“Easy for you to say! You drove Chloe to online harassment for a whole year! She fell into depression, crying herself to sleep every night!”
I sneered. Chloe had flaunted herself on Twitter—one moment bragging about her fling with New York’s wealthy heir, the next showing off as a top researcher in a national institute, basking in adoration.
How else could people have exposed her so quickly once I reported her?
Chloe collapsed against Ethan’s shoulder, sobbing pitifully. The cry of his childhood sweetheart pulled at his heart, draining his patience.
“This toy mask is my final courtesy to you. See for yourself—do you wear it, or give it to your mom? If putting on a clownish mask can amuse Chloe, then your deaths will have meaning.”
Time was running out—Margaret had already been without oxygen for several minutes.
I couldn’t hesitate anymore. I grabbed the toy mask and rushed into the chamber.
Margaret lay weakly on the floor. Her eyes lit up when she saw me. But when her gaze fell on the mask in my hand, she propped herself up and slapped me hard across the face.
“You wretch! I told you to get me a gas mask, and you bring me a toy? Are you trying to kill me? Did you hide the real one?”