Her heart tightened, and she looked toward the end of the stairs with some trepidation.

The sound of leather shoes stepping on the stairs drew nearer, step by step.

Only when that familiar figure appeared before her did her suspended heart settle slightly.

"Are you afraid of being left here alone?" Julian walked quickly to her side, his expression full of exhaustion.

Clara smelled the heavy scent of smoke and alcohol on him, as if he had been entertaining outdoors for a long time.

She shook her head, then immediately pleaded: "Julian, please let me out..."

"Let you out? And let you go off to your death?"

He looked at her coldly.

Clara turned her head away, unwilling to look into his eyes.

Julian sighed helplessly, sat on the edge of the bed, and gently took her into his arms:

"I’ve had people look into what happened back then. Your mother's death remains unsolved. As for the car accident that your father and brother encountered, it was an accident... a truck driver was driving drunk early in the morning and hit your father's car from the side. After the incident, the driver turned himself in and was sentenced to twenty years..."

Hearing this, Clara became instantly agitated, "That could never have been an accident! That truck driver never drank; how could he have been driving drunk early in the morning..."

She shook her head frantically, gripping Julian's lapels tightly, desperate for him to believe her.

"I understand. I didn't follow up on it back then, but I've asked about it now." Julian patted her back gently, trying to soothe her: "The man passed away in prison two years ago from acute pancreatitis. That same year, his wife took their son and smuggled themselves into the United States to work illegally, and their whereabouts remain unknown."

"Your mother goes missing, your father and brother have a car accident, the truck driver dies in prison, and the whereabouts of his wife and son are unknown—if these things happened separately, they might be accidents. But when all these 'accidents' are put together, it is definitely not a coincidence."

◇ Chapter 21

Clara Vance cried until she was sobbing uncontrollably. She bit her lower lip, trying to suppress the mountainous grief in her heart, but the hot tears refused to listen, falling like broken beads.

Each tear carried the grievances, reluctance, and despair of these past years, quickly staining Julian’s snow-white shirt like a sad ink painting, spreading wantonly.

Julian held her lightly, his voice gentle yet filled with helplessness, as if recounting a cruel truth: "Baby, the water in this matter is too deep. On your own, you couldn't stir up any waves. Those conflicts of interest behind it are like a tangled mess, complex and deep-rooted; it's far from something you can resist..."

Clara looked up at him, her eyes hollow yet resolute, "I know, but I'm not afraid..."

From the moment she learned of her father and brother's passing, she had put life and death aside.

The rest of her life was lived only for revenge.

However, looking at Julian: How could she have the heart to drag him into this endless abyss of darkness and implicate him?

"Julian, stop bothering with me, and don't get involved in this matter."

She gripped his lapels tightly: "I already have a plan; I intend to take a boat to Myanmar, change my appearance, and adopt a new identity..."

"That's too dangerous; you're just playing with your life."

Julian looked at her, his tone brooking no doubt: "That plan is void. I went to see Director Shao, and he promised me he would no longer provide you with help..."

"By what right do you do that!"

In an instant, anger flooded Clara like a surging tide.

She raised her hand and gave Julian a harsh slap: "This was my only chance for revenge! Julian, I don't want you to interfere! By what right do you stop me..."

The iron chains rattled with her intense movements. Julian turned his head to the side, and a red mark instantly appeared on his handsome cheek.

"Because I cannot stand by and watch you go to your death!"

She was angry, her eyes reddened, venting her fury at him.

"Julian, my whole family died because of this; I bear a blood feud!"

As she spoke, bean-sized tears welled up and rolled down her pale cheeks, hitting the floor and shattering into countless pieces. "I know, I understand..." Julian tried to soothe her, his voice trembling—a tremor that came from feeling her pain as his own.

"No, you don't understand!"

Clara screamed hysterically, her hands clutching Julian’s lapels as if wanting to pour out all the pain in her heart, "You don't understand. In every quiet night, when I close my eyes, the tragic scene of my whole family's death plays like a movie over and over before me. That feeling is worse than death! Do you think that by trapping me in this basement, I can forget everything and live a normal life with you forever? Impossible! I will only live in an abyss of guilt and hatred forever, never knowing a moment of peace!"

By the end, she was sobbing uncontrollably, her body trembling violently as if all her strength had been drained.

Julian could no longer bear the sorrow and pity in his heart and pulled her tightly into his arms.

He hated himself for not having noticed her pain for so many years.

Those tears she swallowed alone, the agony she bore in silence—he had known nothing of them.

"No, I am not trying to stop you from taking revenge."

Julian's voice was slightly choked, soft kisses falling on the crown of her head: "I just hope we can plan this out. This case is far more complex than imagined; it cannot be resolved simply by finding the murderer. It involves the interests of countless people and the relationships are complex. You cannot do this by your own strength alone."

Lying in his arms, listening to him unraveling the new intelligence he had obtained, her tears flowed like a river.

Her heart struggled painfully between hatred and love, not knowing where to go.

"I am not asking you to stay out of this; how could I ask you to do that?"

Julian’s voice, low and gentle, sounded softly in her ear like a spring breeze brushing across her scarred heart: "Give me a little time, and I will definitely find a way."

◇ Chapter 22

Two years later, Galaxy Star Bay.

Sunlight filtered through the hotel’s floor-to-ceiling windows, spilling onto the soft carpet.

Julian Sterling sat on the sofa, a pair of sophisticated gold-rimmed glasses perched on his nose, his eyes behind the lenses deep and sharp.

Two years had passed, and the man, now well into his thirties, appeared increasingly steady and reserved. Every gesture exuded the charm of a mature man, blending composure with an effortless sense of ease.

At this moment, he was fully focused, typing away on his laptop.

Clara Vance emerged from the bathroom, dressed in a loose white bathrobe, her long, damp hair draped casually over her shoulders. Just then, a knock sounded at the door.

When she opened it, she saw a waiter pushing a dining cart topped with an exquisite Western-style breakfast.

A steaming pot of coffee released curls of aromatic steam.

"Julian, are you done yet?"

Wearing headphones, Julian was immersed in a video conference.

Hearing her voice, he looked up slightly, rubbed his stomach, and pointed at the computer screen. The meaning was clear: he was hungry, but the meeting was still in progress and he couldn't step away.

Clara understood, picked up a sandwich and a fruit platter, and sat beside him, feeding him a few bites during the gaps in his meeting.

Finally, the video conference ended. Julian leaned back into the sofa, closed his laptop, and shut his eyes for a moment, appearing to relax his strained nerves.

"Baby, you haven't forgotten what I told you earlier, have you?" He picked up a sandwich and took a bite.

"Don't worry, I won't forget," Clara replied with certainty.

Over the past two years, Julian had never stopped his secret investigation into the multinational human organ trafficking case. His status was prestigious, and his wealth and power gave him resources that were worlds apart from Clara's.

To avoid exposing his true intentions, he had gone to great lengths.

First, he carefully repackaged Clara’s identity, molding her into a socialite with a mysterious background.

Then, he used the pretext of finding a suitable eye match for his "lover"—Clara—to inquire about information everywhere.

He mobilized various connections and, through layers of clues, tracked down the subordinates of that sinister organization.

He cleverly played along with them, subtly sending out signals that he urgently needed "special services," gradually earning their trust until he facilitated today's meeting.

After finishing breakfast, the two walked out hand in hand.

To ensure the operation went flawlessly, they had long since installed highly covert tracking devices on their persons.