“Regarding the relationship between a gentleman and animals: when he sees them alive, he cannot bear to see them die; when he hears their cries, he cannot bear to eat their flesh.” This has nothing to do with being a gentleman or not—even an ordinary person would not want to torment a vulnerable person like this, let alone when that person is his own wife.

Julian Grant swiped his finger upward; there were still several more videos. Judging from the cover angles, they seemed to have been secretly recorded from beneath the leaves of a potted plant.

Julian Grant tightened his grip, braced himself mentally, and then opened the video.

As expected, it was a brutally graphic domestic violence video. Due to the angle, Tiffany Dawson was not captured—only the side profile of her husband was visible.

At this point, Tiffany Dawson was likely already beaten to the ground, her desperate pleas echoing in the background.

Painful moans spilled from her throat, mixed with hoarse, trembling sobs. Her humble, fragile begging was drowned out by her husband’s slurred curses.

“You filthy bitch!”

“Your brother is a murderer, do you understand? Don’t you have any shame? What did you go out and say to people today?”

“I told you not to go out, so why did you? What if someone recognizes you? Are you trying to get me killed? You’re so disobedient, I’ll teach you to behave!”

“So what if I go out to find other women? Look at yourself! You’re filthy inside and out. Without me, you wouldn’t last a single peaceful day!”

“Yell at me! I dare you to yell at me! I’ll beat you to death! Fuck!”

“……”

The endless stream of vile insults completely ignited the violence deep in Julian Grant’s heart. For a moment, he wanted to rush in and pin the man down, force him to kneel, and let him truly experience the agony of being beaten and bleeding on the floor.

He took a deep breath, then exhaled heavily, silently reciting the core socialist values in his mind.

The dull thuds of fists landing on flesh echoed in the car. Later, Tiffany Dawson had already lost consciousness, but the man still didn’t stop. When he finally realized his wife had been beaten into a faint, he showed no concern—just spat at her in dissatisfaction.

This scene was enough to make anyone grit their teeth in hatred; no villain could compare to how repulsive he was.

The video was long and agonizing, every frame filled with unbearable malice. Julian Grant didn’t click stop; he waited for it to reach the end of the progress bar. Because the person in the video was enduring a life far more painful than his own—this was Tiffany Dawson’s real life, and it deserved to be known.

After the video ended, Julian Grant closed his eyes and pressed the bridge of his nose.

These were all records of domestic violence left by Tiffany Dawson. She had been collecting evidence from the very beginning, yet in the end, she never filed a complaint with the court.

For a woman who has suffered years of abuse, leaving her domineering husband sometimes truly takes more courage than she has. It’s not something that can be solved by simply scolding her for being weak. What’s more, Tiffany Dawson’s family background was not “clean”—she grew up in an environment of inferiority and distortion, never knowing how to resist injustice or how to seek kindness from society.

Where should the root of all this be traced? Perhaps it’s the rules of society, perhaps the indifference of bystanders, perhaps her own misfortune—but the greatest responsibility must lie with that violent, cruel, two-faced man.

Sadly, kind people always tend to look for faults in themselves first, pushing themselves step by step until they can no longer bear it and end up on the worst possible path.

·

The impact of video is far more direct than pictures or simple words. This blurry footage almost resonated with everyone.

Although they were mentally prepared for Tiffany Dawson’s abuse, it was only upon seeing the video that their emotions truly erupted.

The comment section in the livestream went from initial indignation, to silence, and then to a stormy rage, as if a great building was about to collapse.

“Fuck, what a goddamn bastard! 【Look, your mother’s gone】”

“I even felt sorry for this person. 【Goodbye】 I must have been blind back then, wasted my feelings.”

“【Web link】 Here’s a media interview with this ‘friendly, refined elite man.’ ‘He was resented by his wife just because of a drunken conflict during a business dinner’—what the hell is this? Does he have no shame?”

“The dead deserve respect, but sorry, that only applies to people. This thing really died just right.”

“I feel so sick, I want to throw up. What’s wrong with this family?”

“……Maybe we should just stop chasing this. Let Nancy Dawson go.”

·

Julian Grant heard Wallace Franklin’s voice in his headphones, instantly pulling his attention back.

“Hello? Xiao He, are you still there?”

Julian Grant looked up and said, “I’m here.”

“The media has released more news. See if you can control it a bit.” Wallace Franklin’s tone quickened, clearly anxious. “Did you find any useful clues on Tiffany Dawson’s phone? Why did Nancy Dawson go to see his sister at that time? The media has already found witnesses who can prove there was a fierce conflict between them. The online narrative is a mess right now—if you can stabilize it, please do. I’m worried Nancy Dawson will be affected.”

Julian Grant replied calmly, “Okay, I understand. I’ll go check it out right away. I’ll send you the useful data from Tiffany Dawson’s phone first—we may need to release some details to the public.”

Wallace Franklin: “I trust your judgment, handle it as you see fit. We have a lead here too—a police officer just recalled seeing someone who looked like Nancy Dawson at the intersection. We’re heading over to confirm now.”

Julian Grant coordinated with him on the plan and quickly ended the conversation.

Everyone was racing against time to find Nancy Dawson, hoping to get her under control as soon as possible—which was also a form of protection.

Julian Grant took out his own phone. He didn’t need to search; what he wanted to know was already pinned to the homepage’s push notifications.

He followed the web link and saw the interview video on the main page.

On screen was a young reporter in a short-sleeved shirt, walking while explaining to the camera: “Earlier, the police issued a statement saying there is clear evidence that Nancy Dawson is not related to the two deaths. Is that true? However, according to our investigation, we found that Nancy Dawson has appeared near this neighborhood more than once. After being released from prison, he came here several times, and some people saw him have a fierce argument with his sister before the incident. Since their relationship was so strained, why did Nancy Dawson keep coming to see Ms. Ning? And why did he show up at the crime scene at such a coincidental time—neither a minute earlier nor later, but just ahead of Ms. Sun?”

He stopped and pointed at the glass door ahead: “Alright, we’re here. This is the café.”

The reporter entered with the cameraman, the door chime ringing crisply as they walked in. Two servers greeted them brightly: “Welcome.”

The camera pointed at the floor, avoiding filming the interior before getting permission.

The reporter must have gone to negotiate with the staff. After some discussion, a young, inexperienced face appeared on camera.

The reporter asked, “You saw Nancy Dawson and his sister arguing with your own eyes?”

“Yes, it wasn’t their first time here. I usually follow the news, so I recognized Nancy Dawson’s face and made sure when I saw him.”

Reporter: “What were they arguing about?”

“I didn’t listen on purpose, so I didn’t catch everything.” The staff member adjusted their mask, covering their face tightly, clearly uncomfortable on camera. “Anyway, the woman was very emotional, speaking loudly. I heard her shouting, begging Nancy Dawson never to come looking for her again.”

The reporter confirmed, then asked, “Anything else?”

The staff member thought for a moment and replied, “The woman had injuries. I saw a lot of serious bruises where her sleeve was pulled up—obviously from being beaten, and they were fresh. That day, when Nancy Dawson touched her, she was extremely resistant. I thought her reaction was unusual.”

Reporter: “You said you saw them argue more than once?”

The staff member nodded: “Yes, once even the lady’s husband showed up. He angrily told Nancy Dawson to stop harassing his wife, and even threw a wad of cash at him, telling him to get lost. The two of them started arguing and almost broke our tableware.”

Reporter: “So were they arguing over money?”

The staff member shook their head: “I really don’t know. I didn’t hear the whole thing.”

The reporter asked a leading question: “What kind of person do you think Nancy Dawson is?”

The staff member thought for a moment, then gave a dry laugh and said, “He looks pretty fierce, like he could hit someone at any time. There’s a violent look in his eyes—a bit scary.”

The reporter had gotten the answer he wanted, thanked the young staff member, and left with the cameraman.