Seraphina's name was pinned at the very top.
Next to it was a small red heart.
The phone rang a few times.
No answer.
Her patience quickly wore off.
"Tsk."
She put her phone away, her tone full of disgust.
"Haven't replied for days."
"Where has she gone to sell herself again?"
She sneered.
"With that face of hers, who would want her?"
"What a waste."
I stood there.
Suddenly, I didn't feel sad anymore.
Just a little empty.
“Mom.”
“You really…hate me.”
“It’s okay.”
“You’ll never see me again.”
“You should be happy.”
The people in the operations room fell silent.
No one dared to speak.
They had never seen her like this—
Speaking such words to her own daughter.
Someone lowered their head to flip through documents.
Someone subtly shifted their chair.
The air was heavy, suffocating.
Two in the morning.
Finally, someone pushed open the door.
Salvato Greco walked in.
He looked completely drained.
His white coat was stained with indelible dark marks.
His fingers were red and cracked from repeated disinfection.
He held a stack of reports in his hand.
“There’s progress.”
Everyone looked up.
The air instantly tensed.
He handed over the documents.
His voice was low.
“The victim had multiple signs of continuous sexual abuse.”
“And—”