Medical Center. Late Night. Parking Lot.
Adam stared at this journalist, so proud of her accomplishments, and couldn't help but feel a mix of awe and amusement.
Her story was pretty straightforward—straight out of a classic American sweetheart movie playbook.
Born in Brooklyn, New York, she studied journalism at NYU. During a holiday, she tagged along with her rich bestie to vacation in England.
By sheer luck, she stumbled across a note left by a famous reporter who'd keeled over from a heart attack.
And the note? Total bombshell.
Turns out, this reporter had uncovered a massive story: the identity of the Tarot Card serial killer.
And it wasn't just anyone.
It was Peter Lehman—son of Baron Lehman, respected businessman, and a rising star in politics lately.
The contrast, the scandal—if this broke, it'd shake the world and shower the reporting journalist with glory.
A Pulitzer Prize? Practically hers for the taking.
Too bad that famous reporter had a coronary thrombosis. The excitement literally blew him up—dead on the spot.
As a journalism student, Sandra got her hands on that note and freaked out in the best way. Most people would either hand it to the cops or toss it, but this American sweetheart? Nope—she dove headfirst into tracking down this insanely dangerous suspect.
Because, as they say, it's not just nonsense—it's drama.
Without solid proof, you can't slander the son of a baron, a successful businessman, and a political hotshot. The fallout would be brutal.
Sandra, with her journalism smarts, knew this. So she kicked off her evidence-hunting adventure.
Normally, someone like Peter Lehman would be untouchable.
But thankfully, her handy-dandy rich bestie's family gave her the hookup she needed.
When she learned Peter swam every day at the fancy Governor's Club—a private, high-end spot—Sandra begged her bestie to get her in. She wanted to stage a "chance" meeting.
Her loyal bestie came through, no questions asked.
So Sandra waltzed into the Governor's Club, scoped out Peter Lehman mid-swim, and pulled off a hilariously bad "drowning damsel" act, followed by a heroic rescue.
Good thing she was drop-dead gorgeous with a killer figure.
Peter Lehman? Just your average guy. Her looks and curves hooked him instantly—his brain didn't stand a chance with all that blood rushing elsewhere.
He invited her to his massive estate right then and there—to "enjoy the charming English countryside and breathe the sweet, aristocratic air."
Peter was already a total hottie, plus that family background? And she needed to get close to the Lehman estate for her investigation.
Sandra said yes without a second thought.
Once she got there, the sprawling manor blew her away. Peter led her through a crowd of elegantly dressed elites, then into a stunning garden. After some deep talks about art and life, Sandra—born to a regular family—fell hard for this dreamlike vibe she'd always craved.
In that moment, she was sure she'd fallen for her Prince Charming, Peter Lehman.
And that famous reporter? Had to be wrong. How could this charming, handsome, loaded guy with a bright future be the Tarot Card killer? No way.
So, she jumped into dating him, bold as you please.
Those days?
Dating a noble? She was drunk on it.
But little details from their time together started nagging at her, reminding her of why she was there.
Like Zhou Shuren once said: "When you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back."
Sandra was just an ordinary journalism student—not some razor-sharp Black Widow like her counterpart. It didn't take long for Peter to catch on to her snooping.
By now, Peter wasn't the same guy who'd been totally distracted by Sandra's red swimsuit.
His brain was back online, and he'd figured out her game.
So, one afternoon, he invited her to go boating on the lake.
Ugh.
Yeah, a noble estate so fancy it's got its own private lake.
Adam and his "new money" crew got sneered at by these "old money" types for a reason. When it came to family legacy and personal indulgence, there was no comparison.
Out in the middle of the lake, Sandra was still clueless—giggling and flirting with Peter, all smiles.
In her eyes, until he was proven guilty, Peter was still her Prince Charming. Suspicion? No biggie.
But then Peter dropped the act and laid it all out.
"Life's so ironic and tragic," he said, looking at her sweet smile with a sad expression. "I saved you from drowning in the pool, we had some great times together, and now here we are again—you're about to drown all over again."
"What?!"
Sandra's grin vanished.
"I know you're investigating me," Peter said, shrugging. "You probably figured out I killed Betty—you know, the one people say doesn't deserve to be cosplayed as Justice Audrey. I'm cornered now.
At first, I hid who I was. But she was too captivating. We met up tons over the years.
Then she found out who I really was.
And she wouldn't stop demanding stuff.
I'm the son of Baron Lehman, a successful businessman, a rising politician—I couldn't let some girl keep blackmailing me forever, right?
So I studied the Tarot Card murders, rehearsed a plan, copied the killer's style, and took out Betty.
Problem is, it was my first time. I left a unique cufflink at the scene.
My ex-private secretary found it.
She tried to blackmail me too, even threatened to call a lawyer. So I slipped poison in her coffee and took care of her.
And now, you're about to tragically drown in a boating accident.
I'm starting to get why serial killers can't stop once they start."
Ignoring Sandra's pleas and threats, he shoved her off the boat, watched her flail, and rowed away.
Back at the estate, he called the police, spinning it as an unfortunate accident—a girl who couldn't swim.
But then, like some freaking mermaid, a soaking-wet Sandra strolled out, grinning at a stunned Peter. "Surprise! I was faking it. I'm actually the captain of the Brooklyn Community Swim Team."
Ugh.
If she'd added a "Surprise, motherf—!" it'd have been comedy gold, but the effect was still decent.
The cops, guided by some mysterious force, fought the urge to just shoot Sandra on the spot and arrested Peter Lehman instead.
Thanks to that exclusive scoop, Sandra's name blew up. Back in New York, fresh out of college, she landed a gig at the famous Daily Bugle.
Classic happy ending, right? 😎
Adam had read the story, sure, but he'd never connected the reporter's name to that Black Widow face.
So here's the million-dollar question:
What the heck did Sandra want with him now?
(End of Chapter)