Tiffany looked up and saw a woman enter, tightly wrapped in a coat and hat despite the summer heat. Her head was lowered, completely concealing her face. The interrogation room door closed behind the woman.

Tiffany sneered calmly. "You recovered quickly. Magic? You look like a witch." Besides Sandra, Tiffany couldn't imagine anyone else seeking her out at this late hour.

The woman looked up and removed her hat. It was Sandra. "Since you know I'd come, guess why."

Tiffany remained composed. "Step on the defeated."

"You know me well," Sandra giggled. Then her face darkened, pale under the bright light. Her expression, still marked by her recent miscarriage, was ghostly. "But you underestimate me. I didn't come to boast."

"I want to kill you!" Sandra advanced.

In the empty room, her footsteps echoed coldly, each step a chilling stab. Tiffany, handcuffed and defenseless, smiled. "I'm right here. Dare you?"

Her words reverberated. Sandra hesitated. She hadn't dared to bring a weapon. All she wanted was to see Tiffany beg. But Tiffany remained calm.

Infuriated, Sandra slapped Tiffany. A red mark instantly bloomed on Tiffany's fair skin. "I return this," Sandra said, slapping her again. This was her revenge for countless past hurts.

Blood seeped from Tiffany's mouth. Her hair was disheveled, her face swollen. Yet, as she raised her head, she smiled. Confined, messy, bloodstained, she was still stunning, a mysterious, noble angel.

Jealousy consumed Sandra. Even before her facial scarring, Tiffany had always outshone her. No matter Sandra's schemes, Tiffany's beauty commanded attention. Now, Sandra was the aggressor, yet Tiffany's demeanor made Sandra feel inferior.

"Why! It's not fair!" Sandra raged, seizing Tiffany's neck. "Are you laughing at me? Bitch, I'll kill you!" Her eyes burned with hatred.

Blood flowed from Tiffany's mouth, but her lips curled into a cold smile. "Idiot. Just you?"

With that, Tiffany kicked Sandra hard in the stomach. Sandra screamed. She'd expected Tiffany's handcuffs to be a hindrance, overlooking the clear space under the table. The kick sent Sandra flying. Her body, weakened by the miscarriage, crashed to the floor, staining the ground with blood. This injury might be far more serious than her previous miscarriage.

Hearing the commotion, Miss Hart rushed in, shocked by the scene. "What's going on?" Tiffany remained handcuffed.

Miss Hart was disappointed in Sandra's failure to subdue a bound woman.

On the ground, Sandra weakly pleaded, "Save me, help…" Fear of death gripped her.

Miss Hart summoned two men who carried Sandra away.

Tiffany narrowed her eyes. She understood; Sandra was being manipulated.

Before leaving, Sandra commanded, "Kill her! Now!"

Miss Hart refused. Then, a panicked man burst in, "Leave through the back door! Now!"

"Why?" asked Miss Hart.

"The higher-ups are here. Leave or die!"

Miss Hart fled. Luxury cars pulled up outside the station. A graceful man, Mr. Hampton, emerged. An aura of supreme power filled the air, silencing everyone with fear. A middle-aged man trembled, fawning before him, "Mr. Hampton, what can I do for you?"