Shadows of Vengeance and Love

Chapter 3

Ethan was taken aback—he hadn’t expected her to be so easy to handle. He’d assumed she’d know even a little bit of self-defense, yet her slight, delicate frame simply toppled into his arms. Her sweater clung close, soft and warm, carrying a comforting, inviting scent.

Her strength was surprisingly feeble; it took hardly any effort for him to subdue her. In that moment she writhed and struggled desperately, whimpering in distress—yet her voice never rose above a timid murmur.

Frowning, he applied just a bit more pressure, and instantly she ceased twisting and stopped whimpering.

Releasing his hold on her mouth, he let her go. She wisely held back any screams, though she could only think of her cheekbones as if they’d been disassembled by the impact.

“Doctor of Pathology and Toxicology, Zoe Nolan.” His tone was cool, detached, and certain.

At those words, the woman in his grasp seemed to be struck in all the right acupoints, her body freezing in place.

In the darkness, he let out a quiet chuckle. “Now working at the acclaimed Yucheng Crime Lab—why is that?”

“Who are you?” she managed to ask.

“Ethan Hale.” He delivered the name with all the affected formalities in the world—a useless statement since she had no idea who Ethan Hale was.

Of course, he offered no further explanation. “The drug dissolved in the water was nothing for you; but I failed to notice the one in the smoke—I inhaled it. And now I feel…” He spoke deliberately, each word resonating clearly in the pitch-black room.

Every hair on her body stood on end. She tried to feign ignorance, but he wickedly pressed on, “We should do something.”

Zoe, on the verge of tears yet unable to cry, twisted restlessly before blurting out in a panic, “You know Shane, don’t you?”

“Mm.”

“Someone’s trying to drive a wedge between you and him.”

“Ha,” he laughed softly.

She couldn’t understand what was so amusing.

Instead of being intimidated, he seemed intrigued. He’d expected her to mention Shane in a bid to threaten him, yet she instead showed a spark of insight.

Realizing she was on target, she quickly added in a gentle tone, “Please, don’t fall into someone else’s trap, alright? If you’ve inhaled any of the drug, I can help neutralize it—I know this stuff. You wouldn’t want to be taken advantage of, would you? That’d be so pathetic.”

He merely curled his lips in silence. She was clever—every word hit its mark—but it was obvious he didn’t care.

After cautiously babbling a series of suggestions, and seeing no response from him, she sighed in defeat and, in a voice as soft as a mosquito’s whisper, added, “… Please…don’t hurt me…I’m afraid of pain.”

For a long moment, there was silence. Ethan felt as if he’d just swung a fist against a cushion.

Then he released her and stood up.

Zoe’s wrist throbbed with numb pain; once freed from her restraints, she hurriedly massaged it, the sound of her joints creaking like an old woman’s.

“Tsk,” he said politely, “Ma’am, I do apologize for earlier—I truly regret offending you.”

Zoe pushed herself to her feet in indignation, her knees creaking once more.

“Rest assured,” he said in a measured, calm tone, “No one can sow discord between me and Shane.” Though his voice was flat, Zoe couldn’t shake the feeling that his words carried an unsettling subtext.

She wanted to ask him something more, but he simply stepped away, moving unhesitatingly toward the door and opening it.

Light burst in, and Zoe squinted at the surreal, almost ghostly silhouette of his figure—a tall, slender form draped in a black trench coat that hid his lowered head.

“Farewell, Miss Zoe Nolan.”

Her cheeks flamed red as she thought bitterly, Who in their right mind would bid farewell to you?

She quickly donned her coat, slung her bag over her shoulder, and left the room. As she reached the club’s grand lobby, a distant cry for help reached her ears.

Straining to listen, she caught the sound of a man with black-framed glasses pushing through a door and hurrying toward her. From afar he called out, “Sister-in-law, are you all right?”

The man was Derek—owner of the hotel and club, and a longtime right-hand man of Shane—who naturally treated Zoe with the utmost deference.

“Huh? What happened?” Zoe asked, her wide, innocent eyes filled with bewilderment.

Derek paused, confused. He’d been at the main hotel when he noticed two unfamiliar servers lingering nearby—staff he’d personally interviewed, whose faces were completely unknown to him.

Then it struck him: Zoe was scheduled to come to the annex club today, and Ethan—Shane’s bitter rival—was also here.

A chill of foreboding ran down his spine. There were too many people scheming against Shane, and he had only one vulnerable spot—Zoe—and one troublesome adversary, Ethan.

Alarmed, Derek rushed over.

At that moment, he noticed Zoe’s cheeks were flushed and anxiously asked, “Sister-in-law, were you hit?”

“No, I’m fine,” Zoe replied, rubbing her face. “Who would dare hit me? My teeth hurt—I even ended up hitting myself.”

Knowing her delicate health, Derek said, “It’s freezing out there; let me take you home.”

Zoe agreed.

Then, suddenly, a massive crash erupted outside—like an explosion.

Derek immediately shielded her behind him.

Zoe glanced at her watch—5:27:41—and, pushing her hand aside, bolted out. The sound was sharp yet dull, unmistakably the crash of something striking a cement floor.

Barely had she stepped outside when she heard a piercing scream:

“Ah!”

“THE BRIDE JUST JUMPED!!!”

Derek rushed to the doorway as his phone buzzed. He glanced at it, then stepped back and closed the door, shutting out the chaos. “Brother, I saw her. Sister-in-law’s okay.”

After a brief pause, a deep, solemn voice responded, “What did she say? Describe her expression, her appearance, her clothes.”

Derek recounted every detail, his voice trembling with fear: “Thank goodness she’s alright.” Then he hesitated before adding, “Brother, I suspect someone is trying to drive a wedge between you and Ethan. With what happened to your wife, aren’t you going to go after Ethan with everything you’ve got? I think they’re trying to use him against you.”

Shane said nothing.

Derek thought to himself—Zoe clearly knew exactly what had happened, so she pretended nothing was wrong—and couldn’t help but exclaim, “Brother, sister-in-law is truly amazing.”

Shane replied coolly, “Who’s amazing, anyway?”

“Watch your mouth,” Derek quickly corrected, “Brother, she really is wonderful—smart, understanding, and protective of you.”

“You said it,” Shane replied as he was about to hang up, when Derek hurriedly shouted, “Brother, that woman who jumped—she just did it now!”

“Is that connected to me?” The call ended abruptly.

…

Zoe removed her headset and dialed 911, then raced toward the scene.

Between the club and the hotel lay a neatly kept lawn and a parking lot.

Carrying her bag, she dashed back and forth among the vehicles, reported the incident to the police, and then called her colleague, Kayla Quinn, saying, “The police are on their way—hurry up, or everyone will know you left your post today.”

Looking up, she noticed that directly above the scene, only one window on the hotel’s seventh floor was open.

A small group of people had formed a circle, shouting in panic, though thankfully no one dared approach.

When Zoe arrived, she found a bride in a wedding dress lying in a twisted heap in a pool of blood. Her pristine, flowing gown was spread out like a blooming flower, with splatters of red resembling tiny, delicate blossoms in a snowy field.

Kneeling beside the body, Zoe’s heart sank. At the junction where the temporal and occipital bones met, the victim’s skull was nearly flattened. Shattered fragments pressed the scalp into jagged points that threatened to pierce through.

The woman was still alive—her mouth quivered, blood bubbling from her lips, her hands clawing at herself in spasms, her entire body convulsing like a snake in painful t****l.

“What did you say?” Zoe knelt and leaned in close, but all she could hear was the howling wind.

Tears filled the injured woman’s eyes; her mouth opened and closed in silent agony.

The metallic scent of blood filled the air. Zoe exhaled shakily, asking, “Did someone push you, or did you...?”

“Jasmine!” A man’s urgent cry cut her off.

Zoe looked up. A man in a crisp white suit—handsome, tall, and unmistakably the groom for today—rushed over. This was Spencer Sterling, the young boss of the Wallace Group.

The victim’s name was Jasmine? But Jasmine wasn’t supposed to be the bride today—she was Spencer Sterling’s ex-girlfriend. Then, why was she wearing a wedding dress?

When Zoe looked back, Jasmine’s eyes were already vacant, and the blood at the corner of her mouth had congealed.

Without hesitation, Zoe checked for a pulse, a heartbeat, and for any sign of life in her eyes—she was dead.

“Jasmine!” Spencer Sterling cried, overcome with grief, charging toward her.

“Don’t come any closer!” Zoe immediately sprang up and stepped between him and the scene. “Stay back until the police arrive.”

Spencer halted abruptly, his gaze shifting to her face as he narrowed his eyes and asked, “Who are you?”

Zoe recoiled slightly, her instincts of resistance and fear rising, yet she reminded herself that this was her job. No matter how frightened she felt, she couldn’t afford to appear incompetent.

After a brief moment of steeling herself, she raised her dark eyes and said firmly, “I’m a forensic pathologist. The person is dead—you must not interfere with the crime scene. It’s not in your best interest. Please wait for the police.”

A curious glimmer flashed in Spencer’s eyes. “Alright, I’ll cooperate with your work.”

“And what was your relationship with the deceased?”

“She was my ex-girlfriend. I still had feelings for her, but I never expected her to do something like this. It was utterly foolish.”

Before Zoe could ask another question, a casual voice from behind remarked, “You seem to know she committed suicide.”

Both of them froze for a moment.

Zoe turned around.

There, in a black trench coat, a man crouched calmly in the drizzling rain, studying the body. His gray scarf concealed his jaw, and the wind tossed his hair, revealing only his high, prominent nose. He picked up a pen and gently lifted one of Jasmine’s fingers.

Zoe frowned. “I’m sorry—please don’t…”

“It’s alright,” he replied, intently examining the dead woman’s finger.

Flushing with embarrassment, Zoe stammered, “Please, don’t just touch the body carelessly.”

“I’m not being careless—I’m being very meticulous.” He didn’t look at her; instead, he lowered his head, squinting as he studied the tiny crevices between Jasmine’s fingers.

“Who... who are you?” she demanded.