Upon receiving Winona’s text, Layla felt a fresh wave of anxiety. This was her first time participating in a murder. She wouldn't be getting her hands dirty, but being an accomplice was terrifying.

However, Winona’s words and a sideways glance at Yvette’s flawless face reignited her jealousy. A person like Yvette didn't belong in Seacrity. Layla was supposed to be the city's future socialite, and Yvette was an obstacle. With renewed resolve, she steeled herself.

As Yvette, playing on her phone, spoke, her voice was cold and detached. "This isn't the road to the villa."

Layla tightened her grip on her purse, forcing a confident tone. "Um, it's a shortcut. You haven't been in Seacrity long, so you wouldn't know—this way is faster."

The driver, aware of the deception, felt a twinge of fear. He knew they weren't headed toward any villa; Layla had instructed him to drive to an abandoned factory on the outskirts. He had no idea why she was lying to Yvette. He'd heard rumors about Layla’s dark past—like the time she relentlessly bullied a girl who subsequently jumped from a building. Layla’s parents had covered it up, but the driver couldn't shake his unease.

Taking a risk, he muttered, "Ms. Chambers, maybe this road isn't ideal. Perhaps we should take a different route?"

Layla, unprepared for this disruption, glared at him. "What are you saying? Just drive. I say it's a shortcut, so it is. One more word, and I'll dock your pay for the month."

Yvette glanced up, catching the driver's worried gaze in the mirror. Calmly, she said, "Keep driving."

With a resigned sigh, the driver pressed on, deeply uneasy about their destination.

Fifteen minutes later, the black Jeep pulled up before an abandoned factory. The deserted structure loomed eerily, surrounded by tall, wild grass, casting long shadows even in the daylight. The decayed building had a sinister air, chilling even the driver.

Layla, having never seen the location, was taken aback. She hadn't expected Winona to choose such a creepy place, and she couldn't bring herself to look at Yvette. The web of lies she'd spun unraveled, revealing a reality far from her expectations. Yvette opened the door and stepped out, glancing back at the nervous Layla. Her voice was calm, unhurried. "We're here. Come on out."

Layla froze. Isn't Yvette supposed to be scared? Instead, it seemed Yvette had brought her here. A surge of bewilderment washed over her—who was leading whom? Layla couldn't have guessed that Yvette was all too familiar with such places. She'd been to dozens, if not hundreds, of abandoned sites—some used as dumping grounds, littered with bones. This place felt almost like home in comparison.

Still in a daze, Layla followed Yvette to the factory entrance. Wearing high heels, she managed only a couple of steps before muttering curses.

Yvette stood at the entrance, hands in her pockets, looking at the worn sign. The name was eroded, leaving only the words "Chemical Plant" barely visible.

When Layla caught up, she stammered, "The, uh… the dessert chef…"

Realizing the charade was unsustainable, she dropped the pretense. "Listen, Yvette, I'll be honest. Someone else wants to meet you here. If you know what's good for you, you'll head inside on your own." Her tone dripped with insincere concern.

Unfazed, Yvette strolled further into the factory. Layla gritted her teeth and followed, but couldn't catch up.

Inside, the spacious factory revealed itself—a two-story expanse with scattered, rusted machinery, relics of a bygone era. Dim lighting cast shadows over a group of roughly fifty burly men in black tank tops, their arms tattooed with dragon insignias, each at least six feet tall.

Yvette surveyed the group with a smirk and an air of nonchalance. Fifty men? It was almost insulting. She hadn't had a good workout in ages. If this was the best they could muster, she might as well let them bring more.

Layla, forgetting her foot pain, dashed towards them. Yvette glanced up, her dark eyes narrowed, an icy edge glinting in them. She looked at the men with a chillingly genuine suggestion. "This is all you've got? Maybe you should call for backup." This was an opportunity she hoped they'd seize.

The men exchanged wary glances, disbelief evident on their faces. Is she serious? Does she think she isn't in enough trouble already?

Their leader stepped forward, removing his sunglasses to reveal a crude, leering expression. His eyes roamed over Yvette. "Listen up, lady," he sneered, "we're here on Ms. Chambers' orders. Play nice, surrender, and she'll let you keep your life. You're a woman—we don't want to get rough."

Yvette's smirk widened. Play nice? Surrender? Spare her life? She couldn't recall hearing those words in her life. She tilted her head, her gaze drifting over the group before settling back on Layla. "Ms. Chambers? Maybe the real Ms. Chambers should show herself."

Layla froze, panic flickering across her face. She knew Yvette suspected Winona was the mastermind. In an exaggerated attempt to cover her shock, she raised her voice. "What are you talking about? I am Ms. Chambers! Who else would you be looking for? I was just messing with you, and there's no one else. I just can't stand you!"