Chapter 8
1461words
That tower pierced through New York's hypocritical prosperity in the night. Her cheek could still feel the lingering pain from Julian's slap, that humiliation had transformed into cold fuel, driving her revenge plan to accelerate.
"Recreate the scene of the night when Anya fell from the building," Logan's voice was deep and steady, pulling her thoughts back to the present. "Fireworks and fire alarms. Are you sure this will stimulate him?"
"Fear is the best confession inducer," Serafina raised her wine glass, the amber liquid inside swaying with the reflection of the outside window. "That night, more than one person was on the 47th floor. The loud noise and chaos will break through their psychological defenses, making them think doomsday is happening again, causing them to lose their composure."
"I've already planted a backdoor program in the yacht's sound and lighting systems," Logan pointed to the tablet on the table, which displayed complex streams of code. "The fireworks will detonate precisely at ten o'clock in the sea next to the yacht, and three seconds later, the fire alarms throughout the entire ship will sound simultaneously for thirty seconds."
Serafina nodded, every detail of the plan had been finalized. Tonight, the Tower Elite Club would host their annual yacht party on the Hudson River, a closed, isolated stage that would be the perfect venue for the trial.
"What about Elena?" Logan asked.
"She's ready," Serafina said softly. "Her hatred for this social class is our sharpest weapon. Anya had been wearing the heart-shaped pendant I gave her, never taking it off. I told Elena this detail too, so she could look out for it at the party."
A flash of worry crossed Logan's eyes, but he said nothing. He was merely Serafina's ally, an efficient executor who never questioned her ultimate purpose.
At dusk, the wind from the Hudson River carried a salty, damp chill. The luxury yacht named "Wings of Icarus" was brilliantly lit. Guests were elegantly dressed, champagne bubbles rose merrily in crystal glasses, and jazz music flowed languidly, concealing the undercurrents flowing beneath the surface.
Serafina walked onto the deck holding Julian's arm. He seemed to be in a good mood today; the shadow cast by the Cassandra scandal appeared to have been temporarily dispelled by this lavish party. He warmly greeted his business partners. But she knew that the beast was only temporarily asleep.
Elena was there too. She wore a simple black gown, standing alone by the ship's rail. Her gaze wandered through the crowd with a sense of scrutiny and searching.
Serafina held a wine glass, walking over to Cassandra and the banker Marcus with an air of casualness, as they were laughing and chatting with several wealthy individuals.
"It's really a pity," she began with a smile, her voice not loud but enough for everyone around to hear, "that child Anya could have attended the party this year too. She loved watching the night view of the Hudson River."
The air instantly froze.
Cassandra's smile stiffened on her face, and she unconsciously clutched her silk evening bag tightly. Marcus's face turned pale, his eyes looking toward Julian in panic. Julian's brows furrowed deeply, his sharp gaze sweeping over Serafina, full of warning.
"Serafina," he said in a low voice, "don't bring up unhappy matters at an occasion like this."
"How could that be?" She looked at him with feigned surprise. "Anya is our family member, isn't it normal to miss her? Or do you think there's something shameful about her death?"
Her words precisely stabbed at the most vulnerable part of their hearts. Panic spread silently among them, and everyone began to eye each other with suspicion. The game had begun.
When the clock's hand pointed to ten o'clock sharp, a shrill whistle cut through the night sky.
Brilliant fireworks suddenly exploded on the sea surface beside the yacht, the massive flash of light instantly illuminating everyone's faces. Immediately after, the piercing fire alarm resounded throughout the entire yacht, red warning lights flashing frantically, enveloping everyone in an apocalyptic crimson.
The party descended into complete chaos. Women let out terrified screams, men cursed while searching for exits, and the sounds of shattering glasses mixed with the commotion of people pushing against each other.
"What's happening!" Julian roared, trying to maintain order, but no one paid attention.
At that moment, the previously silent banker Marcus suddenly rushed toward Julian, grabbing him by the collar. "It's you! You did all this! You bastard!" he hissed, landing a hard punch on Julian's face.
The two men instantly fell into a brawl, sweeping bottles and food off the table onto the floor. Bodyguards tried to separate them, but the situation was already completely out of control.
Serafina coldly observed everything, searching for the real target.
In the chaos, she saw Cassandra being pushed by the crowd, stepping back towards the ship's railing. Her face was filled with extreme fear, as if she had seen something terrifying. Suddenly, a figure flashed behind her and shoved her violently.
Cassandra let out a brief scream, flipping backward and plunging into the dark waters of the Hudson River.
Everything happened too quickly, so fast that almost no one noticed. Only Serafina, and Elena who stood not far away, witnessed the scene.
The alarm stopped abruptly thirty seconds later, leaving only the frightened breathing of people and the muffled sounds of Julian and Marcus wrestling.
And Elena, she stood motionless, her face as white as paper. Her eyes lost focus, as if her soul had been extracted from her body. Her lips parted slightly, her throat making meaningless murmurs.
"……Blood……" She looked at her own hands, as if they were covered with invisible viscous fluid.
Fragments of memory unexpectedly breached the dam of her consciousness.
An image flashed through her mind: a dimly lit hallway, a sign for the 47th floor, Anya's desperate and angry face.
"……Let go of me! You crazy person!"
Another image: violent argument, forceful shoving, the stinging sensation of nails scraping across skin.
"……You ruined everything for me!"
The final image: Anya falling from the railing. The heart-shaped pendant on her neck, in that moment of falling, was clutched tightly in her own palm.
Her body began to shake uncontrollably, her legs weakened, and she could barely stand. Just as she was about to collapse, a pair of hands steadied her firmly.
"Elena, are you alright?"
It was Serafina's voice, gentle and caring. Elena looked up and saw her perfect face filled with concern. Serafina helped her to the railing, letting her lean against it, one hand gently stroking her back, the other gathering her scattered golden hair.
"It was so chaotic just now, you must have been terrified," Serafina's voice was soft, as if comforting a frightened child.
Elena wanted to speak, but her throat felt blocked, and she could only nod stiffly. Her vision couldn't focus, her mind replaying only those bloody scenes over and over.
"It's okay, it's all over now," Serafina said softly, her fingers barely grazing through Elena's hair. "Take a deep breath, you'll feel better."
The pushing of the crowd grew closer, someone shouted about evacuation. Serafina let go of her hand and whispered in Elena's ear: "Go back and rest first, I'll come see you tomorrow."
Then, the sea of people separated them. By the time Elena came to her senses, she was already standing in front of the cold door of her apartment. The noise from the party seemed like an old dream from the last century, with only the sound of her own frantic heartbeat remaining in her ears.
She trembled as she opened the door, rushed into the apartment, and even forgot to turn on the lights. She slid to the ground against the door, her body shaking violently from uncontrollable fear.
Those flashback fragments became incredibly clear in the darkness, every detail carrying a bloody sense of reality. The argument, the pushing, the fall... and that pendant.
Elena instinctively reached for her neck, her fingertips touching a cold, hard object.
She stiffly lowered her head and, by the faint moonlight shining through the window, clearly saw what was on her chest.
It was a silver heart-shaped pendant, glimmering eerily in the darkness. It was Anya's pendant. Somehow, it was now hanging around her own neck.
She saw her argument with Anya on the 47th floor, saw her own blood-covered hands, saw herself... personally pushing that girl into the abyss.
A bone-chilling thought crept into her mind.
It was me.
The murderer who killed Anya was me.
