?Chapter 1432:


    Meanwhile, a restroom in Wront Central Hospitaly in suffocating quiet. Only the faint, rhythmic drip of a half-closed faucet disturbed the stillness.


    Rosanna clutched the cold edge of the sink, her legs heavy as stone. She wavered, nearly buckling, before forcing herself upright.


    The mirror was cracked, fine lines spidering outward, gleaming sharply under the harsh white light. She lifted her head — but the instant her eyes met the mirror, she recoiled. She couldn’t bear to face herself. In those jagged shards, her reflection was no longer a single face but a collection of warped, broken women. All of them her. A gallery of grotesqueries. Puffed cheeks. Purple bruises. Hair in wild disarray. She looked like something the world had discarded.


    A warm drop hit the spotless tiles. A bloom of red spread outward. It dripped from her right hand — knuckles split, skin torn, blood still fresh. The price of hammering her fist into the mirror again and again. The pain barely registered.


    Her breath quickened, rough and uneven. Her mind shed with chaos.


    The banquet hall. The lights. And that man — Ss, the celebrated actor. He was the cause of everything. That bastard had destroyed the face she had once taken pride in.


    But why?


    Rosanna dug her fingers into her hair, nails scraping her scalp. She tried to remember, tried to make sense of it, but her thoughts were a tangled snarl. Each time she edged close to the truth, a sharp, blinding pain shot through her skull. Without her realizing it, grief and terror had triggered her mind’s emergency response — severing the connections to memories too unbearable to confront.


    Yet her chest still throbbed, as if something had been violently torn away. A hollow ache bloomed inside her, so fragile that a breeze could shatter her.


    “Ss Court,” she hissed at the shattered reflection. “You won’t get away with this.”


    Hatred took root and surged like wildfire. Then a sudden sting red across her cheek, and a door in her memory creaked open. She remembered Maia — the vile woman who had pped her in public. The crack of that blow still rang in her ears. Every degrading word was carved into her heart like iron spikes.


    Rage consumed her in an instant, burning away thest trace of reason.


    “Cough… cough…” The violent rush of emotion worsened her injuries. Rosanna doubled over, coughing hard. A metallic tang filled her mouth, and she coughed up multiple spurts of blood that sshed bright against the sink. She stared at the crimson smear and abruptlyughed — the sound rough and raw.


    ??????lо?? ??? o? ??al????v??????.??o??


    “You all want me dead,” she rasped.


    She lifted her head, a wild, feral glint reflected in her eyes. “But too bad. I’m not that easy to kill. What doesn’t crush me only makes me stronger.” Laughter and tears tangled together as she unraveled — a woman standing at the very edge of madness.


    She had no idea how long she had been in that restroom when a knock broke through the silence.


    “Someone in there? I really need to use the restroom!” A man’s urgent voice called from the other side of the door.


    Rosanna smothered herughter and clenched her jaw. Hatred flooded her veins, giving her just enough strength to push past the tearing pain in her body. She straightened her clothes and moved toward the door, one unsteady step at a time. Her hand closed over the knob and turned it.


    The door swung open.


    A middle-aged man in a hospital gown stood outside, one hand pressed to his stomach in impatience. But the moment he saw her — mangled, bruised, a figure twisted into something monstrous — his eyes went wide with terror.


    “Holy—” His scream ricocheted down the corridor. “A ghost! There’s a ghost in there!”


    .


    .


    .