Page 91 of Billionaire’s Cruelty

“It was an accident,” I insisted. “Why didn’t you tell me this before? Is that why they let me out so fast?”

“Yes. The good news is—you’re in the clear.”

I swallowed hard, my chest tightening.

“I…” I struggled for breath, my mind spinning.

My poor cousin.

“What facility is she in?” My fingers instinctively tugged at my already loosened tie. It felt like my lungs couldn’t find enough air.

“The psychiatric hospital in Shanghai,” Zhang answered. “When they found her, she couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move. It was as if she had completely shut down. Like…”

“Like what?” My voice was barely a whisper.

“Like a sack of rice,” she said flatly. “Floppy. Just lying there, unable to do anything.”

It didn’t make sense.

If she was really unresponsive when they found her—how the hell did she confess?

Something wasn’t adding up.

“Is it possible someone made that up? That she never actually confessed?”

Zhang studied me. “What makes you say that?”

“Because—,” I paused, dark memories flooded back, thick with guilt. “She was quite out of it when I left her.”

The hours in that tiny interrogation room had been a slow, grinding torture. The officers took turns hammering me with the same questions, over and over, hoping exhaustion would break me.

If I’d heard about Jenny’s so-called confession then—if I’d known she had relapsed and been locked up—I might have cracked. I might have confessed to something myself. Lied. Said whatever they wanted to hear.

Just to save her.

“Is she any better now?”

Zhang exhaled. “No one really knows. The only reason I even found out was because I went to the house and spoke with the housekeeper. She wouldn’t say anything at first, but when she realized I represented you, she finally told me.”

I nodded, appreciating the housekeeper’s loyalty to Jenny. She had always looked out for her, stepping in whenever things got bad. There were times she had even called me, pleading for help—begging me to come and get Jenny or at least do something to ease the situation.

“Is she one of yours?” Zhang asked, frowning before shooting me a pointed look.

“No. She’s just a kind woman.” The words didn’t sound convincing, even to me. Truth was, I had never considered planting someone at Chen’s house. If I had, things wouldn’t have spiraled out of control the way they did. I wouldn’t have been left scrambling to pick up the pieces after it was too late.

“Believe it or not, I never even met her—until that day.” The realization unsettled me. I couldn’t believe I had never made the effort to meet or even acquaint myself with the woman who had been quietly helping Jenny all this time.

“Anyway,” Zhang said, shifting the subject, “try not to leave the country in the meantime.”

I rolled my eyes at the way she said try. She hadn’t asked me a single question about what really happened that day. Not once. It was clear—whether I was involved or not, she didn’t care.

My life was now deeply entangled with Chen’s fate. If he died, the case would almost certainly be ruled as murder.

If he lived, we would be at his mercy. He could dismiss everything, call it an accident, a suicide attempt, whatever we eventually settled on. Or he could press charges for attempted murder.

“Thanks for everything,” I said politely, signaling for the driver to drop me off by the roadside.

I waved as Zhang’s car drove away.