"Murderers should rot in hell!"

The mob of girls was practically foaming at the mouth, their eyes burning with hatred, their expressions twisted into something ugly. They looked ready to rip Amy apart limb from limb, as if she were the devil incarnate.

To an outsider, it might have seemed like Amy had committed some unspeakable crime against them.

Amy took one glance at their faces and immediately understood—these were Victoria’s fans. Though she wasn’t one to scroll through social media much, she had recently learned that Victoria had cultivated a massive online following.

Just yesterday, she’d discovered that Victoria had millions of devoted supporters, all enchanted by her fragile beauty, her prodigious violin skills, and her heartbreakingly inspiring story of living vibrantly despite her terminal illness. In mere months, Victoria had skyrocketed to fame, rivaling minor celebrities.

But this wasn’t accidental. Someone had engineered it.

That someone was Alexander.

Victoria had been signed to a media company under Blackwood Enterprises. Alexander hadn’t bothered to deny the rumors swirling around him and Victoria, explaining to Amy that it was all part of the plan—to make Victoria a star before time ran out.

Her last wish was fame, and with so little of her life left, they couldn’t afford to wait for organic growth. Scandal was the fastest way to make her a household name overnight.

Amy had swallowed her objections, biting her tongue. She hadn’t realized just how rabid Victoria’s fanbase had become until now.

Seeing the furious crowd, Amy quickly handed Oliver to Frederick, the driver. "Frederick, take Oliver and go."

Frederick understood. The mob’s rage was directed at Amy, and lingering would only put Oliver in danger. He nodded and scooped the boy up. "Come on, Oliver. We need to leave."

But Oliver struggled, refusing to budge. "No! Amy’s in trouble! I can’t leave her!"

Amy’s chest tightened. Her own husband and son treated her like an enemy, yet this child—whom she’d known for barely two days—stood by her without hesitation.

"Oliver, you have to go," Amy said gently. "If you stay, I’ll be too worried about you to focus."

Oliver’s eyes shimmered with concern, but he finally nodded reluctantly. "Okay, but—"

Amy cut him off. "Go. I’ll be fine."

Oliver realized staying would only make things worse. If Amy had ducked, that thrown bottle would have hit him instead.

Frederick carried Oliver to the car, and they sped off. The moment the car moved, Oliver yanked out his phone and dialed Sebastian. "Dad! Amy’s in trouble! Time to be the hero!"

As Oliver’s car vanished around the corner, another projectile hurtled toward Amy.

Thud!

A water bottle struck her temple. Her vision swam, the world tilting dangerously. Warm blood trickled down her forehead, staining her blouse crimson.

The crowd, so bold just seconds ago, froze. The sight of real blood seemed to shock them back to reality—these keyboard warriors weren’t so brave when faced with actual violence.

Then, the low purr of an engine cut through the tension.

A sleek black luxury car rolled to a stop beside her, its tinted window sliding down to reveal a chillingly familiar face.

Alexander’s cold, unreadable gaze locked onto her bleeding form.

"Amy," he said, voice like ice. "Have you learned your lesson yet?"