Brandon turned toward Luna, his voice sharp but strangely tired.
"Speak."
Nobody expected her to suddenly break down.
"Waaah—Dad… you don't believe me?"
Right then, someone knocked.
Lin stepped inside.
"Lord, this was delivered just now. They said it must be handed to you directly."
"Give it."
He ripped the bag open. A stack of photos slid out—cold, heavy, too many.
As he flipped through them, his expression darkened until it felt like the whole room dimmed with him.
He stood abruptly.
Smack.
His hand struck Luna, sending her stumbling to the floor, more stunned than hurt.
"Dad…" Her voice trembled.
Marina rushed in and helped her up, panic rising in her tone.
"Brandon, what are you doing?"
"What am I doing? Look at these—look at the people your daughter spends time with!"
Photos were scattered across the floor.
Luna and Marina hurried to grab them.
The images showed Luna surrounded by rough-looking men—guys who radiated trouble even in still shots.
And among them… fake-looking photos of Anya, bound with rope. Staged or not, they left a bitter taste.
Luna's face went pale.
"No—Dad, they're edited! Someone framed me!"
Marina glared sharply at Anya.
"This must be her idea! She must've had someone fabricate these to frame Lunlun! My daughter would never mix with such people!"
"You think I can't tell what's fake?"
Brandon's voice cut through the room.
Marina fell silent immediately.
A man like him—someone who clawed his way up the Ye family—would never be fooled by cheap tricks.
"From today on, Luna stays home except for school. Two months. And her allowance—cut in half for half a year."
Luna burst into tears again, this time wounded and humiliated.
Marina cried along, clinging to her daughter.
Anya watched quietly, expression unreadable. She just raised an eyebrow, like she was watching a show she already knew the ending to.
But when her eyes drifted to the photos again, a shadow of thought passed through them.
Who sent these—and why now?
To Brandon, Luna simply befriended the wrong crowd and dragged Anya along.
A punishment. End of story.
But to Luna—this was the harshest treatment she'd ever received.
Her father had struck her for the first time.
Even softened, it still cut deep.
Her resentment turned sharp—aimed at Anya like a blade.
Marina shot Anya one last glare before leading Luna out.
When they were gone, only Brandon and Anya remained.
Silence without comfort.
"Anya," he finally said, "I acted rashly. I wronged you. Don't take it to heart. We're family. Your sister didn't mean it.
And you—be more careful. Staying out overnight damages your reputation. Come home if anything happens."
Ah. There it was—the real lecture.
Anya's lips curved faintly.
"Would you rather I brought my dead body home instead?"
Brandon froze, then scowled.
Anya glanced at the photos once more.
"I'm returning to my room."
He watched her leave—her back straight, almost too steady.
His fist struck the desk.
His gaze moved to the dagger lying there.
He remembered earlier—how she didn't even blink when he pulled it out. Not fear. Not even surprise.
It bothered him.
Back in her room, Anya opened her palm.
A photo lay there—the one she had quietly taken without anyone noticing.
It showed Luna with those shady men.
Her expression cooled.
So that man was responsible for the original owner's death.
But the sender of the photos…
Who?
A face crossed her mind.
Could it be… him?
Violet Garden
"Master, the delivery is complete,"
said Luke, dressed in his impeccable tailcoat, bowing with practiced precision.
Before Ethan, a floating 3D holographic screen displayed every piece of data on a schoolgirl—uniform, records, footage.
He nodded, sipping coffee, though his gaze never left the screen.
"The way she is now… nothing like this profile."
According to the data, Anya, aside from her Ye family background, was completely unremarkable.
Bottom of the academic ranking.
Poor in sports.
Repeated failed classes.
A disaster, academically speaking.
Yet Ethan felt something beneath the surface—something that didn't fit.
"Luke. Purple Star Academy starts in two days, right?"
"Yes, Master."
Ethan drummed his fingers on the table, rhythm uneven.
"Good. You'll come with me. I plan to discuss sponsoring an on-campus research institute."
Luke understood immediately this wasn't philanthropy.
Still, he bowed.
"Yes. I'll handle it."
Ethan thought back to how Anya walked away that day—calm, indifferent.
He clicked his tongue, frustrated, and lit a cigarette.
Smoke curled upward, forming soft spirals.
He wanted to see her again.
He tried to dismiss it, but the thought stayed.
Ethan leaned back, legs crossed casually, eyes narrowing.
"Anya… what kind of person are you?"
Unaware that someone like Ethan had taken an interest in her, Anya continued looking through the original owner's belongings.
Her phone buzzed.
A message:
Come out. Left corridor. Now.
Anya let out a cold, soft laugh.
Fine.
The left corridor was narrow, dim, and unused at this hour.
Most people in the house were already asleep.
She flipped the light switch.
Broken.
Darkness pressed close.
A sharp inhale sounded behind her.
She dodged instinctively—
A heavy object swung past where her head had been.
A silhouette.
Luna.
And in her hands—
a metal rod, raised for another strike.