was parked outside.

Eleanor and Blake were both there. When they saw me emerge, Eleanor immediately rushed over.

"You bastard! My daughter's health was always fine! How could she have heart disease! It was you! You worthless piece of trash—you killed her!"

She acted like a madwoman, barely restrained by Richard.

Blake held the child.

"It's all my fault. If we hadn't come back and upset Marcus, Vivian wouldn't have..."

His words outwardly sounded conciliatory, but subtly placed all the blame on me.

I watched their family's theatrical performance with cold eyes, feeling nothing.

I walked forward and looked at Blake.

"Now that Vivian is dead, what do you plan to do with your child?"

Blake's crying stopped short. He instinctively protected the five-year-old.

"This is Vivian's child. Of course I'll raise him!"

"Oh." I nodded. "Then good luck with that."

I walked past them, flagged down a taxi, and left directly.

Behind me came Eleanor's even shriller curses.

I returned to what could no longer be called a home. Vivian's body had been removed, but the air still held the cold scent of death.

I began packing. I didn't want to stay in this place for even one more second.