Chapter 8
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I turned and handed another piece of evidence to the police, containing detailed records of countless breeding experiment data.
To improve the children’s survival rate, Layla had long been conducting human experiments on many women.
However, none of those test subjects achieved the results she expected, which is why she turned her attention to me.
Including myself, there were nearly ten victims in total.
I mercilessly kicked Jaiden in the face, the blow expressing all the hatred in my heart.
I said coldly, “Don’t bother sending me to hell, because I’ll beat you to it. You’ll never get out again–never see freedom.”
Only then did Jaiden truly realize the gravity of the situation.
He stared at me with hollow eyes, his face filled with disbelief: “How is this possible? How did you find those things? I never mentioned them to anyone.”
His gaze then shifted to Layla beside him.
Jaiden had completely lost his mind, driven to total madness.
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Chapter 8
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He suddenly lunged at Layla, his hands gripping her throat tightly and squeezing harder: “It must be you, you bitch! You must have leaked the secret! You ruined me! If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be dying!”
Layla had never been treated so brutally.
Even on the brink of death, she refused to show weakness: “What gives you the right to talk to me like that? If you’ve got the guts, kill me–let’s see if you dare.”
Before she finished speaking, I heard a sharp crack, and Layla breathed her last.
The scene immediately erupted into chaos.
Grace held Layla’s body, sobbing uncontrollably, while Jaiden knelt on the ground, crying helplessly.
Grace grabbed my hands desperately, pleading for something in
a low voice.
But I simply looked away, feeling nothing inside.
I watched as Layla was rushed to the hospital for emergency treatment, watched as Jaiden and Grace were taken away by the police.
When I left, I didn’t look back.
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Chapter 8
Later, I learned that both of them received death sentences.
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They pulled every string they could, hoping to see me one last
time.
The letters they sent had messy handwriting, each page covered with “I’m sorry” written over and over.
But I didn’t believe they had truly repented–they were simply terrified in the face of death.
In the days waiting for death, they would probably reflect constantly, hoping to earn my forgiveness.
And I would finally emerge from life’s fog to embrace my own rebirth.
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