Chapter 5

Yolanda Vance's POV

"Mr. Foster, you can't hesitate!" the spiritualist urgently pressed, seeing Julian hesitate. "This cursed object is steeped in malevolent power. If you don't smash it today to break the curse, you will be shrouded in this woman's shadow for the rest of your life, never able to stand tall!"

"Shrouded in this woman's shadow for the rest of your life." These words became the final straw that broke the camel's back.

Looking at me kneeling on the ground, begging him, Julian Foster's eyes instantly turned bloodshot.

"Yolanda Vance, you brought this on yourself!"

Julian Foster raised the red sandalwood box high and, over Yolanda's desperate screams, slammed it down onto the hard marble floor with all his might.

Crash!

The wooden box shattered into pieces.

Ash-gray powder burst out in an instant, scattering all over the floor.

The French windows weren't fully closed, and a gust of night wind happened to blow in from outside. The wind whipped up the light ashes from the floor, like a bleak gray snowfall in the air, before scattering them out of the window to vanish into the endless black night.

"No... please no... Dad, Mom..."

I threw myself onto the floor like a madwoman. Ignoring the wooden splinters piercing my palms, I desperately tried to gather the remaining powder with both hands. But the more I tried to scoop it up, the faster the ashes slipped through my fingers.

My palms were bloodied from the splinters, the fresh blood mixing with the ashes in a horrifying sight.

"Ah!!!"

I let out a wail like a dying beast—shrill, despairing, echoing through the entire villa. Even the bodyguards present couldn't help but shudder.

Kneeling amidst the wreckage, my tears had run dry, leaving only hollow, bloodshot eyes. Slowly, I lifted my head and locked my gaze onto Julian Foster.

"Julian Foster," my voice was raspy, like sandpaper scraping together, each word dripping with venom. "I, Yolanda Vance, swear to heaven today that I will hate you for the rest of my life. As long as I have a single breath left, I will make you pay this blood debt. I will ruin your reputation and make your life a living hell!"

Meeting my eyes, a flicker of panic flashed across Julian Foster's face.

"Let's go!" Julian Foster gritted his teeth, forcing down the panic in his chest, and fled in a hurry with his lackeys as if a ghost were chasing them.

Dead silence fell over the villa once more.

Kneeling on the floor, I carefully gathered the very last trace of ashes into my arms, pressing them against my chest. I didn't cry anymore. The vulnerability and grief in my eyes had vanished completely, replaced by a bone-chilling intent to kill.

I pulled out my phone and dialed a number.

The phone rang three times before it was picked up, and a lazy, deep, and slightly mocking male voice came through. "What a rare guest. What brings you to call me? Did that useless Julian Foster finally let you off your leash?"

Zachary Cole. A billionaire, the helm of an entertainment empire, and Julian Foster's most hated rival.

"Zachary." My voice was dead calm, devoid of any emotion. "Do you want to completely bring down Julian Foster?"

There was a two-second silence on the other end, followed by a low chuckle. "Oh? It seems Ms. Vance has finally seen through that loser's facade. What's this, want to partner with me?"

"Yes." I looked down at the blood on the floor. "I want him destroyed."

"Alright, you have a deal," Zachary agreed without a second thought. "Where are you? I'll send someone to pick you up."

Julian Foster's POV

I returned to Anna Sterling's apartment. Anna was already awake, clingily wrapping herself around me and begging for a hug.

Yet, as Anna's soft body pressed against mine, an inexplicable wave of irritation and disgust washed over me. My mind kept replaying the image of Yolanda kneeling on the ground with blood all over her hands, and her words: "I will hate you for the rest of my life."

"Julian, what's wrong? I want you..." Anna's hand began to wander down suggestively.

"Stop it! I have things to do!" I shoved her away, grabbed my car keys, and headed straight out.

I had to go see Yolanda. I told myself I was only going to warn her not to talk, to check if she was dead or alive.

The Maybach sped through the streets, returning to the trashed villa.

I pushed open the door and stormed into the bedroom. "Yolanda!"

No response.

The wreckage remained, and the blood on the floor had dried into a dark red. But the woman who had been kneeling there weeping in despair was gone.

Not only was she gone, but all of Yolanda's documents and clothes had vanished without a trace.

A cold wind swept through, leaving only my ragged breathing echoing in the empty room.

An immense, indescribable panic flooded in like a tidal wave, completely engulfing me.

Yolanda was really gone.