Veronica didn't show up to the rescheduled board meeting.
Instead, she walked straight past the east courtyard, turned down a lesser-used hallway behind the archives building, and found herself standing in front of a rusted steel door labeled "Maintenance Storage B."
To the casual eye, it looked like a supply closet—somewhere janitors tossed broken mops and outdated textbooks. But Veronica remembered this hallway from a half-erased blueprint she found weeks ago. The wing had once belonged to the old student records department… until a quiet fire ten years ago shut it down.
No students have come here now.
Which meant it was the perfect place to hide secrets.
She slid a pin from her hair, picked the lock with an ease that would've made any trained thief nod in approval, and slipped inside.
The air was stale. Dust hung thick in every corner.
Veronica switched on her phone flashlight and stepped carefully between crates and unused cabinets. Her breath fogged faintly in the cold air. The further in she moved, the stronger the sense of something pressing down on her chest.
It wasn't paranoia. It was instinct. The kind honed by years navigating betrayal, surveillance, and the smell of blood.
Behind an old printer and a collapsed bookcase, she found a trunk.
Dark green. Leather straps. Tarnished bronze buckles. And a nameplate carved in soft cursive:
Amy Lin.
Veronica knelt, running her fingers over the letters.
It was her name now. But not her soul's.
She unbuckled the straps and opened the trunk.
Inside were faded journals. Three. All bound in red thread, like they'd been sewn closed in a rush. And tucked beneath them—
A locket.
Veronica hesitated.
It was small, shaped like a rosebud, and old. Victorian style. She clicked it open.
Inside was a photo.
Amy—the real Amy—smiling beside a girl with long black hair and sharp, clever eyes.
Serena Lei.
Veronica's pulse quickened.
She picked up the first journal and flipped through it. Most of it was scribbled in chaotic handwriting. Pain. Loneliness. Pleas for help, no one ever answered. Each page felt like stepping deeper into a maze Amy had never escaped from.
But on the last page of the second journal, one line stood out. Not scrawled, but neatly printed in a different ink.
If anything happens to me, Serena Lei is not who she pretends to be.
Beneath that, a single word had been etched in trembling letters.
Help.
Veronica closed the book slowly.
Her heartbeat felt loud in her ears.
She didn't know how much of Amy's memories remained in the body she now occupied—but this entry wasn't written by someone trying to be poetic. It was a girl facing death. A girl betrayed.
Veronica rose, journal in hand.
Her fingers curled tighter around it with each step toward the door.
She had questions. And Serena Lei was about to answer them.
Meanwhile, across campus, Lucas stood in the shadowed corner of the security operations room.
The school's security director was out for lunch. Lucas had used the time to scrub the night's security footage of Veronica's confrontation with Serena's bodyguard during the blackout. There was no need for anyone to question why Serena's men were armed in a gala full of teenagers.
But just as he was shutting the system down, his phone buzzed.
No number.
Just one line:
You're running out of time, Young Master Zhao. Betray her, or your true face hits the headlines at midnight.
Lucas stared at the screen.
The message erased itself a second later.
He didn't move.
Didn't blink.
But inside, something lethal stirred.
He knew who might've sent it. The underground had many rats. But only a few had the nerve to threaten him like this.
Still—whoever they were—they'd made one critical mistake.
They thought he feared exposure more than losing Veronica.
He didn't.
Veronica found Serena Lei in the sunroom near the art department, casually sipping iced rose tea while painting a glass panel with acrylics. Her strokes were delicate. Precise. Calm.
The room was empty except for them.
Serena smiled when she saw her.
"Veronica," she said, placing her brush down, "or should I say Amy?"
Veronica didn't smile back. "You're very confident for someone whose mask is cracked."
Serena's eyes gleamed. "You've been reading her journal."
"And you knew she kept one."
Serena laughed softly. "Of course. Amy was obsessed with writing down secrets. She always thought it would save her one day. But dead girls don't publish memoirs, do they?"
Veronica stepped forward, journal in hand. "She wrote that you're not who you pretend to be."
Serena tilted her head. "She was right."
Veronica's fingers twitched.
Serena walked around the glass panel, slow and unbothered, and whispered, "Do you know why Amy screamed in her sleep?"
The air shifted.
Veronica froze.
Serena's eyes didn't blink. "She remembered things no heiress should. Woke up sobbing. Talked about locked rooms. Red floors. Knives. She thought she was going crazy." Serena paused. "Or maybe… someone made her believe that."
Veronica's skin crawled.
"What did you do to her?"
Serena's smile was almost kind. "Nothing she didn't deserve."
Veronica took a step forward—but Serena's hand slid into her pocket.
Not for a weapon.
But for a remote.
She pressed the button.
A projector on the wall came to life behind them. A grainy video began to play.
At first, it was hard to see.
But then—
A young Amy. In a hospital gown. Strapped to a chair.
Screaming.
A female voice asked, "Who are you, Amy? Why are you lying again?"
Another voice answered.
Not Amy's.
Not the nurse's.
A cold man's voice.
"Increase the dosage. She still remembers the corridor."
Veronica's heart slammed against her ribs.
Serena turned off the projection.
"Do you know where that was filmed?" she asked lightly. "Your sweet little heiress wasn't in a hospital. She was in a private institute. Hidden in plain sight. Her parents thought it was for trauma recovery. But it was something else entirely."
She leaned closer.
"Do you want to know who paid for it?"
Veronica didn't breathe.
Serena whispered, "Your mother."
The silence between them cracked.
Then—
Veronica lunged forward and slammed Serena into the glass panel. It shuddered behind her back, but didn't break.
"Lie again," she hissed, her voice low and dangerous. "Lie again and I'll make you regret it."
But Serena didn't flinch.
Her smile widened.
"Oh, Veronica," she said softly. "I'm not the one lying. I'm just the one who survived."
Outside, thunder rumbled low.
Inside, Veronica's grip didn't loosen.
But something inside her cracked.
This wasn't just a game of reputation and revenge anymore.
It was deeper. Older. Rotten at the roots.
And the more she dug, the more she feared what she'd find wasn't just about Amy's death—
But about her own.