Certainly! Here is your culturally localized English adaptation, following your guidelines:


    "What is it that I want to know?"


    Giselle hesitated for a moment before clicking into the message. The file was extensive, packed with written details—and photos.


    By the time she''d scrolled through everything, her face had gone ghostly pale. Her grip on her phone was so tight it looked as though she might shatter the


    screen.


    This was exactly what she''d wanted to know.


    Every detail from seven years ago, all the secrets and tangled history between Lysander, M, and Forrest during her time abroad-it was allid out, stark and undeniable.


    She didn''t know who sent the information, but it matched her own research, only with even more excruciating detail.


    Almost all of it was true.


    So...


    "You lied to me."


    Her voice was barely a whisper. "Lysander, you actually lied to me."


    The words had barely left her lips before she snapped. The phone flew from her hand and smashed into the wall, the screen exploding in a spray of ss.


    But even that didn''te close to quelling the rage inside her.


    Like a woman possessed, Giselle tore through the room, ripping and smashing everything within reach. Her eyes were bloodshot, burning with venom and hysteria.


    "Lysander! How dare you lie to me!"


    When her fury finally burned itself out, Giselle copsed onto the floor amidst the wreckage, gasping for breath. One trembling hand covered her face as she sobbed, her shoulders shaking. When she finally looked up, there was nothing left in her eyes but manic madness.


    If you all want to make my life hell, then don''t think you''ll get away unscathed.


    No one will have it easy.


    With hands still shaking in anger, she rummaged through the mess and found her backup phone. She took a screenshot of one of the photos from her inbox, sent it to M, and typed a message.


    "Want to know who the person in this photo is?"


    "Come to this address tomorrow and meet me. Come alone-Harvey."


    The next day-Bamboo Grove, art studio.


    M was teaching Julian how to paint when her phone buzzed unexpectedly.


    She nced at it, her expression shifting. On the screen was a photo of a pair of hands bruised, battered, the bones clearly broken. Along with it, a message.


    The sender''sst name was Harvey?


    Giselle Harvey?


    The only Harveys M knew were the Harvey family, and she doubted the parents would contact her this way. That left only Giselle.


    But why would Giselle send her something like this?


    Staring at the photo, M felt a knot twist in her stomach. Whoever owned those


    ruined hands, Giselle had sent it for a reason-it had to be someone connected to her.


    Someone important.


    Who could it be?


    She immediately dialed Giselle''s number, but there was no answer.


    She called again, and again—each time the call was declined. It was clear Giselle would only talk face to face.


    Should she go?


    The next day.


    A quiet café in Kingsford.


    Giselle sat alone in a private booth, a single cup of coffee on the table, along with


    a stack of printed documents and photos.


    The appointed time came and went, but her guest hadn''t arrived. Giselle waited calmly. She was certain M would show up.


    Sure enough, ten minutester, the door swung open. M stepped in, wearing a wide-brimmed brown hat. Howard followed close on her heels.


    Giselle quickly covered the photos and said coldly, "I told you toe alone."


    "You''re lucky I came at all," M replied, settling into the seat across from her, face expressionless. "What do you want me to see?"


    Given everything she was facing and considering it was Giselle who''d summoned her-there was no way she''de alone.


    "Wait outside," Giselle said to Howard.


    He stood his ground until M gave a small nod. Only then did he quietly slip from the room, shutting the door behind him.


    Silence settled over the booth.


    M''s gazended on the documents. "Is that it?"


    Giselle didn''t slide them over right away. Instead, she just stared at M''s face, then suddenly let out a coldugh, her eyes sharp with hatred and contempt.


    "M, just who do you think you are?"


    M frowned, not understanding what fresh madness Giselle was on about. She started to get up. "If you''re not going to talk, I''m leaving."


    Giselle watched her for a long moment before sneering and shoving the documents across the table.


    "You know, M, sometimes I think you''re just pitiful."


    She tossed out the words, then turned and walked out without another nce, leaving M alone in the booth.


    What the hell was that about?


    M was baffled, but she didn''t dwell on it. She reached for the stack of papers and flipped through them. By the time she reached the end, her hands were shaking so badly she could barely hold them. Her face had drained of all color.


    She didn''t want to believe it.


    Giselle had to be lying-could anything from that woman be trusted?


    But... what if it was true?


    M braced her elbows on the table and buried her face in her hands. Tears leaked uncontrobly through her fingers.


    She had lived through all of this.


    All the confusion, all the shame and pain from seven years ago-now, every tangled memory was strung together by the contents of these files.