Chapter 1115:

🍙 🍙 🍙 🍙 🍙

Vincent’s face remained impassive, his stare growing even more detached—as if he were looking at a mere nuisance. His reply came slowly, each word sinking like ice. “Go ahead. Take the risk. Another body won’t save you; it’ll only make your sentence worse.”

Danica seized the chance to cry and plead. “Vera, please! Calm down! I’ve always treated you well, so let me go! I’ll give you anything you want. Please don’t hurt me. I’m begging you!”

Vera’s rage flared. “Be quiet! All of you are plotting against me! Every one of you wants me dead!” She pressed the blade harder against Danica’s throat as her panic spiraled. The cut along Danica’s neck deepened, and her fear became so overwhelming she looked moments from fainting.

While everyone’s attention remained fixed on Vera, Hannah—watching with steady calm—stepped back slightly. She grabbed an apple from the table and snapped her arm forward, sending it flying toward Vera’s wrist with perfect precision.

The impact caught Vera completely off guard. She cried out as pain shot through her arm, her grip loosening long enough for Danica to wrench herself free.

𝖰𝗎𝖺𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗒 𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗌𝗅𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝗈𝗇 𝗀𝖺𝗅𝗇𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗅𝗌.𝖼𝗈𝗆

The two female officers reacted instantly. “Restrain her!” They moved in, cuffed Vera’s hands behind her back, and dragged her out of the hall.

Hannah let out a slow breath of relief. She turned instinctively toward Vincent, and their eyes locked.

He stood there watching her, his expression unreadable—as if he had been observing her for far longer than she realized, or perhaps as if he had only just turned to look.

Uneasy beneath the weight of his stare, Hannah looked away.

A long stretch of silence passed before Vincent finally spoke, his voice rough and subdued. “Take me to see my grandma.”

Something painful tugged inside Hannah’s chest, leaving her strangely breathless. She nodded. “Alright.”

In West Hill Cemetery, they walked together in a quiet line, keeping half a step of distance between them, neither breaking the silence.

When they reached the grave, Vincent stood before it, his posture straight and unmoving. But his hands, tucked at his sides, shook faintly, betraying the storm beneath his composed exterior.

He sank to his knees. No sound came from him, but his shoulders began to tremble uncontrollably.

Hannah stood a few steps behind him and to the side, watching quietly. She didn’t step forward to comfort him or speak to break the stillness—she simply stayed there, a silent anchor nearby. Some sorrows could only be confronted alone. After what felt like ages, Vincent finally began to compose himself, though his shoulders remained slumped.

Hannah broke the silence, her words gentle. “It’s getting late. We should head back.”

Vincent’s knees were stiff from kneeling so long. When he pushed himself up, he wobbled unsteadily.

Without thinking, Hannah reached out to steady his arm.

They walked down the stone steps in silence, keeping a measured distance between them, and soon returned to the car.

The engine started with a roar.

Before long, they arrived back at Sterling Heights.

Neither of them moved to open the car doors.

.

.

.