Lin Wanwan broke easily. The glamorous socialite was a hollow shell, her courage long since sold. She agreed to talk, away from the prying eyes of the gala.
In a quiet corner of the hotel bar, her hands shaking around a glass of vodka, she confessed.
" It was a long time ago," she whispered. "After my family lost everything, I was desperate. Alistair Thorne found me. He offered me money, protection… in exchange for information."
" What information?" Mo Chen pressed.
" About your mother," Lin Wanwan said, her voice trembling. "Stories from school. Her habits. Her fears. He was obsessed with her. He saw her as the one that got away for Jin Long, a symbol of everything he couldn't have. He wanted to know how to hurt her."
Mo Chen felt a cold knot tighten in her stomach. "Go on."
" When Julian started dating you… it was Alistair's masterpiece. He had me feed Julian information about you, about your family dynamics, your weaknesses. I told him how to charm you, how to isolate you, how to make you trust him completely." She started to cry, ugly, ragged sobs. "I didn't know about the bomb! I swear! I thought they just wanted to humiliate the family, force a merger!"
The pieces snapped into place. The Thornes' vendetta wasn't just financial. It was personal, twisted, and generations deep. Alistair Thorne had used the original poison—Lin Wanwan—to poison the well for the next generation.
Lin Wanwan was just a tool. A pathetic, miserable tool. Killing her would be a mercy.
" The bank account," Mo Chen said. "It's closed. The Thornes are gone. Your protection is over."
The terror in Lin Wanwan's eyes was absolute. She was finally, truly, alone.
Mo Chen stood up. "Enjoy the champagne."
She left the broken woman weeping in the bar. The ghost was laid to rest. But the echo of the betrayal felt colder than ever.