Chapter 4

When Cathy's name was mentioned, something in Connor's expression hardened.

Yes. It was Samantha who killed Cathy.

Whatever happened to her now—she deserved it.

And yet… why did his chest tighten ever so slightly when he thought of her, eyes red from crying, throwing herself into his arms?

He couldn't help himself. He downed several gulps of liquor. Sweat formed on his forehead. It numbed his nerves just enough to push the thought away.

Upstairs, Matt opened the door to his room. The air was thick with the sharp scent of alcohol, laced with the faint, cloying sweetness of perfume.

He instantly became alert, his voice sharp and cold. "Get out. Now."

From under the covers, a small figure stirred. Samantha's head slowly emerged from the bedding.

She looked straight at him, lips curling into a calm, almost defiant smile. "Let's make a deal."

Matt narrowed his eyes. "What kind of deal?"

"I'll give you one million. Just let me stay here for the night. You don't have to do anything. You don't even have to say anything."

He stared at her for a long time, silently, taking in the audacity of this girl who dared to speak so boldly in front of him.

She clearly had no idea who he was.

Matt was the kind of man who never lacked money. In fact, he was the richest person in Reystein City.

But for someone to offer him one million just for a night of silence—this was a first.

Strangely, he didn't hate her for it.

Instead of flying into a rage, as he normally might, he did something completely unexpected.

He agreed.

The night passed quietly. Nothing happened between them.

The next morning, there was a knock at the door.

Connor's voice rang out anxiously from the hallway. "Samantha? Are you in there? Are you okay?"

Samantha was still in the bathroom doing… something. Matt sat on the couch, arms crossed, an amused look on his face, like he was waiting for the show to begin.

When she finally stepped out, she wore a silk slip dress. Her hair was tousled, her eyes red, as if she'd just been crying.

Faint marks—bluish-purple bruises—dotted her pale, slender neck. They looked suspiciously like… hickeys.

Matt's gaze lingered on her, curious now.

Samantha walked unhurriedly to the door and opened it.

The moment it swung open, tears streamed down her face like pearls spilling off a broken string. Without a word, she collapsed into Connor's arms.

She didn't speak. Just cried.

Connor and the people behind him froze in place, stunned by what they were seeing.

"You… how could you—" His voice cracked as he held her close, his tone filled with disbelief.

She cried like a broken doll, her tears soaking his shirt, clinging to him like a kitten that had been kicked one too many times.

"Connor… I… I… what do I do… I don't want to live anymore…"

His eyes slid past her, settling on the man still seated inside, and his gaze hardened into burning fury.

Matt exuded an oppressive stillness, a cold and eerie aura.

The friends behind Connor sensed something was off. One by one, they tugged at his sleeve, urging him to calm down.

Connor clenched his jaw, face twisted in fury. Without a word, he bent down, scooped Samantha into his arms, and walked off. His expression was like ice.

The group followed behind, lost and unsure.

Back in the room, Matt sat casually, lips curling into a faint smile. In his hand was the bank card Samantha had given him.

"Interesting," he murmured.

Samantha continued to cry.

No matter what Connor asked, she wouldn't respond.

He held her tightly, gently patting her shoulder in an attempt to soothe her—as if afraid that if he pressed even a little too hard, she might shatter.