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Chloe would soon learn how stupid it was to provoke me with my dead parents.
I'd planned to spare her and her son if she confessed on camera.
Now, that wasn't enough!
I'd make this bitch pay in blood for her words!
Over the next hours, with media and police mobilizing, nearly the entire city searched for the boy.
Every few hours, someone updated the interrogation room.
Chloe stayed awake, waiting in her wheelchair in the break room.
I requested to return to my cell, ate a meal, and slept soundly.
With my vengeance fulfilled, I slept more deeply than I had in three years.
After twenty-four hours, police brought me back to interrogation.
Inside, Chloe stared at me like a madwoman, eyes blood-red, as if bleeding.
Clearly, she hadn't slept at all.
I yawned, smirking, "Youth is something—just had surgery, yet you can pull all-nighters."
"After my dad's surgery, he was unconscious for three days, fighting for his life."
"Should've hit you harder."
Chloe clenched her fists, screaming hysterically, "Where did you hide my son?!"
I stayed silent, calmly watching her unravel.
Chloe finally broke, lunging from her wheelchair, dragging herself toward me like a horror movie monster.
Reaching me, she stretched out a shaking hand, trying to choke me.
Two officers rushed to restrain her, placing her back in the chair.
Unhinged, Chloe grabbed an officer's collar.
"You can't even find a child—what good are you?!"
"You're all useless—just die!"
"Why not torture Lily? Lock her up and make her talk…"
Chloe's meltdown exposed her true nature.
The officers' faces darkened.
A veteran cop said sternly, "Ms. Davis, we're doing our best. Show some respect."
Chloe turned on the reporters, "You'd rather film me than help?!"
"You're all like Lily—profiting from my family's tragedy!"
Her tantrum alienated everyone.
The live chat showed scattered criticism:
[The police are trying their best—no need to be so harsh.]
[Everyone's helping—how is that profiting?]
[Chloe seemed so gentle on stream—what happened?]
Chloe was gasping, nearly fainting.
I "kindly" reminded her, "Take care of yourself. If you die of rage, your son will be an orphan."
After her outburst, Chloe stared at me for a long time, then gritted out, "What will it take to get my son back?"
Even now, she wouldn't drop her act and confess.
I could see: Chloe loved her son, but she loved her image just as much.
I smiled, "Since you won't ruin your reputation, I'll be merciful and lower the bar."
"Identify the rapists and provide evidence of their crimes—then I might spare your son."
Those criminals were Chloe's backers.
Exposing them would mean cutting off her wealth.
After a painful internal struggle, Chloe asked hoarsely, "If I confess, will you really let my son go?"
