Chapter 4

The interrogation reached a stalemate.

I was like a butterfly caught in a spider's web. No matter how I struggled, I couldn't escape those layers upon layers of evidence.

I gave up defending myself and chose silence.

Because I knew the more I said, the more mistakes I'd make.

Just as I was on the verge of despair, ready to accept this absurd fate, someone knocked on the interrogation room door.

A young officer hurried in, leaned close to the detective's ear and whispered something, then handed him a document.

The detective took the document and scanned it quickly.

His brow furrowed at first, then slowly relaxed, his eyes becoming extremely complex.

He looked up at me, his gaze containing scrutiny, confusion, and something barely perceptible.

He was silent for a long time, so long I thought time had stopped.

Then he slowly spoke, his voice low and clear.

"The other deceased's identity has been confirmed."

My heart jumped violently, and my body involuntarily straightened.

"His name was Marcus Reed."

Marcus Reed?

I desperately searched this name in my mind but couldn't find any related memories.

A stranger.

Completely unfamiliar.

The detective seemed to see my confusion. He continued:

"He was your husband Ethan's former business partner."

"Three years ago, their company went bankrupt. Marcus shouldered all the debt. Shortly after, his wife, unable to bear the burden, jumped from a rooftop with their three-year-old daughter."

The detective's voice was calm, as if recounting a story unrelated to him.

But every word was like a boulder, slamming hard into my heart.

Family destroyed, lives lost.

Ethan again.

Another wrong he'd committed.

"We found this in Marcus's clothing."

The detective pushed a photo toward me.

In the photo was a letter, somewhat blurred from being soaked in snow melt.

The paper was wrinkled and worn, but the handwriting remained clear, every stroke radiating bone-deep hatred.

"Ethan, I've come for you. You destroyed everything I had. Now it's my turn."

"Let's go to hell together."

Signed: Marcus Reed.

A suicide note.

A declaration from an avenger.

I stared at that photo, feeling like I'd been struck by lightning.

Pure joy!

Indescribable joy instantly swept through my entire body, dispersing all fear and despair.

It was revenge!

Another person's revenge!

Everything made sense now!

The second GPS, the man who died with a smile, all the bizarre details—they all had a perfect explanation in this moment!

It wasn't that my plan had flaws. Another avenger had chosen the same method, the same time, to end the same demon's life!

This could explain the second GPS's existence, could clear me of all suspicion!

I looked up excitedly, my voice trembling slightly with excitement:

"Did you see that? This proves everything has nothing to do with me! It was this Marcus... he killed Ethan and then committed suicide! It was him!"

The light of hope was right before me.

I could already see myself walking out of the police station, breathing free air.

"Is that so?"

The detective's icy voice was like a bucket of ice water poured over my head, instantly extinguishing the flame that had just ignited in my heart.

He interrupted me, his expression colder than ever before.

He slammed another document heavily on the table.

It was a printed, yellowed student record.

In the upper right corner was a one-inch photo of me from my college days, young and naive.

And below, on the roster of members for an outdoor climbing club called "Snow Peak," next to my name was printed another name—Marcus Reed.

I felt struck by thunder, my whole body rigid, unable to move.

My brain buzzed. That obscure college club I'd forgotten in the corners of my memory, one I'd only attended a few times, emerged like a ghost that had lain dormant for years, dragging me into an even deeper abyss.

I had absolutely no memory of such a person in the club.

But there it was in black and white, irrefutable evidence.

The detective leaned forward, elbows on the table, those sharp eyes locked onto me like a captured prey.

His voice wasn't loud, but every word was like final judgment, hammering heavily on my heart.

"Miss Bailey, same college club, both experts in climbing and outdoor equipment, both harboring deep hatred for Ethan, both using the same obsessive, one-of-a-kind murder method."

He paused, each pause prolonging my suffering and torment.

"Do you still dare claim that you and Marcus are just a coincidence?"