The next day, Celine sat on a wicker chair in the apartment, reading a book. Meanwhile, Robin paced angrily, cursing loudly. “What’s wrong with that idiot?” she shouted. “Did he get kicked in the head or something? He left his wife alone to take care of that bitch, Carly! And Carly—ugh! Being a mistress is bad enough, but drugging herself? That’s just pathetic!”

Robin was furiously upset. The previous night, when she’d picked up Celine, she’d found her sitting on the ground, hugging her knees. Celine’s face was streaked with tears; she looked as forlorn as a stray cat.

Celine chuckled. Robin had been ranting about Adam and Carly since the night before, and her fighting spirit was impressive. Celine, however, had long since learned to heal herself, even when falling apart.

She unwrapped a piece of candy and popped it in her mouth. The sweetness brought a faint smile to her face. “Robin, take a break,” she said. “We’ll deal with them soon enough and get our retribution.”

Robin understood: Celine was planning revenge. Celine was tough, but it pained Robin to see her endure such agony to rebuild herself.

Just then, muffled sounds came from the storage room. Celine set down her book and smiled. “Now, let’s start with Mr. Stone.”

The previous day, Celine had drugged Samson and had him brought to her apartment. Celine and Robin entered the storage room, where Samson was tied up. His hands and feet were bound, and a cloth stuffed his mouth. When he saw Celine, he thrashed furiously. Robin pulled the cloth from his mouth.

The moment he could speak, Samson’s face twisted with anger. “Celine Tate! How dare you drug me! Do you even know who I am?”

“I know Dr. C, and your mother owes me favors!” Celine retorted. “You’re just some country girl—how dare you act so high and mighty? You should be grateful I even considered sleeping with you. If you had any sense, you’d lie down and let me enjoy your body!”

Robin rolled up her sleeves, ready to slap him, but Celine stopped her. Celine stepped closer, towering over him. “You say you know Dr. C?”

Samson’s expression turned smug. “Of course! You’ve heard of Dr. C, haven’t you? The medical prodigy, a miracle worker! Someone like you could never meet her. But me? I know her personally!”

Celine raised an eyebrow, a faint smile playing on her lips. “Since you claim to know Dr. C, then prove it.”

Samson puffed up with arrogance. “I have her number in my phone. I can call her right now.”

Celine nodded. “Go ahead. Call her.”

Robin untied Samson. He stood, pulling out his phone. He really did have Dr. C’s number; he’d sneaked into the hospital director’s office and copied it after Dr. C was scheduled to operate on Carly.

Grinning triumphantly, Samson said, “Celine, watch and learn. I’ll show you how powerful I am!” He dialed the number.

The phone rang, its melodic tone filling the room. Then, it was answered—calmly and without hurry. Samson’s face flushed with excitement. He said ingratiatingly, “Hello, Dr. C? This is Samson Stone from Haven Hospital. I’ve admired you for so long. Would it be possible for me to meet you in person?”

A sweet voice responded, “Turn around.”

Did she tell him to turn around? What did that mean? Something felt off. The voice seemed to come from behind him. Samson, still clutching his phone, slowly turned.

Standing there was Celine, holding her phone. She gave him an amused look, her lashes fluttering as she smiled faintly. “Mr. Stone, congratulations. Now you really know Dr. C.”

Samson froze. He gasped, struggling to comprehend what he was seeing. Celine stood in a flowing dress, its hem brushing her slender ankles. Her serene smile held a hint of mockery, as if she were watching a clown.

Samson’s legs gave way. With a loud thud, he dropped to his knees before her.