Chapter 7

Sophia POV

Evacuation countdown. Final day.

Adrian came to the psychiatric hospital. A rare visit.

He wore a perfectly tailored silver-gray suit. His hair was immaculate. He looked like a victor. Like a man who had already won everything.

Tomorrow was Vivian's global launch for her perfume brand, "First Snow." And the celebration banquet for Blackwell Corporation's complete takeover of the Sterling family assets.

The hospital room door opened. Adrian looked down at me sitting in a wheelchair.

I wore an oversized hospital gown, thin as a skeleton. My once vibrant face was now pale as paper, eyes vacant and dull, right hand hanging limply at my side like a lifeless rag doll.

I didn't know what he was thinking, but he quickly suppressed any extraneous emotion.

"Sophia." He walked over, crouched down, and tried to take my hand.

I didn't dodge, just looked at him woodenly, as if looking at a stranger.

"Tomorrow is Vivian's launch event. Once everything settles, I'll bring you home." Adrian's voice was soft, carrying a false tenderness. "I'll find you the best doctors, heal your hand, cure your illness. We'll start over, okay?"

Start over?

I laughed coldly inside. Grind me into the mud, drain my blood, then condescend to say "start over"?

I slowly raised my head, pretending those dead eyes suddenly held a flicker of light. I looked at Adrian, the corners of my mouth curving into an extremely faint smile.

"Okay." My voice was hoarse like sandpaper scraping. "I'll wait for you... to take me home."

That word, that smile. It seemed to instantly relax Adrian's tense nerves.

He thought I'd finally accepted my fate, finally been completely tamed by him.

"Good girl." He satisfactorily reached out to stroke my hair. "After tomorrow, you'll still be the distinguished CEO's wife."

Adrian stood and turned to leave. He walked so decisively, steps light, never looking back once, eager to embrace his bright future.

The moment the hospital room door closed again.

Click. That soft sound seemed to sever the last thread of pretense.

The wooden submission on my face vanished instantly, replaced by bone-chilling coldness and determination.

I stood up, flexing my stiff joints. My bones made faint cracking sounds.

Tonight was destined to be a sleepless night.

At 2 a.m., the psychiatric hospital corridor was silent except for occasional patient murmurs and the footsteps of nurses on duty.

I moved like a ghost along the walls, precisely avoiding every surveillance camera blind spot, slipping silently into the medication room at the end of the corridor.

I mixed several highly volatile and flammable chemical agents in specific proportions, my movements without a moment's hesitation.

I built a simple delayed bomb and snuck into the records room.

I wedged it into the back of the ventilation shaft, where years of dry paper records had piled up.

Once lit, the fire would race through the ducts. It would erase every trace of me and throw the place into chaos.

When I was done, I followed the same path back to my room.

I took off my wedding ring and placed it on the bedside table next to the suicide note I'd written long ago. Both neatly laid out.

The note contained only one sentence.

"Adrian, I'm giving your life back to you. May you two torment each other forever. May you never find peace."

I read the words, and the corner of my mouth twitched.

At 3 a.m., the night was pitch black.

A low, deep rumble approached from the distance, breaking the dead silence.

The sound of helicopter rotors.

The Abyss Project extraction team had arrived.