Chapter2

I installed several security cameras in the house: one in the corner of the living room, facing the sofa; one on top of the wardrobe in the bedroom, which can capture the bed; one at the entrance of the study, which captures entry and exit; and a magnetic door sensor in the entryway that records the door opening time, accurate to the second.

Connection, distribution, calibration.

After finishing, I opened my mobile banking app and finalized the last few remaining tasks: freezing the joint account, deactivating the supplementary credit card, changing account notifications to only be sent to me, and reauthorizing all automatic deductions.

I put on my coat, turned around, and went out.

Before leaving, I told Eileen, " I'm going to Boston on a business trip."

She applied lipstick in front of the mirror without even looking up: "Don't forget what you said about double."

I grunted in agreement and left .

"Business trip" was a lie. My real destination was the island .

I just signed the contract for the house on the island last night. The other party is an elderly white man who wants to cash out and leave; he's so eager that he's even willing to simplify the procedures. I split the payment with a prepaid card and cash, and my requirements are only three: a detached house, underground storage space, and a backup power system.

The house faces the Atlantic Ocean, with a low-lying woodland behind it and only a road entrance directly in front, offering a clear view of the entire area. To me, this was a natural "prototype of a safe house."

Reinforce the door locks, apply explosion-proof film to the windows, and install motion-sensor lights in the yard. Also, add the surveillance footage I brought: two wide-angle shots outside the yard, one to fill a blind spot inside the yard, and preserve the foundation inside the house.

I converted the storage room into a warehouse: one floor for food, one floor for medicine, one floor for water treatment, and one floor for tools and fuel.

Then they started stockpiling goods.

Canned goods, rice and flour, freeze-dried food, compressed biscuits, salt and vitamin tablets; water purification tablets, filters, medical alcohol, antibiotics, tourniquets; generator fuel, solar panels, batteries; entrenching tools, wire ropes, crowbars.

I'm not betting on "rescue coming." If rescue comes, great; if not, I'll just have to get through the darkest period.

A wild rose bush by the door seemed to be watching a play: "You've built your nest, but your troubles will swim over."

I wiped the dust off my hands and said coldly, "If you swim over, you'll drown."

I deliberately didn't reply to Eileen's messages for three days.

It wasn't out of spite; it was to test her limits and pace. The more anxious she became, the more it meant her plans were being thwarted by me.

On the first day, her posts were fairly normal:

Have you arrived at the hotel yet?

Why aren't you replying to me?

The next day, his tone became aggressive:

Did you do this on purpose?

Why have I lost my account privileges?

On the third day, she directly brought the battle to the "family group".

My phone vibrated, and a message popped up in the "Eileen Family" group chat. Eileen messaged me:

[Everyone saw it, right? He's not even replying to messages now. If he's like this before marriage, who can stand it later?]

Her mother followed up with a voice message, her voice shrill and piercing: " Ethan ! You're an orphan. Our family arranged for Eileen to marry you; you're the one who's marrying above your station! Who are you trying to impress now?"

Her father's message was even colder:

You should have self-awareness. Without our family, you are nothing.

Her brother was even more direct:

Sister, call off the engagement. Make him give the money back.

I stared at the screen, feeling nothing.

Their logic has never changed: using humiliation as a rope and "charity" as a shackle to force me to hand over both money and dignity.

I replied with:

Want an explanation? I'll provide one.

Then open the apartment monitoring backend.

I chose the clearest and most complete scene: on the living room sofa, Blake's shirt was unbuttoned, and Eileen sat on his lap . The image, the sound, the timestamp—everything was there.

I exported the video and added a watermark: Original surveillance backup, cloud-based evidence. I've also attached screenshots of the door sensor records—the time Blake opened the door, the length of his stay, and the time he left, all in the middle of the night.

send.

The moment the video entered the group, it was as if the group had been choked shut.

Her mother's voice trembled violently: "This...this is fake! It's illegal for you to secretly film videos! You'll go to jail!"

Her father immediately seized the "moral high ground":

This is a crime! We can sue you!

My fingers fell, typing a line of text, crisp and clean:

Welcome. By the way, let me explain why your daughter and my boss were talking about "how to drain me dry" on my sofa late at night.

The group was completely silent.

The next second, Eileen changed her tune, her voice trembling with sobs and resentment:

You're a pervert! You haven't trusted me for a long time! You deserve to be alone your whole life!

Her brother also joined in the cursing:

What kind of skill is it to secretly film your own wife?

My reply was even shorter:

[Fiancée. Don't rush to give yourself that status.]

This statement is like a knife, cutting away their last bit of "legitimacy".

But that's not enough.

The family group will only embarrass them internally. What I want is for Blake to lose what he cares about most—his position and his reputation.

I opened the company's internal department group chat and sent the same video and door sensor recording.

Just one sentence:

[Director Blake, is this what you mean by "professional ethics"?]

Sent successfully.

Three seconds later, a "?" appeared in the group chat.

Ten seconds later, Blake's call came in, making my palms go numb.

I answered the call, my voice calm: "Speak."

Blake, his voice hoarse with suppressed anger, said, "What do you want to do? Delete it! Delete it right now! Let's talk privately."

"What should we talk about?" I asked, gazing at the horizon. "How you got into my house, how you slept with my fiancée, and how you planned to transfer my money?"

He paused for a moment, then switched to a manipulative tone: "You want compensation? A promotion, a bonus, I can give you anything. Don't ruin yourself."

I chuckled softly: "You think I care about this job?"

His breathing suddenly became heavy: "You're an immigrant, an orphan, what are you without a platform—"

I interrupted him: "Think carefully first, how many people have the video on their phones? Then think carefully, who will compliance and HR contact first if they see it?"

He stopped talking.

I hung up immediately and blocked his number.

Immediately afterwards, Eileen called.

I answered the phone, and her voice was like a knife scraping against glass: " Ethan , you ruined me! Come back now and transfer the money to me! Otherwise, I'll go to your company and cause a scene, and I'll ruin your reputation!"

I said in a flatter tone: "Make a fuss."

She clearly didn't expect me to let her make a scene, and she choked for a moment.

I added, my tone as cold as a verdict: "The bigger the commotion you cause, the better evidence I can use. Remember to dress presentably so the police can easily take notes."

She screamed, "You—"

I hung up and blocked them.

Finally, I returned to the family group chat and left a message:

The engagement is dissolved. If you harass me again, I will pack up all the evidence and hand it over to my lawyer and the police.

In the company group chat, Blake started tagging me relentlessly, sending threats and insults, trying to muddy the waters. I ignored him, offered no explanation, and simply left the group chat, exporting and archiving all the chat logs.

I don't need to argue with a bunch of onlookers. The end times wait for no one, and reckoning doesn't need an audience's understanding.

I stood by the window and switched all the surveillance cameras to night vision.

The highway entrance was deserted . I changed the combination to the gun cabinet and reinforced the basement door bolt, my fingers steady without a tremor.