Chapter 5

Vivian's POV

Early the next morning, I hid the money close to my body and was just about to go out when Adrian blocked me at the door.

He was about to leave, followed by a group of PR team members.

Seeing me wearing only a thin inner garment, he frowned.

In his eyes, I was probably having another episode trying to get attention.

"Stay home obediently these next few days."

Adrian coldly issued his command.

"Lorelei is doing a clarification livestream today. You need to stay home and cooperate as background scenery. Don't go anywhere."

I instinctively protected my pocket.

"I have something to do. I must go out."

The funeral company's sea burial service discount only lasted a few more days.

Adrian stopped and turned around, his eyes calculating.

"Vivian, do you think I can't control you?"

He took out his phone, pulled up a document, and held it in front of me.

It was a purchase proposal for the west side orphanage property.

"That old director isn't in good health. She probably couldn't handle the stress of relocation, right?"

Adrian's voice was casual, but it precisely targeted my weak spot.

"If you dare run, I'll have the bulldozers roll into the orphanage tomorrow."

My fingers dug hard into my palms.

My body shook uncontrollably. Director Hayes was my last vulnerability.

He always knew how to hurt me most deeply.

Even though I had nothing left, he wouldn't let me go.

"I won't run."

I lowered my head, my voice trembling.

"I'll listen to you."

Adrian put away his phone with satisfaction and got in the car to leave.

After he left, the surveillance at home became much more relaxed.

To save every penny, I stopped going to the kitchen for food. When thirsty, I went to the bathroom to drink tap water to fill my stomach.

I endured until afternoon.

Taking advantage of the housekeeper's nap, I climbed out through the first-floor guest room window.

This was my last chance.

I took a three-hour bus ride, bumping along to a funeral company in the suburbs.

"Right in this sea area."

I pointed to the cheapest location on the diagram, my hands shaking.

"Alright, as long as the money's right, everything's good."

The agent pushed the contract toward me.

Trembling, I pulled out a handful of small bills from my pocket.

Eight wrinkled hundred-dollar bills and a large amount of loose change.

I counted three times before solemnly handing it over.

Just as the pen tip was about to touch the contract paper, the door was kicked open.

Adrian stood in the doorway with two police officers, his face frosty.

He glanced at the contract on the table. From too far away, he couldn't see the content clearly, only that I was signing some transaction.

"Vivian, you really never learn."

Adrian's eyes were ice cold.

"For money, you actually dare to sell the family's trade secrets?"

I was stunned.

Selling trade secrets at a funeral company?

Before I could explain, the police had already stepped forward and produced a detention warrant.

"Vivian Sterling, you're suspected of major commercial fraud and copyright infringement. Please come with us."

Marcus walked out from behind, looking pained and disappointed.

"Vivian, for money you actually sold Lorelei's composition to competitors, and then turned around and accused Lorelei of plagiarizing you? You've disappointed us so much."

My head buzzed.

So that was it.

This was the scapegoat script the family had prepared all along to whitewash Lorelei.

Arrest me, pin the charges of plagiarism and fraud on me, and Lorelei's position as a genius would be completely secure.

"I didn't..."

I tried to defend myself but couldn't make a sound.

Adrian looked at me and said quietly:

"A few days inside to reflect would be good. Keep you from going crazy outside."

Under the huge shock, something sweet and metallic surged up my throat.

A mouthful of fresh blood sprayed onto the burial contract I hadn't had time to sign.

The bright red blood instantly soaked through the paper, covering the sea burial location I had chosen.

How ridiculous.

My vision went black and I completely lost consciousness.

When I woke again, I was already lying in a cold detention cell.

All my personal belongings had been confiscated.

That blood-stained burial contract had probably already been thrown in the trash as waste paper.

The illness, freed from medication's suppression, came in waves like a tide.

I curled up in the corner, my whole body as cold as ice.