Chapter 2

I was born with a condition: my tears fall uncontrollably. The moment I was wrongly accused, the tears would always come before any explanation.

When I was little, my desk-mate's eraser went missing, and she pointed the finger at me. Before the teacher could even start asking questions, I was already sobbing, gasping for breath, shaking uncontrollably.

Everyone pointed fingers, saying, "See? She's crying. She must be guilty."

Later, my dad, David Hayes, was sentenced to life in prison for murder.

Relatives swarmed our rundown rental house, pointing fingers and yelling at my mom, saying she married a murderer and birthed a mini-murderer.

I rushed out, my eyes red, wanting to explain, wanting to scream that my dad was innocent. But tears gushed out first, my throat felt like it was clogged with a waterlogged sponge, unable to make a sound.

They watched my tear-streaked face and became even more convinced.

"See? This girl is just like her murderer dad, always faking distress to gain sympathy."

For ten years, what I hated most were these eyes of mine that couldn't stop crying.

Until Ethan Stone, the city's top-tier lawyer, became my empath.

When I was wrongly accused, the injustice, fear, and helplessness I felt would be amplified a hundredfold in him.

When I was called "the murderer's daughter," he would suddenly choke, losing his voice in court.

When I was forced to bow my head and confess, he couldn't even get out a full defense statement, drenched in cold sweat from the pain.

Later, the entire legal and elite circles of New York knew that the untouchable, cold-blooded Ethan Stone had an absolute red line.

"She can cry."

"But never, ever because you forced her to."

But at first, I didn't know any of this.

All I knew was that tonight was my last chance to retrieve my dad's only memento.

That night, the rain poured down heavily, as if trying to drown the entire city.

A glittering charity gala was being held on the top floor of The Ritz Hotel.

I stood cowering in a corner, wearing a cheap dress I'd borrowed, my gaze fixed on the auction stage.

On stage, Serena Thorne, wearing a haute couture gown, smiled sweetly as she displayed an old, intricately crafted watch.

"This watch belonged to a heinous murderer. Today, it's being auctioned, and all proceeds will be donated to the victim's family, as a way to atone for that murderer's sins."

A chorus of applause rose from the audience.

My heart felt like a piece had been brutally carved out.

That was my dad's watch.

Ten years ago, my dad, David Hayes, was sentenced for murder.

Everyone said he killed a passing wealthy businessman for money.

But I knew he didn't.

That night, he was just passing through a dark, old alley, and out of kindness, he saved a man covered in blood. The real killer escaped, but my dad, stained with blood, became the scapegoat.

That crafted watch was on his wrist the day he was arrested, and it was the only memento he left me.

I bit my lip until it bled, then raised my crumpled bidding paddle.

"Ten thousand dollars!"

This was every penny I'd saved from three years of odd jobs.

All eyes in the room instantly focused on me, filled with contempt, mockery, and disdain.

Serena Thorne looked down at me, her red lips curved into a cruel smirk.

"Well, well, isn't that Summer Hayes, the murderer's daughter? What, are you using the dirty money your dad stole from murder to buy the watch back?"

I clenched my fists so hard my nails dug deep into my palms, breaking the skin.

"That's my own money! My dad didn't kill anyone!"

I wanted to shout back, to throw the truth in their faces. But tears, betrayingly, streamed down my face again.

Tears blurred my vision, and my frail body trembled violently under everyone's gaze.

Serena Thorne let out a scoff, then walked up to me on her ten-centimeter heels.

"One hundred thousand," she casually stated.

I looked at her in despair.

"Five hundred thousand." She continued to raise the price, her eyes looking at me like I was an ant.

"Summer Hayes, didn't you want to appeal the case? Didn't you hire Ethan Stone as your lawyer?"

Serena leaned close to my ear, her voice barely a whisper, yet every word cut deep.

"You don't actually think Ethan Stone would cross the Thorne family for low-life trash like you, do you?"

She suddenly raised her hand and smashed the watch to the ground.

A sharp crack.

The watch face shattered, gears scattering.

"Oops, butterfingers!" Serena covered her mouth, feigning surprise.

My mind went blank. I lunged to the floor, disregarding the broken glass shards, frantically trying to pick up the pieces.

Glass dug into my fingertips, blood mixed with tears staining the carpet.

Suddenly, Serena shrieked.

"My ring! My pink diamond ring is gone!"

Her bodyguard immediately stepped forward and yanked me up from the floor.

"She was the only one near Miss Thorne! She must have stolen it! Search her!"

I struggled wildly, sobbing hysterically.

"I didn't! I didn't steal anything!"

"Let me go! Let me go!"

Extreme injustice, humiliation, and fear flooded over me like a tidal wave.

Meanwhile, miles away, at an international convention center.

A multi-billion dollar cross-border merger negotiation was underway.

Ethan Stone, wearing a perfectly tailored black haute couture suit, sat at the head of the table, his eyes sharp and ruthless, a man of decisive action.

But the moment the bodyguard pinned me down and humiliated me with a search.

His long fingers, clutching a signing pen, froze.

An indescribable agony, mixed with an overwhelming tide of injustice and despair, surged through his entire being like a tsunami.

His heart felt squeezed by an invisible giant hand, and his breath hitched.

"Mr. Stone?" The foreign delegate across from him noticed something was off.

Ethan's face was deathly pale, veins pulsed at his temples, and cold sweat streamed down.

He abruptly stood up, wanting to speak, but a strong metallic taste of blood welled up in his throat.

The next second, to everyone's horror.

"PFFFT---"

A mouthful of blood erupted from his lips, staining the multi-billion dollar contract in front of him.

His assistant, Noah Clarke, was terrified.

"Mr. Stone! Call an ambulance!"

Ethan gripped the table, his knuckles white from the effort.

He forced down the lingering metallic taste in his throat, his eyes blazing with a terrifying fury.

"Find... Summer Hayes!" His voice was impossibly hoarse, as if each word was scraped over sandpaper.

"Now!"