On Monica's phone screen, a video played with Mr. Vuthy, a former colleague of Dara, speaks like a news anchor.
"Breaking news: Kong Saroath, the owner of a currency exchange shop at Old Market, was reported to have committed suicide last month on Thursday, the 9th. The incident took place in the backyard of her home in her hometown..."
"...However, it was truly a murder. She was also the mother of the notorious Mr. Han Bun Heng's son, chairman of HBH Holding Group. Take a look at her chat with Mr. Heng's eldest daughter, CEO Han Monica, before the day of her death."
The video then switched to a screenshot of the conversation between Saroath and Monica, and also show Monica face on the screen.
"She killed her stepmother?" one comment posted. Another followed through the video,
"Oh, God! It was like something out of a TV drama."
The messages poured in relentlessly, each one more startling than the last.
"Unbelievable! That CEO... I knew her. This can't be real."
"My friend swears he just saw her in person. Said she was stunning."
"Those screenshots don't prove anything. How could they possibly pin her as the killer?"
"Exactly! It feels like some twisted marketing ploy. How can a few conversations define her as a murderer?"
"Whatever the truth, this news could tear her world apart, I think…"
"Are you saying she drove her car to the village and killed her? And no one saw it? Goodness!"
"If she was the killer, I don't think she'd do something so obvious! She is the CEO, by the way!"
"It might have been someone helping her, someone she trusted."
Monica's heart pounded in her chest, the weight of the accusations and disbelief pressing down on her.
The public comments buzzed like a storm, flooding in faster than Monica could process. Her hands trembled as she clutched the phone, her mind racing.
Just then, her mother emerged from the restroom, her concerned gaze falling on her daughter. "Why?" she asked softly, seeing the stark, bloodless pallor on Monica's face.
Monica hurriedly switched off her phone, her hands trembling as she tried to brush off the news. But her mother wasn't one to let things go so easily.
"Are you alright?" her mother asked, her voice laced with concern.
The daughter forced a smile, masking her unease. "I am... Mom!" she replied, determined not to worry her.
But her mother's eyes stayed fixed on her, more worried than ever.
"Tell me! You can talk to me. I'm here to help you."
"I'll handle it myself, Mom. Don't worry," she said, her voice firm. "I'm leaving the hospital tomorrow."
Her mother's expression grew stern. "You can't. The doctor said you need a few more days of rest to monitor your condition and, if necessary..."
"Another surgery?" Monica interrupted, her voice sharp.
Her mother nodded, her tone dropping to a sorrowful whisper. "Yes. If it comes to that."
Monica shook her head, her resolve unshaken. "Mom, I can't do that. Let's find another way to treat this."
"What are you saying?" her mother gasped, her voice trembling.
"I can't do it right now, not like this. My work... I have to be there," Monica replied, her words rushed and frantic.
Her mother's eyes widened with disbelief. "Are you crazy? Your work? Is that more important than you?"
"Mom, I'm sorry. I'm fine, really. Compartment syndrome? It's not that serious. Surgery is already done. I'll leave tomorrow morning, okay?" Monica's voice wavered, trying to sound calm.
Her mother's response was sharp, almost trembling with anger.
"Have you lost your mind? Monica, I didn't let you stay with your father for the past ten years so you'd end up like this! I left him because of this same obsession. Even when you and Marina were sick, he didn't care!"
Monica opened her mouth but couldn't find the words.
Her mother's voice softened but didn't lose its edge. "You need to heal. I won't let you leave like this."
"Mom, please... I'm begging you," she whispered, tears threatening to spill.
"You work like a slave, get sick, and still think that company can't survive without you?" her mother snapped, her voice a mix of anger and concern.
Daughter didn't answer. Instead, she reached for her phone, hesitating for a moment before dialing a number she rarely dared to call.
Before the call could go through, her mother snatched the phone away, her eyes blazing. "No. Not this time."
"Even if I'm going to jail?" Monica asked, her voice steady but laced with exhaustion.
Sophea froze, the weight of those words hitting her like a blow. "Jail?" she whispered, disbelief.
***
Dara's voice carried a sorrowful weight, his words floating into the air like an unanswered plea as the video interview played on:
"My mom promised to take a trip with me once she got back from her hometown. She went there to check on the garage project she was working on with my uncle, and..."
In the master bedroom of the house, Heng hurled his phone across the room in a fit of rage, the sound of Dara's voice cutting off abruptly. He sat on the edge of the bed, seething, his fists clenched.
Nearby, Dalin stood silently, her face shadowed with sadness as she watched him wrestle with his storm of emotions.
"Calm down sir, please!" Dalin urged, her voice soft but firm.
"How can I?" Heng shot back, his anger sharp and unyielding. "He dares to betray his own sister like that?"
"It's just a conversation," Dalin tried to soothe him. "It will blow over."
"It won't, Dalin! Monica's reputation is at stake. Dara is trying to ruin her...He even put Monica face on the screen, look…!"
"...Yes!" Dalin take a look.
"She never liked being on social media, and now her own brother did this to her. I can't believe he was so disrespectful…" Heng muttered, frustration rising in his voice.
Dalin exhaled sharply, her brow furrowed in concern. "Oh no… Monica has the opening ceremony for our construction subsidy in two weeks! She never wanted to be on social media, not even for a general post, let alone branding herself. But now…"
"No, she can't," Heng said firmly, pacing the room. "Dalin, you've carried this work on your shoulders. Until this news settles, it stays that way, if possible delay the date."
"Will she agree?" Dalin asked, his tone measured but probing.
"She had to," Heng replied, a heavy sigh escaping. "She cares about the company as much as we do."
Dalin's expression shifted, uneasy but guarded. His silence spoke louder than words.
Heng's restlessness grew. "She's been through so much already. Now she's in the hospital, and I pray she hasn't seen the news yet." Unable to contain himself, he stood abruptly, heading toward the door. "I need to see my daughter."
Dalin stepped in his path, his hand raised. "It's late. Let's check with them first."
Heng paused, then gave a reluctant nod, his hands curling into fists at his sides as he tried to compose himself.
***
After hearing the news of her and Saroath's alleged deaths, Sophea trembled, struggling to process the shock.
"Call your father, Monica!" she demanded.
"Mom!" Monica protested.
"Get him to act immediately!"
"Mom... I'll handle it myself!"
"Who spread this? We need to stop them!"
"It's pointless! That'll only make it worse!"
"So, you're just going to do nothing?"
"Mom..." daughter's voice faltered, her sadness evident.
"What?"
"I'm... Mom, don't worry about it. I'll figure out what to do."
"Monica!" Sophea's voice was sharp with frustration.
"You think I'm responsible for this death, don't you?" Monica whispered, her eyes brimming with tears. "That hurts me more than anyone else's accusations."
"My daughter..." Sophea reached out, but Monica turned away.
Before either could say another word, Monica's phone rang. Both froze, staring at the screen. It was Dalin.
"I don't want to talk to anyone," she muttered. "Let it ring."
"What if it's your father? Let me answer it. You need rest."
Daughter stayed silent, letting her mother take control, too exhausted to argue further.
"Hello?" Sophea answered, her voice calm but wary.
Hearing her voice, Dalin quickly handed the phone to Heng.
"Oh, Sophea?" Heng's tone was gentle.
"Yes, it's me."
"How is our daughter?"
"She's sleeping. Is there something urgent?"
"No, no, I just wanted to check if she's doing alright."
"She's fine," Sophea replied, glancing at Monica for guidance.
"By the way," Heng added, his tone shifting slightly, "did you see the news?"
Sophea hesitated, looking at Monica again. Monica shook her head, silently urging her mother to lie.
"What news? I was just telling her stories to help her sleep."
"Ah, I see. Good, good." Heng sounded relieved.
Monica, still silent, quickly took her mother's phone and typed out a message: Can you come here tomorrow morning to discuss our daughter's further treatment? She showed it to Sophea, who nodded in approval before saying it.
Moments later, Heng replied, "Yes, sure, I'll be there."
"But what about the company?" Sophea asked cautiously.
"Dalin can handle it," Heng assured her.
"Alright then," Sophea said, her voice softening.
The daughter and mother exchanged a quiet glance, their eyes searching each other's faces, as if seeking confirmation of an unspoken truth.
***
In the Lotus Farm Telegram group chat, tensions were running high. Dara, Nida, and Visal exchanged heated conversation via video call, their frustrations clear.
Visal was the first to respond: "I can't believe you made this video without informing us in advance, Dara."
Nida quickly followed: "We're supposed to be in this together, but you went ahead and did this. I don't even know what to say."
Dara hesitated before saying: "I'm sorry. I was going to tell you both after recording. But... I was afraid the case might close, and my complaint would be dismissed. Doesn't this news buy us some time?"
Visal's tone was sharp as he replied, "We have to play smart, Dara. If we don't have solid evidence yet, releasing this video only exposes our weaknesses. It gives them an advantage, making it easier for them to strike back. You're playing a crucial card without ensuring the payoff is worth it!"
Nida chimed in: "Visal's right. If she's really involved in your mother's death, she'll already have a plan to clear herself. Without crucial, solid evidence, we're at a dead end. She has money and power on her side."
Dara remained firm: "I don't think so. Now that the news is public, I believe the masses can help us find justice for my mother."
But neither Visal nor Nida responded. The silence in the video call was deafening.
Visal broke the silence: "Do you really think your sister caused your mom's death?"
Dara hesitated, his eyes narrowing in thought. "I don't know... Let's wait and see," he said finally. "At the very least, it helps to create some buzz around the case now!"
"You can't just say that," Visal said firmly.
"You have to be precise with every step you take," he added.
Dara hesitated before asking, "So, was publishing this news really that wrong?"
"Not entirely," Nida replied.
"Forget about it for now," Visal continued. "Let's focus on what's next. But I'm certain they won't stay still, and neither should we. I checked with my superior—Miss Monica, your sister, will be summoned for questioning by the police. She admitted to meeting your mom that day, not your father, but nothing more. If this doesn't lead to anything new, our investigation might end here."
"You guys, I won't let this end until we can bring the truth to light," Dara said firmly, his determination evident.
"It's possible, Dara," Nida replied cautiously. "I'm sorry to say this, but I need to remind you—don't forget the scene that day. The evidence suggesting your mom's death was a suicide... it's stronger." Her voice was heavy with sympathy, a sad expression crossing her face.
Listening to them, Dara felt his chest tighten with despair. He sank into silence, overwhelmed by the weight of the situation.
***
In his private room, Visal sat at his desk, typing up his report on his computer. He meticulously compiled details about the villagers' accounts of Saroath's last moments before she died.
Each word was carefully reviewed before he saved the document. Instead of sharing it with Dara and Nida, he sent it to someone else—
—
Meanwhile, Nida was just as diligent. After finishing the tense conversation with Dara and Visal, she turned back to her work, even though it was already past midnight. With unwavering focus, she organized everything she had—notes, photos, and information about Monica, Dara, and Visal.
She took screenshots of their group chat, documenting every detail. Then, she created a comprehensive Word document, combining text and images to present their findings in a clear and organized manner.