Yulia jumped to argue, but Victoria closed her eyes briefly and spoke, her voice calm but cold. "My father is gone. I''m sorry, everyone, but that''s the end of this meeting. I have to go collect his ashes. The burial is tomorrow, and I hope you''ll alle to say goodbye."


    Just moments ago, Yulia had been shouting, but the news that Simms had already been cremated hit her like a blow to the head. For a second, the world spun out of control.


    Violet hadn''t even processed what was happening before she and Yulia were quietly escorted out of Golden Era Enterprises.


    "It''s over. Everything''s ruined. Damn that woman, Victoria."


    Yulia never imagined Victoria would pull something like this-cremating Simms before anyone had a chance to say goodbye or even see his body.


    With the remains gone, even a paternity test would be useless. As long as Victoria, the "biological daughter," refused to acknowledge any such test, no one could ever prove that Violet was actually Simms''s daughter.


    "Why do you say it''s over? We can''t just let this go."


    A bitter, poisonous glint shed in Violet''s eyes.


    Yulia looked defeated, hollowed out. "What else can we do? There''s nothing left."


    She saw no future for herself anymore.


    "We dealt with Simms. We can deal with Victoria the same way."


    If Simms could die, why not Victoria? Anyone who stood in the way of Violet and her mother deserved to be eliminated.


    Yulia''s eyes brightened with cruel hope. "You mean—?”


    Violet was about to answer when a police cruiser pulled up. Several uniformed officers stepped out, shing their badges as they approached.


    "Are you Violet and Yulia Marchand?"


    Both women felt a chill run through them.


    "You''re involved in a homicide investigation. Pleasee with us to assist in our inquiries."


    "No, that''s impossible-Simms is dead! He''s already been cremated. What does this have to do with me?" Violet blurted out.


    The officers exchanged a look, their expressions oddly amused. "Who said this was about Simms? Ms. Marchand, we''ll need you toe with us."


    Violet tried to stand her ground, but she had no choice. The officers were already leading her and Yulia away.


    Her legs felt like jelly. If both she and Yulia were locked up, there''d be no one left to bail them out.


    "Why are you arresting me?" she demanded, but no one answered.


    "You''ll find out soon enough. You have the right to remain silent, and if you have awyer, you may contact them," one of the officers said curtly.


    Both Violet and Yulia were taken away.


    Later that evening, two female detectives entered the holding room. One of them nced at her file and looked up at Violet.


    "Ms. Marchand, we''d like you to rify something. Two years ago, there was a hit-and-run ident. Surveince coverage was


    iplete at the time, so the culprit wasn''t found. But now someone hase forward with the vehicle''s make and license te. The car was registered to you, Ms. Marchand."


    The words hit Violet like a bomb. The memory from two years ago crashed over


    her in a tidal wave.


    That night, she''d been


    drinking-celebrating her rekindled rtionship with McNeil, who''d just bought her a house on Winding Peak Lane. She''d gone out with friends, gotten drunk, and drove straight into another car. She wasn''t hurt, but she panicked and abandoned the scene. The couple in the other car died instantly. There''d even been a little boy in the back seat.


    Back then, emboldened by her affair with McNeil, she''d dropped his name everywhere, iming to be Mr. Langford''s girlfriend. She paid people off to cover


    up the ident. She never thought, after all this time, it woulde back to haunt her.


    "No, it wasn''t me," she insisted, thinking denial would save her.


    The two detectives exchanged a nce. "That''s not the only issue. Mr. Simms''s death is also being investigated. The driver has confessed to being hired tomit and


    murder and has identified you


    your aunt, Yulia, as the ones who


    paid him. What do you have to say about that?"


    Violet was stunned. That driver had agreed to take the fall for a hefty sum-she''d promised him a fortune if he kept his mouth shut. Now, out of nowhere, he''d betrayed her.


    She was at a loss for words. She knew she was guilty; she knew exactly what she''d done.


    It all happened so fast-she didn''t even have time to get her story straight with Yulia before they were separated for questioning. Their stories didn''t match at all, which only made the police more suspicious.


    "Sorry, Ms. Marchand. You''ll have to remain here for now," said one of the detectives.


    She was now an official suspect. The authorities only needed to gather enough evidence to indict her.


    Violet copsed, utterly defeated. As she was led away in handcuffs, a look of despair and pathetic pleading twisted across her face.


    "I want to see McNeil-Mr. Langford. Please, could you let him know? I need to see him."


    McNeil he was herst hope.


    "That''s not our responsibility," one officer replied coldly.


    The iron door mmed shut. Violet rattled it, her voice rising to a shriek.


    "I need to see McNeil! Let me see him! It''s all his fault-if it weren''t for wanting to


    marry him, I wouldn''t be in this mess. Bring him here! Let me see McNeil!"


    She shook the bars in a frenzy, but no one came. Onlyughter echoed in the corridor.


    "If you ask me," one officer muttered, "Violet Marchand''s lost her mind. So young, and already so ruthless-killed two people in a hit-and-run, hired a killer... Any one of those charges could put her away for life."