Her memories were vivid; she would always remember that day, the scene of Kevin Quinn forcing her head down in abuse, remember the look of hatred in the other’s eyes, wishing she would disappear from this world. She would also always remember her own confusion and helplessness at that moment.

She bore a hatred that should never have belonged to her. She was unwilling to accept it. This unwillingness was neither rational nor logical, and there would never be a chance for compensation.

Yet, every time she recalled Kevin Quinn, what she hated most was not Kevin Quinn’s fickleness, but her irresponsibility.

Compared to the instability caused by her mental illness, The Vault resented her abandonment even more.

As for the violence against herself, The Vault could bury it in a tiny corner, cover it with memories of kindness, and explain it away with a simple reason.

She could understand Kevin Quinn’s pain, understand her lack of control.

This was a longing for one’s mother, etched into the genes of a young child.

But when it came to suicide, The Vault would never be able to let it go for the rest of her life.

Only the relatives of those who take their own lives can truly understand that pain of having one’s value denied. As if her own existence had never held any importance in the other’s heart.

Yet, she had regarded Kevin Quinn as her everything. As a mother, how could she just leave like that?

A warm mist welled up in The Vault’s eyes. She blinked hard, trying to force back the sourness. Before she could process her emotions, a hand reached over, covering her eyes, then pressed on her shoulder, pulling her into an embrace.

The Vault felt as if she’d been burned by the warmth of the other’s palm, her eyelids trembling. Then that hand moved to her back, patting gently in a comforting rhythm.

The Vault took a deep breath, instinctively wanting to pull away, but although Julian Grant’s movements were gentle, his arms were strong and unyielding, not allowing her to move.

Julian Grant was silent for a long time, simply holding her, as if struggling to find the right words.

As time quietly passed, Julian Grant’s heartbeat began to quicken—he must have finally decided what to say. Yet when he spoke, he tried to keep his tone calm, his voice steady and composed.

“I heard someone say that, in a person’s life, parents aren’t actually the most profound presence, because they can only accompany their children for a short time. As people grow up, they have to learn to leave the nest and start living on their own.”

The Vault leaned against his chest, her cheek feeling the warmth of his body through his clothes. This close, she could hear his heartbeat, making everything feel intensely real. She could sense his inner thoughts through the straightforward rhythm of his heart.

As Julian Grant spoke, his voice and chest vibrated together. He asked, “Do you know which relationship lasts the longest?”

The Vault was a little lost in thought and didn’t catch the rest of his words.

Julian Grant held his breath and answered his own question: “It’s lovers. The kind who are serious, who want to spend a lifetime together, who want to take responsibility for each other.”

The Vault was stunned.

Julian Grant pressed on in one go: “I’m not young anymore, so, Teacher The Vault, would you like to date me?”

The question came a bit suddenly, but somehow felt perfectly reasonable. Julian Grant’s “ambitions” had long been apparent, and after spending so much time together, The Vault didn’t find him unpleasant at all.

The Vault’s attention was completely diverted, her mind thrown into chaotic thought. For the first time, her thoughts ran wild like an untamed horse, aimless and unrestrained.

Julian Grant noticed her silence and felt a little uneasy, loosening his grip slightly, but then convinced himself otherwise.

If he didn’t seize the opportunity, when would he ever find a girlfriend? Years of being single had taught him one thing: you can’t be too polite in life.

Julian Grant decided to show off his shameless extravagance a little.

“I’m rich, right? In the future, you can do whatever you want. As long as you’re not too unreasonable, you can basically do as you please. For example, wake up every day on a thousand-square-meter bed, have seven solid gold, diamond-encrusted toilets in the bathroom, hire a hundred and eight servants just to take care of your daily life, build a castle just to store all your stray drafts…”

A look of extreme hesitation flashed across The Vault’s face.

So, in Julian Grant’s heart, was she just a lunatic?

…But that last part did sound pretty tempting.

Julian Grant stopped halfway, realizing he was being a bit neurotic. If he kept going, he might end up being forcibly sent to a mental hospital by The Vault.

He was deeply frustrated by his own rambling, racking his brain but unable to salvage the situation.

…Damn it! Besides being rich, what else could he offer?!

Just as Julian Grant was getting angry at himself, he heard the person in his arms mumble, “I’ll think about it.”

Julian Grant had already prepared himself for rejection, so when he heard The Vault’s answer, he was genuinely shocked. Fortunately, neither of them could see the other’s expression, missing out on each other’s dumbfounded looks.

Julian Grant knew that The Vault’s perfunctory responses were always superficial; for questions she wanted to avoid, she would only reply with “mm” or “oh,” but for things she disliked, she was never polite.

For her to say “I’ll think about it” was already a very serious attitude, and her intention was leaning toward agreement.

What did this mean?

Geniuses are always subtle—this was basically a yes!

Julian Grant became excited, as if he’d just heard the words “I love you,” his blood surging in a passionate symphony with his heartbeat.

The Vault couldn’t ignore it and said quietly, “You have sinus tachycardia.”

Julian Grant quickly let go of her, and after a brief moment of awkwardness, began his daily bribery routine.

“What do you want to eat?”

The Vault glanced at him sideways, finding his embarrassed look especially amusing, and teased, “That’s not important. Why not show me a gold-and-diamond toilet first?”

Julian Grant’s skin was so fair that even the faintest blush at his ears was obvious.

“Don’t mess around.” He recalled how he’d been a minute ago and was unwilling to admit that the not-so-bright guy was actually the domineering CEO Julian Grant himself. He bluffed, “Only my wife can make such unreasonable requests.”

The Vault didn’t understand the lives of these rich people and didn’t dare to be too presumptuous, so she changed her tone: “Forget it then. I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to resist the pull of gravity when I use the bathroom.”

Julian Grant laughed and scolded, “So? Are you going to eat or not?”

The Vault sensibly replied, “Let’s go.”

·

That night, Quinn Foster called her again.

After she answered, he was silent for a long time before finally saying calmly, “Shimu has died.”

The Vault was filled with mixed emotions and responded vaguely.

But Quinn Foster let out a sigh of relief and said lightly, “Maybe it’s for the best. She can leave a little more at peace.” She wouldn’t have to witness her husband and son being sent to trial, nor see them subjected to the people’s angry condemnation.

Quinn Foster then asked, “How’s Teacher doing?”

The Vault answered truthfully, “I don’t know. I haven’t followed up.”

Quinn Foster: “Where did Zachary Campbell go?”

“I don’t know.”

“Oh…”

Quinn Foster had nothing more to say, and he sounded a bit tired.

Zachary Campbell had run away, Leonard Campbell had been detained, and Mrs. Xue had no other close relatives, so it was up to a few of them, her students, to help handle the aftermath.

“Well, I’ll get back to work. I’ll contact you later. Also…” Quinn Foster hesitated for a moment, then sighed, “If you hear anything about Zachary Campbell, whether he’s dead or alive, let me know.”

The Vault wanted even more to know where Zachary Campbell had gone; she still had things she wanted to ask him face to face. And this urge was so strong that she wished he would appear before her right now and give her the answers.

The Vault held her phone, turning it over and over, her gaze blankly falling on the TV cabinet in front of her.

Zachary Campbell’s crimes had already been exposed; running away was pointless. He was used to living in the spotlight and probably couldn’t adapt to a life on the run. Besides, now that both his parents had fallen into misfortune because of him, there was no way he could just ignore it.

The Vault believed he was still in City A, or at least nearby.

He was hating those who had disrupted his peaceful life—like He Chuanzhou, like The Vault. He was lurking in the shadows, like a wolf with green eyes, watching her every move, waiting for a chance to take revenge.

The Vault moved her fingers, then opened her social media account and began to type a message.

She didn’t use this account often; it was mostly for work-related announcements, and her contacts were either colleagues or students.

She wrote:

“So it turns out you’re just a sexually impotent psychopath. Does watching others suffer give you a physical high? In the end, all you did was make your own mother bear the consequences. Did you see your mother sobbing and repenting, tears streaming down her face? She died in a cold hospital room, right in front of me. Unfortunately, no one will forgive her, or pity her.”

After typing, The Vault covered her face with her hand and let out a long breath in the darkness.

He would come for her. He definitely would.

·