Chapter 2

“Zoey! What the hell is wrong with you?” Herbert lunged forward and grabbed my arm, his grip so tight it felt like he’d crush my bones. “The entire internet’s hunting for the antibody donor. Everyone’s in the dark—but I know the truth. You’re the only one in possession of that antibody.”

He stared at me, his bloodshot eyes swimming with unbridled shock and anger, utterly unable to comprehend my actions.

I wrenched my arm free, irritation flaring in my chest. Herbert knew every single secret about me. I’d once thought he was one of the only trustworthy people left in my life. But the self-righteous look on his face right now turned my stomach.

“Since you already know it’s me, keep your mouth shut,” I said in a flat, cold tone. “Get out. Don’t lose your mind in my house.”

“I’m losing my mind?” Herbert’s voice rose sharply, jabbing a finger at the news livestream still playing on my tablet. “That’s a six-year-old child! You feed stray dogs off the street. For twenty years, you’ve saved one hundred and seven patients dying from this rare virus. You’ve spent two decades saving strangers’ lives. Now a little girl is right in front of you, dying, and you refuse to help? What are you even thinking?”

“I’m not saving her. That’s my choice.” I remained perfectly calm, icy and unwavering. “It’s my antibody. My call.”

Herbert looked at me as if I’d turned into a monster.

“Zoey, have you forgotten why you started donating in the first place?” He gestured sharply at my mother’s framed photo on the living room table, his voice booming like he was prosecuting me. “That fortune-teller told you—your mom’s soul would only be freed once you finished one hundred and eight good deeds. You’ve spent all these years saying you did this for her. Isn’t that the whole point?”

He grew more and more agitated with every word, his spit nearly flying onto my face. “This is the last one! The final deed! If you stand by and let this little girl die today, you’re not just a killer—you’ll trap your mom’s soul forever. How could you do this? How could you ever face her after this?”

His words shattered the last thread of my self-control.

He could yell at me all he wanted, but the second he dragged my mother into this, the rage I’d suppressed for twenty years surged up and burned hot in my throat. He had no idea who that dying child really was. He had no right to use my mother’s soul to corner me, to guilt-trip me like this.

I didn’t hesitate. I lifted my hand and slapped him hard across the face.

Herbert’s head snapped to the side. Five bright red finger marks bloomed sharply on his cheek.

He clutched his cheek, staring at me in pure shock, unable to process that I’d just hit him.

“I slapped you because you’re a fool who’s quick to spend other people’s lives to feed your own misplaced righteousness,” I said, stepping closer without an ounce of retreat. “Who I save is never yours to decide. And if my mom is watching from anywhere, she’d never want me to spare my enemy’s daughter. Now get out. Right now. Get the hell out of my house.”

Herbert stumbled back, stunned rigid by my cold ferocity—before his embarrassment curdled into raw fury.

He pointed straight at my face, his jaw tight with rage. “Zoey, you’ve lost your mind. Do you really think you can hide? With how fast the internet digs up secrets, your identity will be exposed sooner or later. Just you wait. The whole city will condemn you. You’ll drown in public hatred.”

He spun on his heel and slammed the door so hard the lock rattled, then stormed away in a fit of anger.

I rubbed my aching wrist, staring coldly at the trembling door.

Public opinion? Online abuse? If I feared any of that, I would’ve been suffocated by disgust for those two trashy people twenty years ago.

Just then, the tablet I’d tossed on the couch burst into a frenzy of nonstop notifications. An incoming video call popped up uninvited on the screen, from the city’s largest and most influential official media outlet.

Of course. Those vultures would stoop to anything for clicks. They’d clearly used backdoor hacking tactics to trace my account and lock onto my IP address.

They thought they could drag me into the spotlight. Force me to obey their moral demands.

I could’ve unplugged the router. I could’ve smashed the tablet to pieces.

But I didn’t.

If they wanted to play this game, I’d play it with them until the very end.

I wanted to watch closely—watch Neil and the arrogant Acacia hit rock bottom. Watch their smug confidence crumble into pure, desperate panic.

I smoothly turned off my tablet’s camera, then tapped to accept the call.

The screen split into two frames. My side was pitch black, no sign of me at all. The other side was chaotic and noisy, live from outside the hospital’s emergency room, surrounded by a throng of people and reporters.

“We’re connected! The cold-blooded donor actually picked up!” The reporter’s voice cracked with overexcitement, shrill and loud. “Everyone look! She’s refusing to show her face!”

On screen, Neil shoved through the crowd of reporters and thrust his polished, fake face straight into the camera.

“You’re the one with the special antibody?” He glared at the black screen, his tone oozing arrogance. There was no trace of pleading in his voice—only condescension and command. “I’m Neil. Get over to Central City Hospital right now.”

I sat quietly on my couch, watching him bark orders without a single word.

When I didn’t respond, Neil’s temper flared. His face darkened, and he spat out a threat. “I don’t care what your excuses are. You’re saving Ally today. If you let this eight-hour treatment window close on my daughter, I swear I’ll ruin your life in this city. I’ll erase you so completely you won’t even see it coming.”

Even through the screen, I could feel his unshakable, smug sense of power and superiority.

Twenty years, and that bullying, selfish look of his hadn’t changed one bit.

Then Acacia scrambled into the frame as well, pushing herself up from the ground and clinging tightly to Neil’s side. Her hair was a disheveled mess. She latched onto his arm like it was her last lifeline. Facing the camera, she dropped heavily to her knees with a loud thud.

“Ma’am, please!” Acacia sobbed uncontrollably, putting on a fragile, pitiful show, humbling herself to the point of humiliation. “Don’t listen to him—he’s just terrified for our daughter! I’m a mother too! Ally’s only six years old. I’ll kneel, I’ll bow, I’ll do anything—just please save her!”

She cried harder, slamming her forehead repeatedly toward the camera, hard enough to draw gasps of sympathy from the surrounding reporters.

I watched the whole performance in total silence.

Staring at Neil and Acacia’s repulsive, fake displays of grief, my mind was forcefully dragged back twenty years against my will.

Twenty years ago, Acacia wore this exact same helpless, tearful expression. But back then, she’d held filthy private photos in her hands, using them to drive my mother to her death. And Neil had stood right beside her, utterly guiltless, calling my own mother a delusional lunatic.

I was only six years old back then too.

No one ever pitied me.

I turned on my microphone.

“Karma always comes for everyone.”

The endless stream of comments froze dead for several long seconds, my single sentence stunning the entire online crowd into silence.

The next moment, the comment section exploded—flooded with violent curses and rows of screaming exclamation points, completely overrunning the screen.