I said, "What are you trying to say?"
"The only way to evade all the cameras—drop Derek Kane from your balcony at exactly midnight. Not a second early, not a second late!"
"That's impossible! Everyone will notice!"
"You've got no other way out. Besides trusting me, what choice do you have?"
The call was abruptly disconnected, and I found myself growing nervous.
Midnight.
Only ten minutes left!
I bit my lip. He was right—I had no options.
There was no way I could transport Derek Kane's body out of the building, whether whole or dismembered. Either way, it ended with me behind bars.
Without even realizing it, I'd already cut through the zip ties and was dragging the body toward the balcony.
The community was silent at this hour—everyone was asleep.
The street below was empty. I held Derek Kane, glancing back at the clock on the living room wall, tension mounting.
Almost midnight.
Suddenly! The sound of an engine came from below!
The moment the clock struck twelve, I pushed the body off!
I watched below as a garbage truck rolled out from the street.
The body landed squarely in the truck's bin, swallowed instantly by mounds of garbage bags. The truck drove on toward the community exit. My eyes went wide.
This...
My mind raced, and I decided to follow!
Of course I'd follow! I wasn't about to put my life in the hands of someone I didn't even know!
But just as I was about to rush downstairs, a text message arrived.
I checked my phone: "Don't follow. Otherwise, when the police pull the street camera footage and see you chasing a garbage truck, how will you explain that?"
I...
He had a point.
I typed back: "Who the hell are you?"
A moment later, the mysterious number replied.
But it completely ignored my question!
"Your luck is bad—the detective handling this case will be Adrian Cross. He's the toughest cop around. First, there's Derek Kane's hair on your blanket. Second, you thought you cleaned up, but there's a bloodstained glass shard stuck in the floor crack in the living room corner. Third, you wiped down the cleaver, but his fingerprints are on the knife block in the kitchen. Fourth, scrub the bed frame and underneath it thoroughly. I'll handle the body—don't worry about it. Don't message me again. Contact me after Adrian Cross finishes his investigation."
I froze, then turned immediately to look at the living room floor.
In the dim light, something small caught the glare.
I leaned in and found—a glass fragment streaked with blood, wedged tight in a crack between the floorboards!
Good god!
What kind of person could find every piece of evidence, and slip into my home to dispose of a body without making a sound?
I scrambled to follow every instruction in the text. These tasks kept me busy until dawn.
When morning light filled the living room, I'd finally finished everything. Exhausted, I collapsed onto the sofa. I checked the time—it was 6:00 a.m.
I stared blankly at my husband's photo.
At this hour, he'd usually be awake by now.
He'd always wrap his arms around me gently, nibble my ear until I stirred from sleep, then playfully demand I make him breakfast.
Even when I had my period and cramps. Even when I was heavily pregnant.
Never once did he skip it.
I couldn't help smiling. I never resented him for waking me to cook— that was our promise.
That freezing winter night. Endless wilderness. Young me clutching a dying phone, crying as I begged for rescue.
"Firefighter, please save me. I don't want to be dragged back there. I'll serve you forever, cook and clean for you for the rest of my life if you save me."
He said okay on the phone—I happen to need a cook.
When everyone else had given up hope of finding me, he went into the mountains alone with Major.
My phone died for thirty hours. He didn't eat or drink, searching for me in those freezing woods for thirty hours.
When he finally found me, I was barely conscious on a rock, shivering from the cold.
A warm coat descended over me, filling me with safety.
He gathered me in his arms. I forced my eyes open and saw his sunlit smile.
"Hey, kiddo— don't fall asleep."
I sobbed, telling him I didn't want to go home.
He said okay again. "I'll take you to my home. A deal's a deal—you're making every meal from now on."
The memory made me smile.
I went to the kitchen and cooked something, then sat in the empty living room with two bowls, setting one beside me.
Major limped over. I whispered: "Attention!"
He immediately sat up straight, though his injured leg could only bend.
I patted his head and whispered: "Eat."
Only then did he lower his head.
A woman and a dog, eating quietly while looking at that silly grin in the wedding photo.
"I miss you so much. I miss the day we met. I miss every day with you. What I miss most is the day you left me."
"Which dress caught your eye that day? I want to buy it. I want to wear it for you. But the store has so many colorful dresses—I don't know which one would make you happiest."
"I got revenge for you…" I chewed my wonton, throat closing up, tears streaming down my face. "I turned back into who I used to be. Even after meeting you, I'm still living in darkness… I'm so unlucky. I don't deserve you."
A firefighter.
A rescue dog.
A murderer.
Like a collision of light and darkness. I never belonged in that home—I only ever tainted his name.
I wiped my tears and forced down my breakfast.
In the end, I realized it didn't matter which dress I chose—with his personality, any of them would have made him happy.
Adrian Cross came sooner than I expected.
Twenty-four hours after Derek Kane's disappearance, he was at my door.
Which meant the moment Derek Kane's family reported him missing, Adrian Cross suspected me.
How... cruel.
He was my husband's comrade, yet I was his first suspect.
He knocked on my door with his team, greeted me briefly, then asked point-blank: "Did Derek Kane come to see you yesterday afternoon?"
I said no.
He asked to look around. I opened the door and told him to go ahead.
He stepped inside, scanning every corner of my apartment as he spoke: "Derek Kane went missing yesterday around six. Before he disappeared, he told his family he was coming to see you. I'm asking you one more time—did he come or not?"
I said, "Weren't you at my place around that time yesterday?"
"You only need to answer my question."
"Oh, he didn't come."
Like a keen hunting leopard, he scrutinized every corner of my home. Every place where evidence might have been found—he checked them all. Then he asked: "Where's the broken glass from yesterday?"
"I threw it away."
"Where?"
"The trash bins downstairs."
Adrian Cross immediately turned to his subordinate: "Check the bins. If they've been emptied, track down the garbage truck."
"On it, Captain."
His man hurried out. Adrian Cross slowly headed for the door.
Suddenly, he grabbed my hand.
I flinched. He stared at my hand and said coldly: "Two cuts on your index finger, two on your palm, one on your ring finger. Five wounds total."
"What do you mean?"
"Yesterday you said you cut yourself picking up glass. At the time your hands were bloody so I couldn't see clearly. But now I can—when someone cuts themselves on glass, they pull away after one slice. Why were you cut five times?"
I kept my composure: "After I got cut, I squeezed the glass."
He frowned. "Why?"
"Because I was in pain. I turned to self-harm. Is that a problem?"
"Take better care of yourself," he said, then left, telling me to keep my phone on.
After he was gone, I finally exhaled.
I sent a message to the mysterious number: "Adrian Cross left. So who are you really?"
The reply came quickly: "Come to 220 Station Road. And don't forget to bring something, or you might get caught."
"What thing?"
"Take down your wedding photo and check the back."
The wedding photo?
I walked over, full of confusion, and removed it from the wall.
The moment I pulled it away, I froze.
Taped securely to the back of the frame were two gleaming gold objects.
Investment gold bars!
My fists clenched. Fury flooded my chest!
Bastard!
How could these be in my home?
This was an insult to my husband!
Teeth gritted, I didn't hesitate—I walked out, got in my car, and headed for Station Road.
I didn't care who this person was. They already knew I'd killed someone.
I needed to understand why Derek Kane's gold bars were actually in my apartment!
When I arrived at 220 Station Road, I found myself near a market. But it was late, the area deserted. I parked in front of an old building.
The door was ajar.
I pushed it open. Inside was pitch-black—I couldn't see my hand in front of my face.
Fumbling along the wall, I found the light switch and flipped it.
The moment light flooded the room, a three-meter-tall silhouette loomed before me, making me jump!
The figure wasn't actually three meters tall.
A leather belt hung from the ceiling beam, cinched tight around his neck.
His body dangled vertically, toes barely touching the ground, tongue protruding, eyes bulging.
A hanged corpse, staring me right in the face.